ses in a vase, and rearranged this and that,
moving lightly and softly about. Her footsteps were as soundless as the
fall of tender leaves, and her garments made no more rustle than the
unfolding of a flower. She threw one of the red roses at David, and
wafted the judge a kiss. Once or twice she turned to speak to William,
but forthwith smilingly gave up all thought of it for the time being.

There never was any use in anybody's trying to speak while Miss Penelope
was in the height of the excitement of making the morning coffee. An
opportunity for a word might possibly occur during the making of the
coffee for dinner or supper. Miss Penelope did not consider this
function quite so solemn a ceremony at dinner or supper time. Sometimes,
at rare intervals, she had been known to allow the coffee for dinner or
supper to be made by the cook in the kitchen. But the making of the
breakfast coffee was a very different and far more imposing ceremonial.
This must always be performed in the presence of the, entire assembled
household, by her own hand, on the wide hearth in the great room of
Cedar House. To have permitted the cook to make the morning coffee in
the kitchen, would have been in Miss Penelope's eyes, to relegate a
sacred rite to profane hands in an unconsecrated place. Her own making
of the morning coffee had indeed much of the solemnity of a religious
ceremony--or would have had, if those who looked on, had been unable to
hear, or even slightly dull of hearing. For the sound of Miss Penelope's
voice was charming when the listener could not hear what it said. And
her dulcet tone always ran through the whole performance like the faint,
sweet echo of distant music. But when the listener's ears were keen, and
he could hear the things that this kind, caressing voice was saying, the
threats that it was uttering!--They were alarming enough to curdle the
blood of the little cup-bearers, black, brown, and yellow, who always
flew like shuttles back and forth between the big house and the distant
kitchen while Miss Penelope was making the breakfast coffee. It required
much flying of small dusky legs, to and fro, before the cold water was
cold enough, the hot water hot enough, and the fresh egg fresh enough,
to satisfy Miss Penelope that the coffee would be all that it should be.

On this particular morning the usual excitement had reached its crisis
as Ruth came down the stairs. There was usually a slight lull when the
first slen