l as your people are,"
said Margaret. "Good-bye, Annie." She spoke abstractedly, and Annie
felt a little hurt. She loved Margaret, and she missed her full
attention when she left her. She passed down the walk between
Margaret's beautifully kept Japanese trees, and gained the sidewalk.
Then a sudden recollection filled her with dismay. She had promised
her grandmother to go to the post-office before returning. An
important business letter was expected. Annie swept the soft tail of
her muslin into a little crushed ball, and ran, her slender legs
showing like those of a young bird beneath its fluff of plumage. She
realized the necessity of speed, of great speed, for the post-office
was a quarter of a mile away, and the Eustace family supped at five
minutes past six, with terrible and relentless regularity. Why it
should have been five minutes past instead of upon the stroke of the
hour, Annie had never known, but so it was. It was as great an
offence to be a minute too early as a minute too late at the Eustace
house, and many a maid had been discharged for that offence, her plea
that the omelet was cooked and would fall if the meal be delayed,
being disregarded. Poor Annie felt that she must hasten. She could
not be dismissed like the maid, but something equally to be dreaded
would happen, were she to present herself half a minute behind time
in the dining-room. There they would be seated, her grandmother,
her Aunt Harriet, and her Aunt Jane. Aunt Harriet behind the silver
tea service; Aunt Jane behind the cut glass bowl of preserves; her
grandmother behind the silver butter dish, and on the table would be
the hot biscuits cooling, the omelet falling, the tea drawing too
long and all because of her. There was tremendous etiquette in the
Eustace family. Not a cup of tea would Aunt Harriet pour, not a spoon
would Aunt Jane dip into the preserves, not a butter ball would her
grandmother impale upon the little silver fork. And poor Hannah, the
maid, white aproned and capped, would stand behind Aunt Harriet like
a miserable conscious graven image. Therefore Annie ran, and ran, and
it happened that she ran rather heedlessly and blindly and dropped
her mussy little package of fancy work, and Karl von Rosen, coming
out of the parsonage, saw it fall and picked it up rather gingerly,
and called as loudly as was decorous after the flying figure, but
Annie did not hear and Von Rosen did not want to shout, neither did
he want, or rath