“Why, some I tuk back to Mis' Bell for what I borrered befo'--I'm always most careful to make return for what I borrers--and yo' know, Mis' Warden, dat waffles and sweet potaters and cohn bread dey do take butter; to say nothin' o' them little cakes you all likes so well--_an'_ de fried chicken, _an'_--” “Never mind, Sukey; you go and present my compliments to Mrs. Bell, and ask her for some; and be sure you return it promptly. Now, girls, don't let me forget to tell Ross to send up another tub.” “We can't seem to remember any better than you can, mother,” said Adeline, dreamily. “Those details are so utterly uninteresting.” “I should think it was Sukey's business to tell him,” said Madeline with decision; while the “a-lines” kept silence this time. “There! Sukey's gone!” Mrs. Warden suddenly remarked, watching the stout figure moving heavily away under the pepper trees. “And I meant to have asked her to make me a glass of shrub! Dora, dear, you run and get it for mother.” Dora laid down her work, not too regretfully, and started off. “That child is the most practical of any of you,” said her mother; which statement was tacitly accepted. It was not extravagant praise. Dora poked about in the refrigerator for a bit of ice. She had no idea of the high cost of ice in that region--it came from “the store,” like all their provisions. It did not occur to her that fish and milk and melons made a poor combination in flavor; or that the clammy, sub-offensive smell was not the natural and necessary odor of refrigerators. Neither did she think that a sunny corner of the back porch near the chimney, though convenient, was an ill-selected spot for a refrigerator. She couldn't find the ice-pick, so put a big piece of ice in a towel and broke it on the edge of the sink; replaced the largest fragment, used what she wanted, and left the rest to filter slowly down through a mass of grease and tea-leaves; found the raspberry vinegar, and made a very satisfactory beverage which her mother received with grateful affection. “Thank you, my darling,” she said. “I wish you'd made a pitcherful.” “Why didn't you, Do?” her sisters demanded. “You're too late,” said Dora, hunting for her needle and then for her thimble, and then for her twist; “but there's more in the kitchen.” “I'd rather go without than go into the kitchen,” said Adeline; “I do despise a kitchen.” And this seemed to be the general sentiment; for no one moved. “My mother always liked raspberry shrub,” said Mrs. Warden; “and your Aunt Leicester, and your Raymond cousins.” Mrs. Warden had a wide family circle, many beloved relatives, “connections” of whom she was duly proud and “kin” in such widening ramifications that even her carefully reared daughters lost track of them. “You young people don't seem to care about your cousins at all!” pursued their mother, somewhat severely, setting her glass on the railing, from whence it was presently knocked off and broken.