She had been a little afraid today, especially with two guests and the
grandchildren rampant after church, and the extra leaf in the table that
squeezed Colonel Crowe almost into the sideboard and herself nearly out of
the window and made the serving of a meal a series of passings of over-hot
plates from hand to hand, exposed to the piracies of Jane Ellen. But it
had gone off better than she could have hoped. Colonel Crowe had not
absent-mindedly begun to serve vegetables with a teaspoon, Aunt Elsie had
not dissolved in tears and tottered away from the table at some imagined
rudeness of Dickie's, and Jane Ellen had not once had a chance to take off
her drawers.

"Ice tea!" said the avid voice of Jane Ellen in her ear. "Ice tea!"

Mrs. Crowe filled the glass and submitted a request for "please"
mechanically. She wondered, rather idly, if she would spend her time in
purgatory serving millions of Jane Ellens with iced tea.

"Ahem!" That was Colonel Crowe. "But you should have known us in the days
of our greatness, Mrs. Severance. When I was king of Estancia--"

"I'd rather have you like this, Colonel Crowe, really. I've always wanted
big families and never had one to live in--"

"Heard from Nancy recently, Oliver?" from Margaret, slightly satiric.

"Why yes, Margie, now and then. Not as often as you've heard from Stu
Winthrop probably but--"

"Motha, can I have some suga on my booberrish? Motha, can I have some suga