Now, setting a tea-table is, in itself considered, an act of a peaceful and even softening nature; but Chloe converted it into a declaration of war by her manner of performing the same. She reproached Miss Stanfield with the bread, upbraided her with the butter, defied her with the milk, and, so to speak, threw at her head every article she put down. She knew that Miss Stanfield detested anything like a clatter, and she hit every spoon against every other spoon and every dish against every other dish on the table. She made separate journeys to the kitchen for everything she wanted, and slammed more doors than would have been supposed to be in the famous palace of the one-eyed Calender. "Supper is ready!" said Chloe at last, when she could by no possibility spin her preparations out any longer. "Well, why don't you ring the bell, then?" asked Miss Priscilla, fretfully. "Where is Miss Druett?" "Miss Druett ain't a-coming down!" answered Chloe. "Not coming down! Why not?" "She says she is too busy. And I have took her tea up to her." "Why, what is she doing?" asked Miss Priscilla. "She is a-taking of her things out of her drawers and a-looking of them over, and a-laying of them in her trunks," answered Chloe, with great deliberation and an evident enjoyment of her words and of the annoyance produced by them. "David and me has brought her trunks down out of the garret, and David is a-going to take the biggest of 'em over to Cohansey to be mended when he goes in the morning. And I have took her tea up to her room, and she is a-drinking of it there, so there is no use of waiting for her." Miss Priscilla took her place at the tea-board with an impatient—"Well, there, you may go!" And Chloe retired, firing off another volley of what Mr. Sydney Smith calls "wooden swearing," on her way to her own quarters. Miss Priscilla did not like to make her own tea, and that for an odd reason. She liked it very sweet, and she never could bring herself to put in as much sugar as she wanted. However, she poured out the weak beverage and handed a cup to Calista, who received it with a formal "Thank you." No more was said till, to her surprise, Miss Priscilla asked Calista if she would have another cup of tea. "If you please," said Calista, with equally formal politeness, determined to give no opening for another outbreak if she could help it. Not another word was spoken. Miss Priscilla composed herself for her usual nap, and Calista was about to leave the room when she was recalled by a— "Don't go. Sit here with your work," which she could not but think had something rather imploring in its tone. "I wonder whether she really is afraid to stay alone," thought Calista, as she resumed her seat. She knitted in silence till it was too dark to see; and then, leaning on the window-seat, she meditated on the various things which had happened during the day.