CHAPTER SECOND.

THE SOFT ANSWER.


An old lady was seated by a little ricketty round table, knitting;
knitting very fast. Surely she did not always knit so fast, Germans are
great knitters it is true, but the needles made quite a noise--click,
click, click--against one another. The table was covered with a
snow-white cloth. By her side was a loaf called by bakers and
housekeepers, crusty; the term might apply either to the loaf or the old
lady's temper. A little piece of cheese stood on a clean plate, and a
crab on another, a little pat of butter on a third, and this, with a jug
of water, formed the preparation for the evening meal of the aunt and
niece. Emilie went up to her aunt, gaily, with her bunch of primroses in
her hand, and addressing her in the German language, begged her pardon
for keeping supper waiting. The old lady knitted faster than ever,
dropped a stitch, picked it up, looked out of the window, and cleared
up, not her temper, but her throat; click, click went the needles, and
Emilie looked concerned.

"Aunt, dear," she said, "shall we sit down to supper?" "My appetite is
gone, Emilie, I thank you." "I am really sorry, aunt, but you know you
are so kind, you wish me to take plenty of exercise, and I was detained
to-night. Miss Parker and I stayed chattering to an old sailor. It was
very thoughtless, pray excuse me. But now aunt, dear, see this fine
crab, you like crabs; old Peter Varley sent it to you, the old man you
knitted the guernsey for in the winter."