And he arose from the table, passed into the hall and out of the front door without his usual leave-taking.

Satan once worked immense mischief by means of an apple; now he must needs come into that pretty dining-room and hide in a plate of buckwheat cakes.  The first approach to a quarrel in this household, and the first buckwheat cakes of the season!  The truth is, when Mr. Thorne had said the day before, “What if we have some buckwheat cakes?” that Ruey did not feel all the confidence in her ability that her answer implied; but then there was her receipt-book; “they could not be difficult,” she reasoned.  The receipt said:  “Mix warm water, flour and yeast, and let rise until morning,”—­these instructions she had faithfully followed, and here was the result.

Ruey Thorne, unlike some young wives, did not think it interesting to profess utter ignorance of domestic matters; on the contrary, she had an ambition to excel as a housekeeper.  She had a general knowledge of many things, but every housekeeper knows that practice only brings perfection.  It is one thing to watch Bridget making bread a few times, and another thing entirely to make it one’s self.  So much of Ruey’s knowledge was theory, not yet reduced to practice, that she imagined herself much more skilful than she really was, consequently she did not claim her husband’s forbearance on account of inexperience.  Philip was not rich, and she had a desire to be an economical wife, so she did not employ an experienced cook and chambermaid, but tried to accomplish it all by the aid of a raw German girl.

“Of course I shall want to direct all my work,” she had remarked with housewifely pride.  If Philip had only understood it all a little better, he need not have brought out his mother’s veteran cakes in such cruel comparison with these very young ones.

That day was not a very comfortable one for either of them.  The blue eyes flashed out a tear occasionally, and she told herself, “Who would have thought that Philip cared so much for eating!  His mother’s cakes indeed!  As if anybody could equal my dear precious mother in anything!” While he told himself that he “wouldn’t have thought Ruey would have flashed up in that way for so slight a cause, and to him, too, humph!  He would just like to have her taste his mother’s cakes; it would open her eyes a little.”

Later in the day they told the same parties, “I’m just ashamed of myself that I got spunky about such a little thing, I wish Philip would come.  I’ll have muffins for tea just to please him.  I know I can make muffins;” and “Poor little Ruey, I went off like a bear this morning; I must hurry home; I’ll just step in at Barnard’s and get that little panel of lilies for her.”

So the muffins and lilies were laid, peace offerings on the domestic altar, and the skies were clear again.