at dining-room of
the Rieds Sadie was rushing nervously back and forth, very much in
the same manner that Ester was doing on that first evening of our
acquaintance, only there was not so much method in her rushing. The
curtains were raised as high as the tapes would take them, and the
slant rays of the yellow sun were streaming boldly in, doing their
bravest to melt into oil the balls of butter on the table, for poor,
tired, bewildered Sadie had forgotten to let down the shades, and
forgotten the ice for the butter, and had laid the table cloth
crookedly, and had no time to straighten it. This had been one of
her trying days. The last fierce look of summer had parched anew
the fevered limbs of the sufferer up stairs, and roused to sharper
conflict the bewildered brain. Mrs. Ried's care had been earnest and
unremitting, and Sadie, in her unaccustomed position of mistress below
stairs, had reached the very verge of bewildered weariness. She gave
nervous glances at the inexorable clock as she flew back and forth.
There were those among Mrs. Ried's boarders whose business made
it almost a necessity that they should be promptly served at five
o'clock. Maggie had been hurriedly summoned to do an imperative errand
connected with the sick room; and this inexperienced butterfly, with
her wings sadly drooping, was trying to gather her scattered wits
together sufficiently to get that dreadful tea-table ready for the
thirteen boarders who were already waiting the summons.

"What _did_ I come after?" she asked herself impatiently, as she
pressed her hand to her frowning forehead, and stared about the pantry
in a vain attempt to decide what had brought her there in such hot
haste. "Oh, a spoon--no, a fork, I guess it was. Why, I don't remember
the forks at all. As sure as I'm here, I believe they are, too,
instead of being on the table; and--Oh, my patience, I believe those
biscuits are burning. I wonder if they are done. Oh, dear me!" And
the young lady, who was Mr. Hammond's star scholar, bent with puzzled,
burning face, and received hot whiffs of breath from the indignant
oven while she tried to discover whether the biscuits were ready to be
devoured. It was an engrossing employment. She did not hear the sound
of carriage wheels near the door, nor the banging of trunks on the
side piazza. She was half way across the dining-room, with her tin of
puffy biscuits in her hands, with the puzzled, doubtful look still on
her face, before