It required
much flying of small dusky legs, to and fro, before the cold water was
cold enough, the hot water hot enough, and the fresh egg fresh enough,
to satisfy Miss Penelope that the coffee would be all that it should be.
On this particular morning the usual excitement had reached its crisis
as Ruth came down the stairs. There was usually a slight lull when the
first slender and almost invisible column of steam arose from the long
spout of the coffee-pot. That was the most critical moment, and it now
being safely past, Miss Penelope hastily sent away all the cup-bearers
in a body. But she still hovered anxiously over the pot, gravely
considering how many minutes longer it should rest on its trivet over
the glowing coals. Hers was a quaint little figure. She wore a queer
little black dress, very short and narrow, made after some peculiar
fashion of her own, and over it a queerer little cape of the same stuff.
Her cap on the other hand was singularly large and white, and the ruffle
around her face was very wide and very stiff. The snapping black eyes
under the ruffle were never still, and the clawlike little hands were
never at rest.
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