"Yes."
"Say, 'Melia, do you s'pose that little still's up attic he used to have such a royal good time with, makin' essences?"
Amelia's eyes filled suddenly with hot, unmanageable tears.
"Yes," she said; "we used it only two summers ago. I come across it yesterday. Seemed as if I could smell the peppermint I brought in for him to pick over. He was too sick to go out much then."
Aunt Ann had laid down her work again, and was gazing into vistas of rich enjoyment.
"I'll be whipped if I shouldn't like to see that little still!"
"I'll go up and bring it down after dinner," said Amelia soberly, folding her work and taking off her thimble. "I'd just as soon as not."
All through the dinner hour aunt Ann kept up an inspiring stream of question and reminiscence.
"You be a good cook, 'Melia, an' no mistake," she remarked, breaking her brown hot biscuit. "This your same kind o' bread, made without yeast?"
"Yes," answered Amelia, pouring the tea. "I save a mite over from the last risin'."