“It is a little funny for her to sit down beside a boy the first thing, don’t you think?” Charlotte said in a low tone to Katherine, who assented because she was in the habit of agreeing with Charlotte.

Belle overheard.  “Silly!” she said, and to show her scorn she went over and sat on an arm of the sofa beside Rosalind.

“Do you like to read?” she asked.

Rosalind opened her eyes.  “Of course I do, don’t you?”

Belle, who had browsed in her father’s library since she had learned her letters, was known as a great reader, and felt rather proud of her reputation; but she found the stranger had read as much as she, and seemed to think nothing of it.

In the warmth of a discussion of favorite stories any stiffness is sure to melt rapidly away.  Jack, hearing mention of “The Talisman,” joined in and the others drew up their chairs, so that when Miss Betty rustled back from an excursion to the dining room she found the ice broken and sociability prevailing.  But she startled them all by an exclamation.

“Jack Parton, for pity’s sake, sit up! and you too, Katherine; I cannot allow my guests to sit on their spines.”

“But it is so much more comfortable,” protested lazy Jack, slowly screwing himself into a more erect position, while Katherine straightened up with a blush.

“There seems to be something wrong with the spines of this generation, and the first thing you know it will react on their mental and moral natures.  People without backbone are odious,” Miss Betty continued.

“I wish you children could have seen Miss Patricia Gilpin as I saw her once when I was a little child, more than thirty years ago.  She was straight as an arrow and pretty as a picture.  Such old ladies have gone out of fashion.  I remember hearing her describe the backboard and spiked collar she wore for several hours each day when she was a child.”

“What was the spiked collar for?” Rosalind asked.

“To keep her head in the correct position.”

“I am glad I didn’t live then,” said Belle.

At this point Miss Betty’s sermon was interrupted by the appearance of a small, brown boy in a white apron, who announced supper.

CHAPTER NINTH.

The lost ring.

“Wear this for me.”

The old mahogany table had never reflected a circle of brighter faces than gathered about it that evening to do justice to Sophy’s good things served on Miss Hetty’s pretty china.

Rosalind at the left hand of her hostess looked around the company with frank enjoyment of the novelty of the occasion.  These young people were very entertaining, particularly Belle; and more amusing than anything was the small waiter, at whom Miss Betty glanced so sternly when he showed a disposition to laugh at the jokes.

It was when Miss Betty began to serve the strawberries that some one remarked on the old cream-pitcher of colonial glass, and thus started her on her favorite topic of the cream-jug and sugar-dish that exactly matched her teapot and should have been hers.