What with the opening service, and what with the coming party at Mrs. Jinks's, Foxwood was that day stirred to its centre. The preparations for the kettledrum were on an exhaustive scale, the different ladies having vied with each other in sending in supplies. Butter, cream, delicate bread and cakes, jam, marmalade, choice fruit, biscuits, and other things too numerous to mention. Miss Blake had taken a huge packet of tea, and some beautiful flowers, the latter offering cajoled out of old Maclean, the head gardener at the Court. The walk to St. Jerome's and back, together with the excitement of the new service, had made them thirsty, and it was universally agreed to take tea first, though only four o'clock, and proceed to business afterwards. The table groaned under the weight of good things on it, and Miss Blake was president-in-chief. The room was too small for the company, who sat or stood as they could, elbowing each other, and making much of Mr. Cattacomb. Tongues were going fast, Mr. Cattacomb's amidst them, and Miss Blake was getting hot with the work of incessantly filling cups from the tea-pots, when a loud knock, announcing further visitors, shook the street door and Paradise Row. "Who can it be? I'm sure we have no room for more!" Mrs. Jinks went to see. Throwing open the front door, there stood the Misses Moore. Though debarred of the opening service, they would not be done out of the kettledrum. "Are they here yet, Mrs. Jinks?" cried the young ladies eagerly. "Yes, they are here," replied the Widow Jinks, her cap (clean for the occasion, and no bonnet) trembling with suppressed wrath. "Oh dear! Has tea begun?" "Begun, Miss Jemima! it's to be hoped it's three-parts over. I'll tell you what it is, young ladies: when I agreed to let my parlours to the Reverend Cattakin, I didn't bargain to keep the whole parish in kettledrumming. Leastways, not to wait on 'em; and bile kettles for 'em, and toast muffins for 'em by the hour at a stretch. I thought what a nice quiet lodger I should have--a single man, and him a minister! Instead of which I might just as well keep an inn." The young ladies walked on, wisely giving no answer, and entered the parlour. There they were presented to Mr. Cattacomb, and joined the tea-table. Kettledrums, as we are all aware, cannot last for ever, and before six o'clock Miss Blake was on her way back to Foxwood Court. The discussion as to district visiting and other matters was postponed to another day, Mr. Cattacomb pleading fatigue (and no wonder); and Miss Blake--who was in point of fact the prime mover and prop and stay of it all--inwardly thinking that a less crowded meeting would be more conducive to business. As she was nearing the gate at Foxwood Court, she met Mr. Smith sauntering along, apparently out for an airing. "Good afternoon, madam!"