Letty's dinner was an entire success. Aunt Eunice herself praised the brown stew made of a round steak, and noticed the variety and freshness of the vegetables. Accustomed to the space of a large farm, she could hardly believe that all she saw before her—the tomatoes, the potatoes, the beans and corn—came from their own little garden.
"Really, now, that is something to be proud of!" said she. "Thou must have been very industrious, John."
"Much of the praise belongs to Letty," replied John,—a little flush of gratification shining in his dark cheek. "If I planted, she watered and weeded, and, above all, cooked; and, I take it, the excellence of vegetables depends much upon their cooking."
"That's so!" said Joseph, emphatically. "I wish, Aggy, you would get Letty to show you how to cook tomatoes like these. Ours always taste raw and watery."
"I guess you do not cook them long enough," said Letty. "They require more time than people generally think."
"Perhaps so. Some people have a knack of doing things right:—that's all I know," replied Joseph.
"Some people have a knack of liking any thing better than what their own wives do," said Agnes, bitterly. "If you are so desperately particular, it is a pity you did not marry a kitchen-girl."
It was now Joseph's turn to colour; and he looked heartily ashamed.
John turned his black eyes upon Agnes with a look which made her own colour rise, and she subsided into a sulky silence, which she maintained during the remainder of the meal.
Aunt Eunice, with ready tact, turned the conversation; and Letty was too well accustomed to her cousin's ways to trouble herself about them. She did think Agnes might have offered to help her with the dishes after dinner; but she made no move to do so. There was no particular bad temper in the omission; it simply never occurred to her. She had, not been taught the invaluable habit of helpfulness. As Letty was putting her plates together, however, Mrs. De Witt tapped at the door, coming in, as usual, before any one had time to open it.