Then the hostess read, or made some one read, the scraps
which seemed most worthy in the reviews and magazines of
the last issues, and at four the husbands and brothers
and neighbors generally dropped in, and there was
afternoon tea.
"You are sure you have cream enough, Ellen?"
"Oh, yes, mum."
"All kinds of tea, you know, that which the Chinese
gentlemen sent, and be sure of the chocolate for Mrs.
Bunce."
"Indeed yes, mum."
"And let me know just before you bring up the hot
water." Doorbell rings. "There is Mrs. Walter now!"
No, it wasn't Mrs. Walter. She came three minutes
after. But before she came, Howells, the milkman, had
lifted Nora from her seat. As the snow fell fast on the
doorsteps, he carried her carefully up to the door,
and even by the time Ellen answered the bell he had the
heavy chest, dragging it over the snow by the stout rope
at one end.
Ellen was amazed to find this group instead of Mrs.
Walter. She called her mistress, who heard Howells's
realistic story with amazement, not to say amusement.
"You poor dear child!" she cried at once. "Come in
where it is dry! John McLaughlin? No, indeed! Who can
John McLaughlin be? Ellen, what is Mike's last name?"
Mike was the choreman, who made the furnace fire and
kept the sidewalk.
"Mike's name, mum? I don't know, mum. Mary will
know, mum.
Pages:
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275