ng fit for me this hot weather."

And Laura, the cool blonde, disposed the folds of her white gown more
gracefully about her, and touched up the eyebrow of the Minerva she was
drawing.

"Little daughter!"

"Yes, father."

"Let me have plenty of clean collars in my bag, for I must go at once;
and some of you bring me a glass of cider in about an hour;--I shall be
in the lower garden."

The old man went away into his imaginary paradise, and Nan into that
domestic purgatory on a summer day,--the kitchen. There were vines
about the windows, sunshine on the floor, and order everywhere; but it
was haunted by a cooking-stove, that family altar whence such varied
incense rises to appease the appetite of household gods, before which
such dire incantations are pronounced to ease the wrath and woe of the
priestess of the fire, and about which often linger saddest memories of
wasted temper, time, and toil.

Nan was tired, having risen with the birds,--hurried, having many cares
those happy little housewives never know,--and disappointed in a hope
that hourly "dwindled, peaked, and pined." She was too young to make
the anxious lines upon her forehead seem at home there, too patient to
be burdened with the labor others should have shared, too light of
heart to be pent up when earth and sky were keeping a blithe holiday.
But she was one of that meek sisterhood who, thinking humbly of
themselves, believe they are honored by being spent in the service of
less conscientious souls, whose careless thanks seem quite reward
enough.

To and fro she went, silent and diligent, giving the grace of
willingness to every humble or distasteful task the day had brought
her; but some malignant sprite seemed to have taken possession of her
kingdom, for rebellion broke out everywhere. The kettles would boil
over most obstreperously,--the mutton refused to cook with the meek
alacrity to be expected from the nature of a sheep,--the stove, with
unnecessary warmth of temper, would glow like a fiery furnace,--the
irons would scorch,--the linens would dry,--and spirits would fail,
though patience never.

Nan tugged on, growing hotter and wearier, more hurried and more
hopeless, till at last the crisis came; for in one fell moment she tore
her gown, burnt her hand, and smutched the collar she was preparing to
finish in the most unexceptionable style. Then, if she had been a
nervous woman, she would have scolded; being a gentle girl, she only
"li