She ran down stairs, quite ready now for her breakfast. Entering the kitchen, she stood still in uncertainty. No table set, no cooking going on, the place in perfect order, and Mrs. Purcell picking over beans at the end of the table. The end of the table was filled with a great heap of the beans, and as she looked them over Mrs. Purcell swept them into a tin pan in her lap. She did not pause or look up. Rotha hesitated a moment. "Good morning!" she said then. "Am I late?" "I don' know what folks in the City o' Pride calls early. 'Thout knowing that, I couldn't say." "But is breakfast over?" "Joe and me, us has had our breakfast two hours ago." "I did not know it was so late! I had no notion what o'clock it was." "Joe said, he guessed you was sleepin' over. That's what he said." "Well, have you kept any breakfast for me, Mrs. Purcell?" "I didn't set by nothin' in particular. I didn't know as you'd be down 'fore dinner. You didn't say." Rotha waited a minute, to let patience have a chance to get her footing; she seemed to be tottering. Then she said, and she said it quietly, "Where can I get something to eat?" "I don' know," said the woman indifferently. "But I must have some breakfast," said Rotha. "Must you? Well, I don' know how you'll get it. _My_ hands is full." "You must give it to me," said Rotha firmly. "I will take it cold, or any way you please; but I must have something." Mrs. Purcell sat silent at her bean picking, and there was a look of defiance on her handsome face which nearly put Rotha's patience to a shameful rout. She hardly knew how to go on; and was extremely glad to see Mr. Purcell come in from the lower kitchen. "Wet mornin'!" said Mr. Purcell, with a little jerk of his head which did duty for a salutation. "Mr. Purcell," said Rotha, "I am glad you are come; there is a question to be decided here." "No there aint; it's decided," put in Mr. Purcell's wife. The man looked as if he would like to be left out of the question; but with a resigned air he asked, "What is it?" "Whether, while I am in this house, I can have my proper meals, and have them properly." "You can have your meals, if you'll come to 'em," said Mrs. Purcell, picking her beans. Rotha was too vexed to speak again, and looked to the man. "Well--you see," he began conciliatingly, as much towards his wife as towards her, Rotha thought, "you see, Prissy has her work, and she has a lot of it; and she likes to do it reg'lar. It kind o' puts her out, you see, to be gettin' breakfast all along the mornin'. Now she's gettin' her dinner. She's like a spider;--let her alone, and put nothin' in her way, and she'll spin as pretty a web as you'll see; but if you tangle it up, it'll never get straight again." Mrs. Purcell kept diligently picking her beans over and sweeping them into her pan. "You do not meet the question yet," said Rotha haughtily.