She was twisting in her fingers a fine gold chain, which hung from her neck. I caught her cunning glance as she flourished some tansy leaves before her face, imitating Mrs. Dexter to the life. I laughed, and she came to me. "See," she said softly, "I have something from heaven." She lifted her white apron, and I saw under it, pinned to her dress, a splendid black butterfly, spotted with red and gold. "It is mine," she said, "you shall not touch it. God blew it in through the window; but it has not breathed yet." "Pooh; I have three mice in the kitchen." "Where is the mother?" "In the hayrick, I suppose, I left it there." "I hate you," she said, in an enraged voice. "I would strike you, if it wasn't for this holy butterfly." "Cassandra," said Mrs. Dexter, "does look like her pa; the likeness is ex-tri-ordinary. They say my William resembles me; but parients are no judges." A faint murmur rose from the knitters, which signified agreement with her remark. "I do think," she continued, "that it is high time Dr. Snell had a colleague; he has outlived his usefulness. I never could say that I thought he was the right kind of man for our congregation; his principals as a man I have nothing to say against; but _why_ don't we have revivals?" When Mrs. Dexter wished to be elegant she stepped out of the vernacular. She was about to speak again when the whole party broke into a loud talk on the subject she had started, not observing Temperance, who appeared at the door, and beckoned to mother. I followed her out. "The members are goin' it, ain't they?" she said. "Do see if things are about right, Mis Morgeson." Mother made a few deviations from the straight lines in which Temperance had ranged the viands, and told her to put the tea on the tray, and the chairs round the table. "There's no place for Mr. Morgeson," observed Temperance. "He is in Milford," mother replied. "The brethren wont come, I spose, till after dark?" "I suppose not." "Glad to get rid of their wives' clack, I guess." From the silence which followed mother's return to the parlor, I concluded they were performing the ancient ceremony of waiting for some one to go through the doorway first. They came at last with an air of indifference, as if the idea of eating had not yet occurred, and delayed taking seats till mother urged it; then they drew up to the table, hastily, turned the plates right-side up, spread large silk handkerchiefs over their laps, and, with their eyes fixed on space, preserved a dead silence, which was only broken by mother's inquiries about their taste in milk or sugar. Temperance came in with plates of waffles and buttered shortcake, which she offered with a cut and thrust air, saying, as she did so, "I expect you can't eat them; I know they are tough." Everybody, however, accepted both. She then handed round the preserves, and went out to bake more waffles. By this time the cups had circled the table, but no one had tasted a morsel.