But trouble must enter into the affairs of this world, and it
entered that night into Gabriella.

At supper the farmer, having picked out for her the best piece of
the breast of the fried chicken, inquired in a voice which implied
how cordially superfluous the question was:--

"Miss Gabriella, will you have cream gravy?"

"No, thank you."

The shock to that family! Not take cream gravy! What kind of a
teacher was that, now? Every small hand, old enough to use a knife
or fork, held it suspended. At the foot of the table, the farmer,
dropping his head a little, helped the children, calling their
names one by one, more softly and in a tone meant to restore
cheerfulness if possible. The little wife at the head of the table
had just put sugar into Gabriella's cup and was in the act of
pouring the coffee. She hastily emptied the sugar back into the
sugar-dish and asked with look of dismay:--

"Will you have sugar in your coffee?"

The situation grew worse at breakfast. In a voice to which
confidence had been mysteriously restored during the night--a
voice that seemed to issue from a honey-comb and to drip sweetness
all the way across the table, that big fellow at the foot again
inquired:--