urge, however, had but very partial success, though the
conversation was prolonged far into the evening. Ellen said
little, and did not weep any more; but in secret her heart
refused consolation.

Long before this the servant had brought in the tea-things.
Nobody regarded it at the time, but the little kettle hissing
away on the fire now by chance attracted Ellen's attention,
and she suddenly recollected her mother had had no tea. To
make her mother's tea was Ellen's regular business. She
treated it as a very grave affair, and loved it as one of the
pleasantest in the course of the day. She used in the first
place to make sure that the kettle really boiled; then she
carefully poured some water into the teapot and rinsed it,
both to make it clean and to make it hot; then she knew
exactly how much tea to put into the tiny little teapot, which
was just big enough to hold two cups of tea; and having poured
a very little boiling water to it, she used to set it by the
side of the fire while she made half a slice of toast. How
careful Ellen was about that toast! The bread must not be cut
too thick, nor too thin; the fire must, if possible, burn
clear and bright; and she herself held the bread on a fork,
just at the right distance from the coals to get nicely
browned without burning. When this was done to her
satisfaction (and if the first piece failed, she would take
another), she filled up the little tea-pot from the boiling
kettle, and proceeded to make a cup of tea. She knew, and was
very careful to put in, just the quantity of milk and sugar
that her mother liked; and then she used to carry the tea and
toast on a little tray to her mother's side, and very often