hem Aunt Ruth came in
smiling, and in a state of compromise--that is to say, there had been no
time to change her dress, but she had mounted her best cap and put on
her black watered-silk apron, two pieces of confectionery that it would
take half a chapter to properly describe, so they may go with the simple
announcement that they were wonders.

"Tea is ready," said the old lady; and she smiled more graciously still
when Dick stepped forward and offered his arm to walk the four steps
across to the second best room, where meals were always spread.

Everything was very homely and simple, but to the boy fresh from London
the table was a delight. Right in the centre there was a blue jug full
of the old purser's choicest flowers scenting the room. The best
tea-tray covered one end, with its paraphernalia of best china, the
battered old silver pot and very much worn silver tea-spoons; while at
the other end was a ham in cut, a piece of ornamental preservation, all
pinky fat and crimson lean, marbled throughout. A noble-looking
home-baked loaf, a pat of yellow butter--real cow's butter--ornamented
with a bas-relief of the swing-tailed horned lady who presumably was its
author, and on either side a dish of raspberry jam, and another
containing a piece of virgin honey-comb, from which trickled forth the
pale golden sweetness.

"Allus make it a rule here, sir," said the old purser, "o' having a good
bit o' salt provision in cut. Let me give you a bit o' 'am."

Dick raised no objection, and then, as soon as he was helped, and saw
the cup of tea with a veined pattern of rich lumpy cream running over
it, he sighed involuntarily.

"There, I am sorry," cried Aunt Ruth, "it isn't to your liking. I knew
that ham would be too salt."

Dick Temple flushed like a girl.

"Oh no!" he cried; "it wasn't that."

"Then it's the butter!" cried the old lady, in mortified tones.

"Butter!" cried Dick, who had already eaten two semicircles out of a
slice; "why, it's glorious! We never get such butter in London."

"But you sighed," said the old lady, bridling, while Uncle Abram
wrinkled his forehead and shook his head at Will.

"Did I?" said Dick, colouring a little more deeply. "Well, it was
because I wished Taff was here."

"What, is that your dog?" said the old lady, smiling again.

"No!" cried Dick, laughing; "it's my brother Arthur. I always call him
Taff, because--because--I don't know why, but I generally call him
Taff."