"So bad as that, is it?" said my husband.
"Indeed it is; and when she returns anything, it is almost always of an inferior quality, and frequently thrown away on that account."
While we were talking, the tea bell rang, and we retired to the dining-room.
"What's the matter with this tea?" asked Mr. Smith, pushing the cup I had handed him aside, after leaving sipped of its contents. "I never tasted such stuff. It's like herb tea."
"It must be something in the water," replied I. "The tea is the same we have been using all along."
I poured some into a cup and tasted it.
"Pah!" I said, with disgust, and rang the bell. The cook entered in a few moments.
"Bridget, what's the matter with your tea? It isn't fit to drink. Is it the same we have been using?"
"No, ma'am," replied Bridget. "It is some Mrs. Jordon sent home. I reminded Nancy, when she was here for butter, that they owed us some tea, borrowed day before yesterday, and she came right back with it, saying that Mrs. Jordon was sorry it had slipped her mind. I thought I would draw it by itself, and not mix it with the tea in our canister."
"You can throw this out and draw fresh tea, Bridget; we can't drink it," said I, handing her the tea-pot.