Now that the coffee was nearly
ready, Miss Penelope had become rather more composed. She still stood
guard over the coffee-pot; she never left it till she carried it to the
table with her own hands, but she was lapsing into a sort of spent
silence. She merely sighed at intervals with the contented weariness
that comes from a sense of duty well done. But her half-sister still
eyed her as a fat, motionless spider eyes a buzzing little fly which is
ceasing to flutter. Miss Penelope had not observed a large pewter cup
resting on the floor near the widow Broadnax's chair. It had been left
there by a careless servant, who had used a portion of the mixture of
red paint and sour buttermilk with which it was filled, to give the wide
hearth its fine daily gloss. Miss Penelope had not observed it because
she was always oblivious to everything else while hanging over the
coffee-pot. The widow Broadnax had seen the cup at once because it was
slightly in the way of her foot; and she was quick enough to notice the
least discomfort. But she had not immediately perceived the longed-for
opportunity which it gave her.
Pages:
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125