"Oh, she has done a great deal!" said Mary in a low but eager voice, creeping to Chester's side. "You have no idea how very handy she is about the house, has he, Mrs. Chester?"
Mrs. Chester laughed and shook her head; but further than this she had no time to speak, for that moment the old man from up stairs came in, looking quite neat and gentlemanly in his black silk cravat, and his darned and well-brushed coat. He led by the hand a tall delicate boy with light brown hair and sad blue eyes; a smile seemed struggling with a look of habitual pain on his face. He sat down and glanced around, greeting Mary with a wan smile. The widow followed; her dress was poverty-stricken but very neat, and upon her face was a look of patient endurance, indescribably touching.
"I have invited them to supper," whispered Mrs. Chester to her husband. "They came so soon I had no time to tell you. The people down stairs, I expect them, too."
Chester comprehended it all in an instant. You would have thought by the way he placed chairs and shook hands with his guests, that he had been expecting them with the utmost impatience. His manner brought a cordial smile to the old man's lips, and even the face of the widow brightened with a pleasant glow.
"Let Joseph sit here," said Mary Fuller, rising from her stool with moist eyes, as she saw a spasm of pain pass over the lad's face. "Perhaps he would rather stay by me."
The boy lifted his blue eyes to her face, and his heart yearned toward one who bore such traces of having suffered like himself.
"I should be glad to sit by her," he said, appealing to his father.
"She knows what it is."
The next instant his delicate hand was clasped within hers, and Mary was soothing him in a low voice that sounded like the whisper of an angel.
The table was spread, and the young fowls, plump with a rich load of dressing, were placed upon it.
These were supported by a fine oyster pie, plates of vegetables, blood red beets, and the greenest pickles, with a dish of cranberry sauce, while a bunch of golden green celery curled in crisp masses over the crystal goblet that occupied the centre of the table. The little candle-stand on one side, supported the fruit cake, all one crust of snowy sugar, with the most delicate little green wreath lying around the edge. Over all this the four lamps shed their light, which the looking-glass did its best to multiply. Indeed, nothing could be more perfect than the whole arrangement, except it might be the fullness of content which sparkled and shone over the face of everyone present.