her two helpers (daughters of a neighboring
farmer), had been up since five o'clock and while it was a good deal
like a farmer's Sunday dinner, Zulime thanked the girls when father
presented them to her, but was a bit startled when one of them took her
seat at the table with us. She was not accustomed to this democratic
custom of the village.

My aunt, Susan Bailey, a gentle, frail little body also joined our
circle, adding one more pair of eyes to those whose scrutiny must have
been somewhat trying to the bride. To meet these blunt, forthright folk
at such a table without betraying amusement or surprise, required tact,
but the New Daughter succeeded in winning them all, even Mary, the cook,
who was decidedly difficult.

Almost immediately after taking his seat my father began: "Well now,
daughter, you are the captain. Right here I abdicate. Anything you want
done shall be done. What you say about things in the kitchen shall be
law. I will furnish the raw materials--you and the girls must do the
rest. We like to be bossed, don't we, Belle?" He ended addressing
mother.

In her concise, simple fashion, she replied: "Yes, the house is yours. I
turn it all over to you."

It was evident that all this had been discussed many times for they
seemed in haste to get its statement off their minds, and I could not
check them or turn them aside.

Zulime made light of it. "I'd rather not _be_ captain," she laughingly
protested. "I'd rather be passenger for a while."

Father was firm. "No, we need a commanding officer, and you must take
charge. Now I've got a turkey out there--and cranberries--" He was off!
He told just what he had laid in for the dinner, and ended by saying,
"If there's anything I've forgot, you just let me know, and I'll go
right up town and get it."

As he talked, the tones of his resonant voice, the motions of his hands,
the poise of his head, brought back to me a boyish feeling of
subordination. I laughed, but I submitted to his domination, entirely
willing that he should play the part of the commander for the last time.
It was amusing, but it had its pathetic side for my mother's silence was
significant of her weakness. She said nothing--not a word, but with
Zulime sitting beside her, she was content, so happy she could not find
words in which to express her satisfaction. Her waiting was at an end!

My father made a handsome picture. His abundant white hair, his shapely
beard, and his keen profile plea