"Perhaps so, dear May. I really wish to do right—but what, in the name of mercy, is that noise!" cried Helen, starting up.
"It is Uncle Stillinghast coming in. He is beating the snow from his feet," said May, lighting the candles. By this time Mr. Stillinghast had thrown off his wrappings, hung up his hat, and come in. He was evidently in no amiable mood, and to the greetings of his nieces condescended no reply.
"It is colder this evening, Sir, is it not?" said May, flitting around the tea-table.
"Yes."
"Shall I get your tea now, uncle?"
"Yes."
"Here it is, sir; it is very nice and hot; every thing is ready. Come,
Helen," said May, placing the chairs. They took their seats in silence.
"What's your name?" Mr. Stillinghast said abruptly, turning to Helen.
"Helen."
"Can you make bread?"