the doorway, and seeing the gaunt whitewashed walls, the bare rafters,
and the sweeping rain against the window.

"Do, sister," she entreated, "come into the house, and let us arrange
about the dinner."

"No," said Miss Ruth, sighing, "I must wash these brushes."

"Why not let Sarah do it?" asked the other, stepping over a little stream
of water which had forced itself under the threshold.

"Now, surely, sister," said Miss Ruth pettishly, "you know Sarah would
get the color on the handles. But there! I suppose you don't know how
artistic people feel about such things." She stopped long enough to take
off her gloves and tie the strings of her long white apron a little
tighter about her trim waist; then she went to work again.

"No, I suppose I don't understand," Miss Deborah acknowledged; "but never
mind, we can talk here, only it is a little damp. What do you think of
asking them for Thursday? It is a good day for a dinner party. You are
well over the washing and ironing, you know, and you have Wednesday for
the jellies and creams, besides a good two hours in the afternoon to get
out the best china and see to the silver. Friday is for cleaning up and
putting things away, because Saturday one is always busy getting ready
for Sunday."

Miss Ruth demurred. "I should rather have it on a Friday."

"Well, you don't know anything about the housekeeping part of it," said
Miss Deborah, promptly. "And I don't believe William Denner would want