that; and Dot took her first lesson in darning, there and then. The old
lady and the little girl came down to dinner that evening in a rather
sober frame of mind, for the occasion had been wearing upon both of
them.

The evening meal at the old Corner House was usually, however, a
cheering event. Mrs. MacCall held sway at one end of the long table in
the huge dining-room, while Aunt Sarah sat at the foot. The girls held
places on either side, and if they had guests the latter were scattered
between the Corner House girls and made to feel at home.

The table here was, in the truest sense, an "extension table." Uncle
Rufus who, in a bobtail coat, white vest and spats, acted as butler,
lengthened the table or shortened it, according to the number to be
served.

Damask and bright silver and glass made the board attractive. The
old-fashioned furniture as well as the table service were the special
care of the old negro. His pride and his delight were in the years he
had served at the old Stower table.

When the family was alone it is a fact that Uncle Rufus considered
himself privileged to join in the children's conversation. And this made
the meal no less enjoyable, for Uncle Rufus added nothing, if he did not
add joy, to the occasion.

"I never lets ma feelin's flow, as some folks does," he chanced to
observe. "Tears don't wash a body's face nowhar's near as good as soap
an' watah--no, ma'am!

"Now, dere's ma daughter, Pechunia: She'd ruther cry dan eat and at
_dat_ you kin see by her size she don't starb herself. She suttenly does
love to attend fun'rals an' sech social gadderin's whar dey kin sit down
an' tell 'bout haw good de remains was 'fore de Grim Reaper come an'
reaped 'em."

Uncle Rufus sniffed. "Dat foolish brack woman! She b'longs right now to
so many buryin' sassieties dat if she done gits buried by all of 'em
when she dies, 'twill take more'n _one_ day to hol' her fun'ral, an'
dat's a fac'!

"Ya-as! Pechunia does love to mo'n. She'd a made a moughty good wife fo'
Jeremiah. 'Twas so when her mammy died. I done suffered as much as any
widder-man ought to t'rough her mammy dyin'. Ya-as, ma'am. But I tell
you what 'tis, honey; 'tain't no use to keep worritin' and worritin'
about anyt'ing dat's done an' gone--not fo'ever.

"Her mammy was dead, an' if I'd been let, ma mind would ha' kinda
chirked up a bit after a w'ile. But dat brack gal would jes' as soon
break down right in de middle of dinner--ef sh