"And supposing that I was, I presume you waited for me," said May, with a feeling of exasperation she could not control. Then laying off her bonnet and wrappings, she went out and brought in the hod, emptied it into the grate, let down the ashes, and put up the blower; and by the time she finished, the recollection of the fire which she had kindled that morning in old Mabel's cottage came like a sweet memory into her heart, and the bitterness passed away.
"When do we dine? I suppose the ogre of the castle will be in soon!" said Helen.
"My uncle generally dines down town; and I beg, Helen, that you will speak more respectfully of him," said May.
"And shall we get nothing until he comes?" screamed Helen.
"Yes," said May, laughing at her cousin's consternation. "We can dine now. I have some cold roast beef, bread and butter, and a pie, left from yesterday."
"Oh, heavens! what a bill of fare; but let us have it, for I am famishing."
"Before you get even that, my dear, you must help about a little.
Here, spread the cloth, and cut the bread; I will do the rest."
"Spread the cloth, and cut the bread! I don't know how!"
"Learn," said May, half diverted, half angry with the selfish one, as she handed her the tablecloth, which was put on one-sided, while the bread was cut in chunks. When May came in from the pantry, a butler's room as it used to be in the time of the old marquis, Helen was crying over a bleeding finger, which she had cut in her awkward attempts to slice the bread.
"This is a bad business," said May, binding it up. "Helen, I really feel very sorry for you. You will have so many disheartening trials in your new way of life; but keep a brave heart—I will learn you all that I know, if you are only willing."