hearth, she began to rock to and fro just far enough to try the spring
of her ankle, without, however, once removing her boot from its
pressure on the hearth.

"In twenty minutes more," she said aloud, lifting her fine eyes to the
dial with a smile that told how impatiently she was coquetting with
the time. "In twenty minutes. There, one has gone--another--five!--so
now I may go to work in earnest."

She started up as if it delighted her to be in a hurry, and rolling
up the child's frock removed it with a little work basket to the
table. Then she spread a spotless cloth upon the stand, smoothing
it lightly about the edges with both hands, and opening a little
cupboard where you might have caught glimpses of a tea-set, all of
snow-white china, and six bright silver spoons in a tumbler, spread
out like a fan, with various other neat and useful things, part of
which she busily transferred to the stand.

By the time her little supper table was ready, the kettle began to
throw up a cloud of steam from its bright spout. A soft, mellow hum
arose with it, rushing out louder and louder, like an imprisoned bird
carousing in the vapor. The fire glowed up around it red, and
cheerfully throwing its light in a golden circle on the carpet, the
stand, and on the placid face of Jane Chester as she knelt before
the grate, holding a slice of bread before the coals, now a little
nearer, then further off, that every inch of the white surface might
be equally browned.

When everything was ready--the plate of toast neatly buttered--the
tea put to soak in the drollest little china tea-pot you ever set