But the making of the
breakfast coffee was a very different and far more imposing ceremonial.
This must always be performed in the presence of the, entire assembled
household, by her own hand, on the wide hearth in the great room of
Cedar House. To have permitted the cook to make the morning coffee in
the kitchen, would have been in Miss Penelope's eyes, to relegate a
sacred rite to profane hands in an unconsecrated place. Her own making
of the morning coffee had indeed much of the solemnity of a religious
ceremony--or would have had, if those who looked on, had been unable to
hear, or even slightly dull of hearing. For the sound of Miss Penelope's
voice was charming when the listener could not hear what it said. And
her dulcet tone always ran through the whole performance like the faint,
sweet echo of distant music. But when the listener's ears were keen, and
he could hear the things that this kind, caressing voice was saying, the
threats that it was uttering!--They were alarming enough to curdle the
blood of the little cup-bearers, black, brown, and yellow, who always
flew like shuttles back and forth between the big house and the distant
kitchen while Miss Penelope was making the breakfast coffee.
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