was seated at a small table in one corner; and on each side of her in a
chair sat a cat! One cat was a gray "coon," the other an Angora; and
both of them sat up as grave as judges, nibbling bits of cheese. Mrs.
McQuilken herself, dressed in a very odd style, was knitting again. She
was a remarkably industrious woman, and as it would be perhaps three or
four minutes before the soup came in, she could not bear to waste the
time in idleness. Her head-dress was odd enough. It was just a strip of
white muslin wound around the head like an East Indian puggaree. Mrs.
McQuilken had many outlandish fashions. She was the widow of a
sea-captain and had been abroad most of her life. The children could
hardly help staring at her. Even after they had learned to know her
pretty well they still wanted to stare; and not being able to remember
her name they spoke of her as "the knitting-woman."

"Look, Lucy," whispered Jimmy; "there's a boy I know over there at that
little table. It's Nate Pollard."

He waved his hand toward him and Nate waved in reply. At home Jimmy had
not known Nate very well, for he was older than himself and in higher
classes; but here among strangers Jimmy-boy was glad to see a familiar
face. Mr. and Mrs. Pollard were with their son. Perhaps they had all
come for the summer. Jimmy hoped so.

There were two colored servants gliding about the room, and a pretty
waiting-maid.

"O dear, no cook from Cathay," whispered Kyzie to Edith.

"I don't know what you mean."