The breakfast was a counterpart of the supper, except that as our meal was seasoned with Mrs. Philippa's doleful forebodings, so the other was with her still more doleful complaints. The bed was hard—she had heard strange noises—an owl had screeched close by the window, and a death-watch had ticked at her head five times over, and then stopped; and she knew it was an omen of her death, which would happen in either five years, five months, five weeks, or five days. "Or five hours, or five minutes, or perhaps five seconds—who knows?" said Mrs. Deborah, more to herself than her sister. "Who knows, indeed? I may be dead before I leave these walls. I only hope Sister Chloe will take the pains to see that I have a decent funeral, that's all." "Oh, don't be alarmed. You shall have the finest funeral money can buy!" said Mrs. Deborah impatiently. Whereupon Mrs. Philippa began to cry. "Sister Deborah!" said Mrs. Chloe with gentle reproach. "Well there, child, I won't do so again. Come, do eat your breakfast, we shall never get away at this rate." "What is a death-watch?" I ventured to ask. "It is a little maggot or beetle, rather, which lives in the timbers of old houses and the like, and makes a clicking noise when it gnaws or scratches the wood. It is thought by some to be a sign of death; but I have had one in my room these twenty years, and he has not killed me yet." "A dozen death-watches would never kill some people!" said Mrs. Philippa spitefully, through her tears. "But how does the beetle know when one is going to die?" asked Amabel. "It cannot make any difference to him, and it does not seem very likely that God would tell such news to a little worm in the wall, and hide it from the person it most concerns." "If you are an infidel, Niece Leighton, you had better keep your infidelities to yourself!" said Mrs. Philippa with great asperity. "I have not come to my time of life, to be reproved by a chit out of a French convent." "I beg your pardon, aunt!" Amabel answered gravely and gently, though the color rose in her cheeks. Mrs. Deborah made her a sign to be silent, and helped her to a great piece of marmalade, and the breakfast was finished without another word from any one. But we were not to get away just yet. It turned out that one of the horses had lost a shoe, and the coach had a screw loose somewhere, so we were fain to wait two hours till the village blacksmith could supply what was wanted. The elder ladies occupied themselves in knitting. Mrs. Deborah being engaged on a substantial pair of hose for some poor person, and Mrs. Chloe on a counterpane, which had been in hand for some years. Mrs. Philippa lay on the hard sofa and fretted at the delay. And Amabel and I explored the great old house, found our way into the kitchen, and made friends with the hostess and her mother, a pretty neat old woman, who sat all day in a warm corner, and read in her great Bible.