Mrs. Jameson read selections from Robert Browning until six o’clock, and by that time Mrs. White had attained to the calmness of despair.  At a quarter of six she whispered to me that the biscuits were spoiled, and then her face settled into an expression of stony peace.  When Mrs. Jameson finally closed her book there was a murmur which might have been considered expressive of relief or applause, according to the amount of self-complacency of the reader.  Mrs. Jameson evidently considered it applause, for she bowed in a highly gracious manner, and remarked:  “I am very glad if I have given you pleasure, ladies, and I shall be more than pleased at some future time to read some other selections even superior to these which I have given, and also to make some remarks upon them.”

There was another murmur, which might have been of pleasure at the prospect of the future reading, or the respite from the present one; I was puzzled to know which it did mean.

We always had our supper at our sewing meetings at precisely five o’clock, and now it was an hour later.  Mrs. White rose and went out directly, and Flora Clark and I followed her to assist.  We began laying the table as fast as we could, while Mrs. White was cutting the cake.  The ladies of the society brought the cake and pie, and Mrs. White furnished the bread and tea.  However, that night it was so very warm we had decided to have lemonade instead of tea.  Mrs. White had put it to vote among the ladies when they first came, and we had all decided in favor of lemonade.  There was another reason for Mrs. White not having tea:  she has no dining-room, but eats in her kitchen summer and winter.  It is a very large room, but of course in such heat as there was that day even a little fire would have made it unendurably warm.  So she had planned to have her biscuits baked in Mrs. Bemis’ stove and have lemonade.

Our preparations were nearly completed, and we were placing the last things on the table, when my sister-in-law, Louisa Field, came out, and I knew that something was wrong.

“What is the matter?” said I.

Louisa looked at Flora as if she were almost afraid to speak, but finally it came out:  Mrs. Jameson must have some hot water to prepare her health food, as she dared not eat our hurtful cake and pie, especially in such heat.

Flora Clark’s eyes snapped.  She could not be repressed any longer, so she turned on poor Louisa as if she were the offender.  “Let her go home, then!” said she.  “She sha’n’t have any hot water in this house!”

Flora spoke very loud, and Mrs. White was in agony.  “Oh, Flora! don’t, don’t!” said she.  But she looked at the cold kitchen stove in dismay.

I suggested boiling the kettle on Mrs. Bemis’ stove; but that could not be done, for the hired girl had gone away buggy-riding with her beau after she had brought in the biscuits, and Mrs. Bemis was not at the sewing circle:  her mother, in the next town, was ill, and she had gone to see her.  So the Bemis house was locked up, and the fire no doubt out.  Mrs. White lives on an outlying farm, and there was not another neighbor within a quarter of a mile.  If Mrs. Jameson must have that hot water for her hygienic food there was really nothing to do but to make up the fire in the kitchen stove, no matter how uncomfortable we all might be in consequence.