A new graft on the family tree

by Pansy

Other experiences connected with that first meal in her new home were, to say the least, novel. Curiously enough, her imaginings concerning them all connected themselves with Estelle. What would Estelle think of a young lady who came collarless to the breakfast table; nay, more than that, who sat down to eat, in her father's and mother's presence, with uncombed hair, gathered into a frowzly knot in the back of her neck? What would Estelle have thought of Mrs. Morgan's fashion of dipping her own spoon into the bowl of sugar and then back again into her coffee? How would she have liked to help herself with her own knife to butter, having seen the others of the family do the same with theirs? How would she manage in the absence of napkins and would the steel forks spoil her breakfast? And how would she like fried ham, and potatoes boiled in the skin, for breakfast anyway?

The new-comer remembered that she had but three weeks ago assured Estelle that farmhouses were delightful places in which to spend summers. Was she so sure of that, even with this little inch of experience? To learn to appreciate the force of contrasts, one would only need a picture of the two breakfast tables which presented themselves to the mind of this young wife.

Aside from all these minor contrasts, there were others which troubled her more. She had resolved to be very social and informal with each member of this family; but the formidable question arose, what was she to be social about? Conversation there was none, unless Farmer Morgan's directions to John concerning details of farm work, and his answers to Lewis's questions as to what had transpired on the farm during his absence, could be called conversation.

Mrs. Morgan, it is true, contributed by assuring Dorothy that if she did not clean out the back kitchen this day she would do it herself, and that the shelves in the cellar needed washing off this very morning. Whatever it was that had occurred to put Dorothy in ill-humour, or whether it was ill-humour or only habitual sullenness, Louise did not know; certainly her brows were black. Would it be possible to converse with her? As the question put itself to her mind, it called up the merry by-play of talk with which Estelle was wont to enliven the home breakfast table, so sparkling and attractive in its flow that her father had accused her of setting a special snare for him, that he might miss his car.

If Estelle were at this table what would she talk about? It was entirely a new and strange experience to Louise to be at a loss what to talk about. Books! What had Dorothy read? She did not look as though she had read anything, or wanted to. Sewing! Well, the new sister was skilled with her needle. Suppose she said, "I know how to make my own dresses, and I can cut and fit my common ones; can you?" How abrupt it would sound, and what strange table talk for the pleasure of the assembled family! She caught herself on the verge of a laugh over the absurdity of the thing, and was as far as ever from a topic for conversation.

Meantime Lewis had finished his questionings and turned to her. "Louise, did you ever see any one milk? I suppose not. If it were not so cold you would like to go out and see Dorothy with her pet cow; she is a creature—quite a study."

Did he mean Dorothy, or the pet cow? It was clear to his wife that he was himself embarrassed by something incongruous in the breakfast scene; but she caught at his suggestion of a subject even while his mother's metallic voice was saying—

"Cold! If you call this a cold morning, Lewis, you must have been getting very tender since you were in the city. It is almost as mild as spring."

"Can you milk?" Louise was saying, meantime, eagerly to Dorothy. The eagerness was not assumed; she was jubilant, not so much over the idea of seeing the process of milking as over the fact that she had finally discovered a direct question to address to Dorothy, which must be answered in some form.

But, behold! Dorothy, flushing to her temples, looked down at her plate and answered, "Yes, ma'am," and directly choked herself with a swallow of coffee, and the avenue for conversation suddenly closed.