wages; but this was an unusual occasion. In general, she used
herb-tea for herself, when at home, unless some thoughtful mistress
made a present of tea-leaves from her more abundant household. The
two chairs drawn out for visitors, and duly swept and dusted; an old
board arranged with some skill upon two old candle boxes set on end
(rather rickety to be sure, but she knew the seat of old, and when
to sit lightly; indeed the whole affair was more for apparent
dignity of position than for any real ease); a little, very little
round table, put just before the fire, which by this time was
blazing merrily; her unlacquered ancient, third-hand tea-tray
arranged with a black tea-pot, two cups with a red and white
pattern, and one with the old friendly willow pattern, and saucers,
not to match (on one of the extra supply the lump of butter
flourished away); all these preparations complete, Alice began to
look about her with satisfaction, and a sort of wonder what more
could be done to add to the comfort of the evening. She took one of
the chairs away from its appropriate place by the table, and putting
it close to the broad large hanging shelf I told you about when I
first described her cellar-dwelling, and mounting on it, she pulled
towards her an old deal box, and took thence a quantity of the oat
bread of the north, the "clap-bread" of Cumberland and Westmoreland,
and descending carefully with the thin cakes, threatening to break
to pieces in her hand, she placed them on the bare table, with the
belief that her visitors would have an unusual treat in eating the
bread of her childhood. She brought out a good piece of a
four-pound loaf of common household bread as well, and then sat down
to rest, really to rest, and not to pretend, on one of the
rush-bottomed chairs. The candle was ready to be lighted, the
kettle boiled, the tea was awaiting its doom in its paper parcel;
all was ready.