picked up Ellen's hat, crammed it down ruthlessly on her head, hind part
before, and heaving her up under her arm carried her into the
dining-room. The rest of the company followed, and were ushered into
their places to the accompaniment of Ellen's shrieks, which they
pretended not to hear.

"Mr. Pratt, will you take the end of the table?" said Joanna to the
scared little clergyman, who would almost have preferred to sit under it
rather than receive the honour which Miss Godden's respect for his cloth
dictated. "Mr. Huxtable, will you sit by me?" Having thus settled her
aristocracy she turned to her equals and allotted places to Vine of
Birdskitchen, Furnese of Misleham, Southland of Yokes Court, and their
wives. "Arthur Alce, you take my left," and a tall young man with red
hair, red whiskers, and a face covered with freckles and tan, came
sidling to her elbow.

In front of Joanna a servant-girl had just set down a huge black teapot,
which had been stewing on the hob ever since the funeral party had been
sighted crossing the railway line half a mile off. Round it were two
concentric rings of teacups--good old Worcester china, except for a
common three which had been added for number's sake, and which Joanna
carefully bestowed upon herself, Ellen, and Arthur Alce. Ellen had
stopped crying at the sight of the cakes and jam and pots of "relish"
which stretched down the table in orderly lines, so the meal proceeded
according to the decent conventions of silence. Nobody spoke, except to
offer some eatable to somebody else. Joanna saw that no cup or plate was
empty. She ought really to have delegated this duty to another, being
presumably too closely wrapped in grief to think of anybody's appetite
but her own, but Joanna never delegated anything, and her "A little more
tea, Mrs. Vine?"--"Another of these cakes, Mr. Huxtable?"--"Just a