When Mr. Stillinghast came down that morning, everything was bright and comfortable in the sitting-room. A clear fire burned in the grate; the toast and coffee sent up an inviting odor; and the table was spread with the whitest of linen, on which the cups and saucers were neatly arranged. The morning paper was drying on a chair by the fire, and over all, flickered the glorious sunshine, as it gushed like a golden flood through the clustering geraniums in the window.
"Good morning, sir!" said May, blithely, as she came in from the kitchen with a covered plate in her hand.
"Good morning," he growled; "give me my breakfast."
"I thought you'd like a relish for your breakfast, sir, and I broiled a few slices of beef; see how very nice it is," said May, uncovering the plate, and placing it before him.
"Humph! well, don't do it again. I cannot afford such extravagance; I must curtail my expenses. 'Gad! if I should have another beggar thrown on my hands, we must starve," he said, bitterly.
May did not relish this speech at all; up rose the demon, pride, in her soul, instigating her to a sharp retort, and vindictive anger; but she thought of Bethlehem, and grew calm.
"I hope not, sir," she said, gently. "You have cast bread on the waters; after many days it will return unto you—perhaps in an hour, and at a time, dear uncle, when it will be much needed."
"Fudge, fudge!" he said, testily; "I—I cast bread on the waters, do I? Well, I am doing what is equally as foolish—it is truly like throwing bread into a fish-pond; but where's what's her name?"
"She slept poorly last night, and I would not awaken her this morning," said May, diverted in spite of herself.
"How do you know she didn't sleep, pray? did she tell you so?"