This was Eunice, and she had been with Mrs. Markham during the past summer; but her time was drawing to a close.  All the heavy work was over, the harvests were gathered in, the soap was made, the cleaning done, the house made ready for Richard’s wife, and it was the understanding that when that lady came and was somewhat domesticated, Miss Eunice was to leave.  There was not much to do in the winter, Mrs. Markham said, and with Richard’s wife’s help she should get along.  Alas! how little Ethelyn was prepared for the home which awaited her, and for the really good woman, who, on the afternoon of her son’s arrival, saw into the oven the young turkey which Andy had been feeding for so very long with a view to this very day, and then helped Eunice set the table for the expected guests.

It did occur to Mrs. Markham that there might be a great propriety in Eunice’s waiting for once, inasmuch as there were plates to change, and custard pie and minced, and pudding, to be brought upon the table, for they were having a great dinner, but the good woman did not dare hint at such a thing, so the seven plates were put upon the table, and the china cups brought from the little cupboard at the side of the chimney, and the silver teapot, which was a family heirloom, and had been given Mrs. Markham by her mother, was brought also and rubbed up with what Eunice called a “shammy,” and the pickles, and preserves, and honey, and cheese and jellies, and the white raised biscuits and fresh brown bread, and shredded cabbage and cranberry sauce, with golden butter, and pitchers of cream, were all arranged according to Eunice’s ideas.  The turkey was browning nicely, the vegetables were cooking upon the stove, the odor of silver-skinned onions pervading the entire house.  Eunice was grinding the coffee, and the clock said it wanted but half an hour of car-time, when Mrs. Markham finally left the kitchen and proceeded to make her toilet.

Eunice’s had been made some time ago, and the large-sized hoop she wore had already upset a pail and dragged a griddle from the stove hearth, greatly to the discomfiture of Mrs. Markham, who did not fancy hoops, though she wore a small one this afternoon under her clean and stiffly-starched dress of purple calico.  St. Paul would have made her an exception in his restrictions with regard to women’s apparel, for neither gold nor silver ornaments, nor braided hair, found any tolerance in her.  She followed St. Paul strictly, except at such times as the good people in the Methodist church at the east end of the village held a protracted meeting, when she deviated so far from his injunction as to speak her mind and tell her experience.