n
the doorway, and seeing the gaunt whitewashed walls, the bare rafters,
and the sweeping rain against the window.

"Do, sister," she entreated, "come into the house, and let us arrange
about the dinner."

"No," said Miss Ruth, sighing, "I must wash these brushes."

"Why not let Sarah do it?" asked the other, stepping over a little stream
of water which had forced itself under the threshold.

"Now, surely, sister," said Miss Ruth pettishly, "you know Sarah would
get the color on the handles. But there! I suppose you don't know how
artistic people feel about such things." She stopped long enough to take
off her gloves and tie the strings of her long white apron a little
tighter about her trim waist; then she went to work again.

"No, I suppose I don't understand," Miss Deborah acknowledged; "but never
mind, we can talk here, only it is a little damp. What do you think of
asking them for Thursday? It is a good day for a dinner party. You are
well over the washing and ironing, you know, and you have Wednesday for
the jellies and creams, besides a good two hours in the afternoon to get
out the best china and see to the silver. Friday is for cleaning up and
putting things away, because Saturday one is always busy getting ready
for Sunday."

Miss Ruth demurred. "I should rather have it on a Friday."

"Well, you don't know anything about the housekeeping part of it," said
Miss Deborah, promptly. "And I don't believe William Denner would want
to come then; you know he is quite superstitious about Friday. Beside, it
is not convenient for me," she added, settling the matter once for all.

"Oh, I've no objection to Thursday," said Miss Ruth. "I don't know but
that I prefer it. Yes, we will have it on Thursday." Having thus asserted
herself, Miss Ruth began to put away her paints and cover her canvas.

"It is a pity the whist was put off to-night," said Miss Deborah; "we
could have arranged it at the rectory. But if I see Adele Dale to-morrow,
I'll tell her."

"I beg," said Miss Ruth quickly, "that you'll do nothing of the sort."

"What!" exclaimed Miss Deborah.

"We will write the invitations, if you please," said Miss Ruth loftily.

"Fiddlesticks!" retorted the other. "We'll write the Forsythes, of
course, but the people at the rectory and Adele Dale?--nonsense!"

"It is not nonsense," Miss Ruth answered; "it is _proper_, and it must be
done. I understand these things, Deborah; you are so taken up with your
cookin