nt Katy, "this will be a treat; we all know
about your butter, Mrs. Jones. I sha'n't think of putting any of mine
on table to-night, I'm sure."

"Law, now don't!" said Mrs. Jones. "Why, you re'lly make me ashamed,
Miss Scudder. To be sure, folks does like our butter, and it always
fetches a pretty good price,--_he's_ very proud on't. I tell him he
oughtn't to be,--we oughtn't to be proud of anything."

And now Mrs. Katy, giving a look at the old clock, told Mary it was
time to set the tea-table; and forthwith there was a gentle movement of
expectancy. The little mahogany tea-table opened its brown wings, and
from a drawer came forth the snowy damask covering. It was etiquette,
on such occasions, to compliment every article of the establishment
successively, as it appeared; so the Deacon's wife began at the
table-cloth.

"Well, I do declare, Miss Scudder beats us all in her table-cloths,"
she said, taking up a corner of the damask, admiringly; and Mrs. Jones
forthwith jumped up and seized the other corner.

"Why, this 'ere must have come from the Old Country. It's 'most the
beautiflest thing I ever did see."

"It's my own spinning," replied Mrs. Katy, with conscious dignity.
"There was an Irish weaver came to Newport the year before I was
married, who wove beautifully,--just the Old-Country patterns,--and I'd
been spinning some uncommonly fine flax then. I remember Mr. Scudder
used to read to me while I was spinning,"--and Aunt Katy looked afar,
as one whose thoughts are in the past, and dropped out the last words
with a little sigh, unconsciously, as to herself.

"Well, now, I must say," said Mrs. Jones, "this goes quite beyond me. I
thought I could spin some; but I sha'n't never dare to show mine."

"I'm sure, Mrs. Jones, your towels that you had out bleaching, this
spring, were wonderful," said Aunt Katy. "But I don't pretend to do
much now," she continued, straightening her trim figure. "I'm getting
old, you know; we must let the young folks take up these things. Mary
spins better now than I ever did. Mary, hand out those napkins."

And so Mary's napkins passed from hand to hand.

"Well, well," said Mrs. Twitchel to Mary, "it's easy to see that _your_
linen-chest will be pretty full by the time _he_ comes along; won't it,
Miss Jones?"--and Mrs. Twitchel looked pleasantly facetious, as elderly
ladies generally do, when suggesting such possibilities to younger
ones.

Mary was vexed to feel the blood boil up