“Martha ought to be in the dining-room, already, slow as she is; it wants but half an hour of tea-time,” said Miss Harriet, as she turned and went into the shaded house. It was Martha’s duty to wait at table, and there had been many trying scenes and defeated efforts toward her education. Martha was certainly very clumsy, and she seemed the clumsier because she had replaced her aunt, a most skillful person, who had but lately married a thriving farm and its prosperous owner. It must be confessed that Miss Harriet was a most bewildering instructor, and that her pupil’s brain was easily confused and prone to blunders. The coming of Helena had been somewhat dreaded by reason of this incompetent service, but the guest took no notice of frowns or futile gestures at the first tea-table, except to establish friendly relations with Martha on her own account by a reassuring smile. They were about the same age, and next morning, before cousin Harriet came down, Helena showed by a word and a quick touch the right way to do something that had gone wrong and been impossible to understand the night before. A moment later the anxious mistress came in without suspicion, but Martha’s eyes were as affectionate as a dog’s, and there was a new look of hopefulness on her face; this dreaded guest was a friend after all, and not a foe come from proud Boston to confound her ignorance and patient efforts. The two young creatures, mistress and maid, were hurrying across the bleaching-green. “I can’t reach the ripest cherries,” explained Helena politely, “and I think that Miss Pyne ought to send some to the minister. He has just made us a call. Why, Martha, you haven’t been crying again!” “Yes’m,” said Martha sadly. “Miss Pyne always loves to send something to the minister,” she acknowledged with interest, as if she did not wish to be asked to explain these latest tears. “We’ll arrange some of the best cherries in a pretty dish. I’ll show you how, and you shall carry them over to the parsonage after tea,” said Helena cheerfully, and Martha accepted the embassy with pleasure. Life was beginning to hold moments of something like delight in the last few days. “You’ll spoil your pretty dress, Miss Helena,” Martha gave shy warning, and Miss Helena stood back and held up her skirts with unusual care while the country girl, in her heavy blue checked gingham, began to climb the cherry-tree like a boy. Down came the scarlet fruit like bright rain into the green grass. “Break some nice twigs with the cherries and leaves together; oh, you’re a duck, Martha!” and Martha, flushed with delight, and looking far more like a thin and solemn blue heron, came rustling down to earth again, and gathered the spoils into her clean apron.