ed
upon the sideboard.

"Poor, dear man," said Miss Ruth. "I suppose he never gets all the candy
he wishes at home. I trust there is plenty for to-night, sister? But what
is that Sarah just brought in?"

"Well," Miss Deborah replied, with anxious pride in her tone, "it is not
Easter, I know, but it does look so well I thought I'd make it, anyhow.
It is Sic itur ad astra."

This dish had been "composed" by Miss Deborah many years ago, and was
considered by all her friends her greatest triumph. Dr. Howe had
christened it, declaring that it was of a semi-religious nature, but in
Miss Deborah's pronunciation the Latin was no longer recognizable.

It consisted of an arrangement of strips of candied orange and lemon
peel, intended to represent a nest of straw. On it were placed jellied
creams in different colors, which had been run into egg-shells to
stiffen. The whole was intended to suggest a nest of new-laid eggs. The
housekeeper will at once recognize the trouble and expense of such a
dish, as the shells which served for moulds had first to be emptied of
their contents through a small hole in one end, hopelessly mixing the
whites and yolks, and leaving them useless for fine cookery.

No wonder, then, that Miss Deborah's face beamed with pride. But Miss
Ruth's showed nothing but contempt. "That--that--barn-door dish!" she
ejaculated.

"Barn-door?" faltered Miss Deborah.

"Barn-yard, I mean," said her sister sternly. "The idea of having such
a thing! Easter is the only excuse for it. It is undignified,--it is
absurd,--it is--it is preposterous!"

"It is good," Miss Deborah maintained stoutly.

"I don't deny that," said Miss Ruth, thinking they would have it for
dinner the next day, and perhaps the next also,--for it takes more
than one day for a family of two to eat up the remnants of a dinner
party,--"but you must see it is out of place at a formal dinner. It
must not appear."

Discussion was useless. Each was determined, for each felt her particular
province had been invaded. And each carried her point. The dish did not
appear on the table, yet every guest was asked if he or she would have
some "Sicituradastra"--for to the housemaid it was one word--which was on
the sideboard.

But the anxieties of the dinner were not over even when the table was as
beautiful and stately as could be desired, and Miss Deborah was conscious
that every dish was perfect. The two little ladies, tired, but satisfied,
had yet to d