cups and plates at one end of
the big table.

Only a few moments before the little feast was ready, Lydia came rather
anxiously into the kitchen. She greeted Rodney smilingly, seizing the
first opportunity for an aside to say to Martie:

"Pa's home, Mart. And he doesn't like your having Rod out here. I
walked him up to the Tates', but no one was home except Lizzie. Shame!
He saw Rodney's cap in the hall--he's in the dining room." Aloud she
said cheerfully: "I think this is dreadful--making you work so hard,
Rod. Come--tea's nearly ready. You and I'll wait for it in the dining
room, like the gentleman and lady we are!"

"Oh, I'm having a grand time!" Rodney laughed. But he allowed himself
to be led away. A few minutes later Martie, with despair in her heart,
carried the loaded tray into the dining room.

Her father, in one of his bad moods, was sitting by the empty
fireplace. The room, in the early autumn twilight, was cold. Len had
come in and expected his share of the unfamiliar luxury of tea, and
more than his share of the hot toast.

Rodney, unaffected by the atmosphere, gaily busied himself with the
tray. Lydia came gently in with an armful of light wood which she laid
in the fireplace.

"There is no necessity for a fire," Malcolm said. "I wouldn't light
that, my dear."

"I thought--just to take the chill off," Lydia stammered.

Her father shook his head. Lydia subsided.

"We shall be having supper shortly, I suppose?" he asked patiently,
looking at a large gold watch. "It's after half-past five now."

"But, Pa," Lydia laughed a little constrainedly, "we never have dinner
until half-past six!"

"Oh, on week days--certainly," he agreed stiffly. "On Sundays, unless I
am entirely wrong, we sit down before six."

"Len," Martie murmured, "why don't you go make yourself some toast?"

"Don't have to!" Len laughed with his mouth full.

"Here--I'll go out and make some more!" Rodney said buoyantly, catching
up a plate. Lydia instantly intervened; this would not do. Pa would be
furious. Obviously Martie could not go, because in her absence Pa,
Rodney, and Len would either be silent, or say what was better unsaid.
Lydia herself went out for a fresh supply of toast.

Martie was grateful, but in misery. Lydia was always slow. The endless
minutes wore away, she and Rodney playing with their empty plates, Len
also waiting hungrily, her father watching them sombrely. If Len hadn't
come in and been so greedy, Mart