Ruthena and her four youngest came early in the morning (her other four were helping their father hoe corn), and all day a deal of cooking went on. As it all had to be done over a big open fireplace, there was some back-breaking work. When Uncle Lot came down from the field to dinner, traces of the preparations were hastily removed; but after he left, things proceeded again rapidly. When it came to setting the table, Aunt Ailsie looked disapprovingly at her yellow-and-red checked oilcloth. "Them women had fair white linen on theirn," she said. "Maw, them fine linen burying-sheets you wove thirty year gone, and kept laid away so careful ever sence--if I was you, I'd take 'n' use one of them. I will iron hit out good, and hit will look all right, and not be sp'ilt for buryings. And if I was you, I'd put t'other on the women's bed--I heared Cynthy's Charlotty say they follered laying between sheets instid of quilts and kivers, like we do." "Yes, and they had fine linen handkerchers on their table, too, alongside everybody's plate,"--in a discouraged voice; "but I hain't got no sech. Minervy, you run out and pick a pretty flower-pot right off--they had posies in the middle of their table, and I aim to make 'em feel at home if I can." Half an hour before sundown, the two guests, Amy and Virginia, arrived. Before sitting down on the porch, they must first get acquainted with Ruthena and her four little ones, and admire the pretty looks of the latter. "And they hain't all I got," volunteered Ruthena; "I'm twenty-five year old, and got eight young-uns." "And these here women is twenty-eight, and hain't got even a man!" said Aunt Ailsie, in a distressed voice. "Eight is quite a large family, isn't it?" remarked Amy. Ruthena opened her eyes. "Why, no," she said; "a body expects to have anyhow twelve, don't they?" "Not where we came from," replied the guests. Their attention was next drawn by the big loom that filled one end of the porch, and the two spinning-wheels, a large one for wool, a small one for flax, that stood near it. This led to questions about Aunt Ailsie's weaving, and to the display of shelves and "chists" full of handsome blankets and lovely "kivers" (coverlets). Although all her children had been freely dowered with both when they married, Aunt Ailsie still had many left. "I have follered weaving all my life," she said; "hit is my delight, all the way along: shearing the sheep, washing the wool, cyarding and spinning and dyeing hit, and then weaving the patterns--hit is all pretty work. But best of all is the dyeing--seeing the colors come out so bright and fair."