"I suppose not."

"Glad to get rid of their wives' clack, I guess."

From the silence which followed mother's return to the parlor, I
concluded they were performing the ancient ceremony of waiting for
some one to go through the doorway first. They came at last with an
air of indifference, as if the idea of eating had not yet occurred,
and delayed taking seats till mother urged it; then they drew up to
the table, hastily, turned the plates right-side up, spread large silk
handkerchiefs over their laps, and, with their eyes fixed on space,
preserved a dead silence, which was only broken by mother's inquiries
about their taste in milk or sugar. Temperance came in with plates
of waffles and buttered shortcake, which she offered with a cut and
thrust air, saying, as she did so, "I expect you can't eat them; I
know they are tough."

Everybody, however, accepted both. She then handed round the
preserves, and went out to bake more waffles.

By this time the cups had circled the table, but no one had tasted a
morsel.

"Do help yourselves," mother entreated, whereat they fell upon the
waffles.

"Temperance is as good a cook as ever," said one; "she is a prize,
isn't she, Mis Morgeson?"

"She is faithful and industrious," mother replied.