Phronsie put forth a trembling hand, as it seemed to be expected of her,
and took the cup of water, spilling about half of it, which ran off the
table-edge and down her little brown gown, the Dukess greeting this mishap
with a shout of laughter, checking it suddenly with a start and a dismayed
glance in the direction of the broken window.

"It's time fer you to talk some," she said. "You should say, 'Yes, I think
so, too.'"

"I think so, too," murmured Phronsie, viewing her cup of milk gravely.

"An' you must say, 'I think, Dukess, you have the most splendid milk.'"

"It isn't milk," said Phronsie gravely, and she turned serious eyes on the
lady of quality opposite.

"Oh, yes, it is," said the Dukess, "an' you orter go on an' say, 'An' all
them perfectly beyewtiful flowers, I never see any so fine!'"--pointing to
the empty spools in between the eatables.

"But they aren't flowers," said Phronsie.

This occasioned so much discussion that there was no lack of conversation,
and was the reason that steps over the stairway were not heard. The door
was thrown open, and an old, stout, sodden woman, in a dirty, green shawl
and battered bonnet stood transfixed with amazement in the entrance. She
hadn't a pleasant eye beneath her straggling, white hair, and her first
words were not altogether agreeable nor appropriate at five-o'clock tea.