ot come to the hot and dusty
town to spend the summer? You are at such a convenient distance too;
and your friends can visit you so easily."

Yes, the distance was convenient; and we had learned to appreciate
that advantage. But back to the city we removed; and, when next we
venture to the country, will take good care to get beyond a
convenient distance.

CHAPTER VII.

THE PICKED-UP DINNER.

IT was "washing day;" that day of all days in the week most dreaded
by housekeepers. We had a poor breakfast, of course. Cook had to
help with the washing, and, as washing was the important thing for
the day, every thing else was doomed to suffer. The wash kettle was
to her of greater moment than the tea kettle or coffee pot; and the
boiling of wash water first in consideration, compared with broiling
the steak.

The breakfast bell rung nearly half an hour later than usual. As I
entered the dining room, I saw that nearly every thing was in
disorder, and that the table was little over half set. Scarcely had
I taken my seat, ere the bell was in my hand.

"There's no sugar on the table, Kitty."

These were my words, as the girl entered, in obedience to my
summons.

"Oh, I forgot!" she ejaculated, and hurriedly supplied the
deficiency.

Ting-a-ling-a-ling, went my bell, ere she had reached the kitchen.

"There's no knife and fork for the steak," said I, as Kitty
re-appeared.

The knife and fork were furnished, but not with a very amiable
grace.

"What's the matter with this coffee?" asked Mr. Smith, after sipping
a spoonful or two. "It's got a queer taste."

"I'm sure I don't know."

It was plain that I was going to have another trying day; and I
began to feel a little worried. My reply was not, therefore, made in
a very composed voice.

Mr. Smith continued to sip his coffee with a spoon, and to taste the
liquid doubtingly. At length he pushed his cup from him, saying:

"It's no use; I can't drink that! I wish you would just taste it. I
do believe Kitty has dropped a piece of soap into the coffee pot."

By this time I had turned out a cup of the fluid for myself, and
proceeded to try its quality. It certainly had a queer taste; but,
as to the substance to which it was indebted for its peculiar
flavor, I was in total ignorance. My husband insisted that it was
soap. I thought differently; but we made no argument on the subject.

The steak was found, on trial, to be burned so badly that it was not
fit to