morning, so's to have it ready if Mr. Gaylord ever wants a cup. He's a
master hand for tea, and always was. There: _I_ guess you better take it
without milk. I put some sugar in the saucer, if you want any." She dropped
noiselessly upon her feather cushion again, and Bartley, who had risen to
receive the tea from her, remained standing while he drank it.

"That does seem to go to the spot," he said, as he sipped it, thoughtfully
observant of its effect upon his disagreeable feelings. "I wish I had
you to take care of me, Mrs. Gaylord, and keep me from making a fool of
myself," he added, when he had drained the cup. "No, no!" he cried, at her
offering to take it from him. "I'll set it down. I know it will fret you to
have it in here, and I'll carry it out into the kitchen." He did so before
she could prevent him, and came back, touching his mustache with his
handkerchief. "I declare, Mrs. Gaylord, I should love to live in a kitchen
like that."

"I guess you wouldn't if you had to," said Mrs. Gaylord, flattered into a
smile. "Marcia, she likes to sit out there, she says, better than anywheres
in the house. But I always tell her it's because she was there so much when
she was little. I don't see as she seems over-anxious to do anything there
_but_ sit, I tell her. Not but what she knows how well enough. Mr. Gaylord,
too, he's great for being round in the kitchen. If he gets up in the night,
when he has his waking spells, he had rather take his lamp out there, if
there's a fire left, and read, any time, than what he would in the parlor.
Well, we used to sit there together a good deal when we were young, and he
got the habit of it. There's everything in habit," she added, thoughtfully.
"Marcia, she's got quite in the way, lately, of going to the Methodist
church."

"Yes, I've seen her there. You know I board round at the different