“My dear, I think when I was your age I had just such ideas, but I found as I grew older I had to do as others do.” The time did not pass very gayly, and Molly wondered how she would get through the afternoon if they should stay, for she believed that she and her mother-in-law had nothing in common. When the time came, Molly excused herself and went in to help Marta lay the cloth. The silver and glass were always bright, so there was no hasty rubbing and polishing at the last minute. That morning Harry had brought in from the tiny flower-bed a handful of geranium and coleus, saying: “We have to take them as they are ready; frost may come at any time now.” And they were now ready for the centre, arranged in a deep glass dish, the rich coleus round the edge, the geraniums in the middle. They gave the little table an air of brightness that nothing but flowers could have done. Molly did not want to be many minutes from the parlor, as she knew Mrs. Bishop would think great preparations were being made, and she would rather have given them bread and cheese than that, but she thought she would trust Marta to follow her written directions, as the only things, except the oysters, to cook were those she was very familiar with. The result justified her. It is true the soup had the eggs cut in slices instead of as directed, but that mattered little. When they were seated and Mr. Bishop, who was a _gourmet_ if not a _gourmand_, exclaimed: “Capital soup! capital! why don’t we have it at home?”—Molly felt a good deal relieved and a little triumphant, for Mrs. Bishop was very proud of her cook. “Why, my dear George! I did not know you cared for bean soup!” “I don’t, unless it’s first rate.” When soup was removed and Marta entered with the large dish of oysters, Molly gave one hasty glance,—would they be shriveled into leather, or flabby and half cooked? But the error had been on the best side; more than half were perfectly cooked, the others barely hot through. Poor Marta had followed instructions, but had not thought to turn the pan. However, Molly was only too thankful to have so little wrong, and helped the best to her visitors. They were still almost boiling in the shell; and after this came a pretty dish of noodles that Marta had arranged round a mound of grated cheese. After the luncheon Mrs. Bishop said with a tone of approval which Molly was determined not to think patronizing, “I declare, Molly, you keep house very nicely.” “You must have a remarkable good cook, by Jove!” broke in Mr. Bishop. “I am glad you think so,” said Molly, smiling. “Where did you get her?” “Castle Garden.” Mrs. Bishop almost screamed when she heard it, and then Molly found the right conversational key was struck, for her mother-in-law had a great deal to say about her own troubles with servants, and the troubles of her friends; and when the “hour of digestion” had passed, she asked if they would like to go out and see some of the beauties of Greenfield.