But she only said quietly, though a queer look stole over her face, “Then we’ll have it removed,” touching a bell as she spoke.
Sam appeared instantly, his broad, black face shining, and a grin he could not wholly repress displaying his white teeth.
In a moment he removed the fish and replaced it with the next course, which was turkey, roasted in Sam’s superb way, which no one in the village could equal. This was all right, and received full justice from the youthful appetites, even Jenny forgetting that candy had spoiled hers.
After this the dinner progressed smoothly till ice cream was served with dessert. Again something seemed to be out of joint. Aunt Betty noticed that her young guests did not show their usual fondness for this dish. Again she asked, “Is anything wrong with the cream?” and again she was answered with bland apologies, though some confusion.
“I’ve eaten so much,” said Grace, with a sigh.
“It’s so cold it makes me shiver,” said Jenny, laying down her spoon.
“And what ails you, Ruth?” asked Aunt Betty, with a grave look on her face.
“I’m afraid”—said Ruth timidly, “I’m really afraid Sam spilled some salt in it, auntie;” and so embarrassed was she at being obliged to say what she was sure would be a mortal offense, that in her confusion she knocked a delicate glass off the table, and it was shattered to pieces on the floor.
“Oh, dear!” she cried, “I’ve done it now! Auntie, you’ll never forgive me! I don’t know what ails me when I get among your precious things.”
“I know,” said her aunt grimly. “I believe you are a little afraid of me, my dear, and that makes you awkward. Never mind the glass,” as Ruth was picking up the pieces, tears rolling down her face, “that can be replaced; it is only the china that is precious; don’t cry, child.”