This was not the first time the great house had rendered a like service to the little house, and so Katy did not blush when she explained that her mother wanted Morris’s forks, and salt-cellars, and spoons, and would he be kind enough to bring the caster over himself, and come to dinner to-morrow at two o’clock, and would he go for Mr. Cameron? The forks, and salt-cellars, and spoons, and caster were cheerfully promised, while Morris consented to go for the guest; and then Katy came to the rest of her errand, the part distasteful to her, inasmuch as it concerned Uncle Ephraim—honest, unsophisticated Uncle Ephraim, _who would come to the table in his shirt sleeves_! This was the burden of her grief—the one thing she dreaded most, because she knew how such an act was looked upon by Mr. Cameron who, never having lived in the country a day in his life, except as he was either guest or traveler, could not make due allowance for these little departures from refinement, so obnoxious to people of his training. “What is it, Katy?” Morris asked, as he saw how she hesitated, and guessed her errand was not all told. “I hope you will not think me foolish or wicked,” Katy began, her eyes filling with tears, as she felt that she might be doing Uncle Ephraim a wrong by admitting that in any way he could be improved. “I certainly love Uncle Ephraim dearly, and _I_ do not mind his ways, but—but—Mr. Cameron may—that is, oh, Cousin Morris, _did_ you ever notice how Uncle Ephraim will persist in coming to the table in his shirt sleeves?” “_Persist_ is hardly the word to use,” Morris replied, smiling comically, as he readily understood Katy’s misgivings. “Persist would imply his having been often remonstrated with for that breach of etiquette; whereas I doubt whether the idea that it was not in strict accordance with politeness was ever suggested to him.” “Maybe not,” Katy answered. “It was never necessary till now, and I feel so disturbed, for I want Mr. Cameron to like him, and if he does that I am sure he won’t.” “Why do you think so?” Morris asked, and Katy replied, “He is so particular, and was so very angry at a little hotel between Lakes George and Champlain, where we took our dinner before going on the boat. There was a man along—a real good-natured man, too, so kind to everybody—and, as the day was warm, he carried his coat on his arm, and sat down to the table right opposite me. Mr. Cameron was _so_ indignant, and said such harsh things, which the man heard I am sure, for he put on his coat directly, and I saw him afterward on the boat, sweating like rain, and looking so sorry, as if he had been guilty of something wrong. I am sure, though, he had not?”