"
And Laura, the cool blonde, disposed the folds
of her white gown more gracefully about her, and
touched up the eyebrow of the Minerva she was
drawing.
"Little daughter!"
"Yes, father."
"Let me have plenty of clean collars in my
bag, for I must go at once; and some of you bring
me a glass of cider in about an hour;--I shall be
in the lower garden."
The old man went away into his imaginary
paradise, and Nan into that domestic purgatory
on a summer day, -- the kitchen. There were
vines about the windows, sunshine on the floor,
and order everywhere; but it was haunted by a
cooking-stove, that family altar whence such varied
incense rises to appease the appetite of household
gods, before which such dire incantations are
pronounced to ease the wrath and woe of the priestess
of the fire, and about which often linger saddest
memories of wasted temper, time, and toil.
Nan was tired, having risen with the birds,--
hurried, having many cares those happy little
housewives never know,--and disappointed in a
hope that hourly " dwindled, peaked, and pined.
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