Miss Benson was alive to this movement, and so full of curiosity as to what it might mean that she could no longer attend to her brother, and felt inclined to rush off and question Sally, the moment all was ended.  Miss Bradshaw hung about the babe and Ruth, and begged to be allowed to carry the child home, but Ruth pressed him to her, as if there was no safe harbour for him but in his mother’s breast.  Mr. Benson saw her feeling, and caught Miss Bradshaw’s look of disappointment.

“Come home with us,” said he, “and stay to tea.  You have never drunk tea with us since you went to school.”

“I wish I might,” said Miss Bradshaw, colouring with pleasure.  “But I must ask papa.  May I run home and ask?”

“To be sure, my dear!”

Jemima flew off; and fortunately her father was at home; for her mother’s permission would have been deemed insufficient.  She received many directions about her behaviour.

“Take no sugar in your tea, Jemima.  I am sure the Bensons ought not to be able to afford sugar, with their means.  And do not eat much; you can have plenty at home on your return; remember Mrs. Denbigh’s keep must cost them a great deal.”  So Jemima returned considerably sobered, and very much afraid of her hunger leading her to forget Mr. Benson’s poverty.  Meanwhile Miss Benson and Sally, acquainted with Mr. Benson’s invitation to Jemima, set about making some capital tea-cakes on which they piqued themselves.  They both enjoyed the offices of hospitality; and were glad to place some home-made tempting dainty before their guests.

“What made ye leave the chapel-vestry before my brother had ended?” inquired Miss Benson.

“Indeed, ma’am, I thought master had prayed so long he’d be drouthy.  So I just slipped out to put on the kettle for tea.”

Miss Benson was on the point of reprimanding her for thinking of anything besides the object of the prayer, when she remembered how she herself had been unable to attend after Sally’s departure for wondering what had become of her; so she was silent.

It was a disappointment to Miss Benson’s kind and hospitable expectation when Jemima, as hungry as a hound, confined herself to one piece of the cake which her hostess had had such pleasure in making.  And Jemima wished she had not a prophetic feeling all tea-time of the manner in which her father would inquire into the particulars of the meal, elevating his eyebrows at every viand named beyond plain bread-and-butter, and winding up with some such sentence as this: 

“Well, I marvel how, with Benson’s salary, he can afford to keep such a table.”