The sunbonneted head turned in his direction, but there was no other evidence of interest.
"Sarah, let us take tea in the library, this evening," the General continued, in what he believed to be a persuasive tone.
"Very well," came from the depths of the sunbonnet.
The General had intended to speak of the telegram, but there was something ominous in the movements of that hidden head, and he decided to temporize. "Ahem!" he began, "I shall have something to say to you, then."
Thus ended the dialogue between the General and the sunbonnet, for Sarah passed on without replying.
"I wonder what mischief he's in, now?" she said to herself, a minute later. "Something, I'll be bound!"
One would have said that she spoke of a child of tender years, instead of an old gentleman of sixty, with a temper so peppery that no one in the village dared oppose it.
Little maid Phyllis, whose life Sarah made a burden by perpetual instruction in housewifery, brought the tea into the library, just as the General entered. Sarah was already there, seated at the tea-table, brushing imaginary shreds of lint off the burnished surface of the copper tea-kettle.
"Phyllis, you should never wipe this kettle with a cloth that is the least mite damp," Sarah said.