Six o’clock was the almost universal hour for supper amongst the well-to-do classes, both gentle and simple, and Martin Holt’s family sat down to the well-spread board punctually to the minute every day of their lives.  But though there was no eating before that hour, the invited guests who were intimate at the house generally arrived about dusk, and were served with hot ginger wine with lumps of butter floating in it, or some similar concoction accounted a delicacy in those days of coarse feeding, and indulged in discussion and conversation which was the preliminary to the serious business of supper.

At four o’clock, then, Mistress Susan’s table was set, the homespun cloth of excellent texture and whiteness spread upon the board, which was further adorned by plates and tankards, knives and even forks, though these last-named articles were quite a novelty, and rather lightly esteemed by Mistress Susan, who was a rigid conservative in all domestic matters.  All the cold provisions had been laid upon the table.  The serving woman in the kitchen had received full instruction as to those that remained in or about the stove.  The ladies had doffed their big aprons, and had donned their Sunday coifs and kerchiefs and better gowns, and were now assembled in the upper parlour, where the spinning wheels stood, ready to receive the guests when they should come.

Cherry’s absence had not yet excited any uneasiness, although her aunt had made one or two severe remarks as to her love for junketing abroad, and frivolity in general.  Her sisters had laid out her dress in readiness for her, and had taken her part with their accustomed warmth and goodwill.  They were not at all afraid of her not turning up safe and sound.  Cherry had many friends, and it was just as likely as not that she would stop and gossip all along the bridge as she came home.  She took something of the privilege of a spoiled child, despite her aunt’s rigid training.  She knew her sisters never looked askance at her; that her father found it hard to scold severely, however grave he might try to look to please Aunt Susan; and it was perfectly well known in the house that she had no liking for those grave debates that formed the prelude to the supper downstairs.  It was like enough she would linger without as long as she dared, and then spend as much time as possible strewing her rushes and dressing herself, so that she should not have long to listen to the talk of the elders.

Jemima and Keziah had long since trained themselves to that perfect stillness and decorous silence that was deemed fitting for women, and especially young women, in presence of their elders, They had even begun to take a certain interest in the questions discussed.  But to Cherry it was simple penance to have to sit for one hour or more, her tongue and her active limbs alike chained, and her sisters were quite prepared for the absence of the younger girl when the guests dropped in one by one.