with which it was filled, to give the wide hearth its fine daily gloss.  Miss Penelope had not observed it because she was always oblivious to everything else while hanging over the coffee-pot.  The widow Broadnax had seen the cup at once because it was slightly in the way of her foot; and she was quick enough to notice the least discomfort.  But she had not immediately perceived the longed-for opportunity which it gave her.  That came like an inspiration a few moments later, when Miss Penelope was off guard for an instant.  Her back was turned only long enough for her to go to the table and see if the tray was ready for the coffee-pot, but the widow Broadnax found this plenty of time.  With a quickness truly surprising in one of her habitual slowness, she swooped down and seized the cup of buttermilk and paint.  In a flash she lifted the lid of the coffee-pot, poured the contents of the cup in the coffee, set the empty cup down in its place, and was back again, resting among the cushions as if she had never stirred, when poor little Miss Penelope, all unsuspecting, returned to her post.

“You really must get up, Sister Molly,” that lady said resolutely, renewing an altercation.  “I hid the pantry keys under your chair cushions at supper, last night.  That’s always the safest place.  But I forgot to take them out before you sat down.  And you must get up—­there isn’t enough sugar for the coffee.”

“Let me,” said Ruth, coming forward with a smile, in her pretty, coaxing way.

When the antagonism between the sisters broke into open hostility, it was nearly always she who managed to soothe them and restore a temporary semblance of peace—­for beyond that no mortal power could go.  She now prevailed upon the widow Broadnax to rise with her assistance, thus securing the keys, and when that lady was once on her feet she was easier to move, so that Ruth now led her to her place at the breakfast table without further trouble.  There was, however, always more or less trouble about the place itself.  It was but woman nature to feel it to be very hard for a whole sister to sit at the side of the table while a half sister sat at its head.  The judge always did what he could to spare her feelings, and Miss Penelope’s at the same time.  He was a bachelor, and held women in the half-gallant, half-humorous regard which sets the bachelor apart from the married man, and places him at a disadvantage which he is commonly unaware of.  The judge thought he understood the distinctively feminine weaknesses particularly well, and that he made uncommonly large allowance for them, as the bachelor always thinks and never does.  And then when the quarrel reached a crisis, and he was entirely at the end of his resources for keeping the peace, he could always threaten to take to the woods, and that usually brought a short truce.

“Ruth, my dear, what’s all this about some stranger’s bringing you home last night?” he inquired, taking his seat at the foot of the table.  “Where were you, William? and what were you doing?  You shouldn’t have taken Ruth to such a place, or anywhere, if you couldn’t take care of her,” with unusual severity.