“Pa’s home, Mart.  And he doesn’t like your having Rod out here.  I walked him up to the Tates’, but no one was home except Lizzie.  Shame!  He saw Rodney’s cap in the hall—­he’s in the dining room.”  Aloud she said cheerfully:  “I think this is dreadful—­making you work so hard, Rod.  Come—­tea’s nearly ready.  You and I’ll wait for it in the dining room, like the gentleman and lady we are!”

“Oh, I’m having a grand time!” Rodney laughed.  But he allowed himself to be led away.  A few minutes later Martie, with despair in her heart, carried the loaded tray into the dining room.

Her father, in one of his bad moods, was sitting by the empty fireplace.  The room, in the early autumn twilight, was cold.  Len had come in and expected his share of the unfamiliar luxury of tea, and more than his share of the hot toast.

Rodney, unaffected by the atmosphere, gaily busied himself with the tray.  Lydia came gently in with an armful of light wood which she laid in the fireplace.

“There is no necessity for a fire,” Malcolm said.  “I wouldn’t light that, my dear.”

“I thought—­just to take the chill off,” Lydia stammered.

Her father shook his head.  Lydia subsided.

“We shall be having supper shortly, I suppose?” he asked patiently, looking at a large gold watch.  “It’s after half-past five now.”

“But, Pa,” Lydia laughed a little constrainedly, “we never have dinner until half-past six!”

“Oh, on week days—­certainly,” he agreed stiffly.  “On Sundays, unless I am entirely wrong, we sit down before six.”

“Len,” Martie murmured, “why don’t you go make yourself some toast?”

“Don’t have to!” Len laughed with his mouth full.

“Here—­I’ll go out and make some more!” Rodney said buoyantly, catching up a plate.  Lydia instantly intervened; this would not do.  Pa would be furious.  Obviously Martie could not go, because in her absence Pa, Rodney, and Len would either be silent, or say what was better unsaid.  Lydia herself went out for a fresh supply of toast.

Martie was grateful, but in misery.  Lydia was always slow.  The endless minutes wore away, she and Rodney playing with their empty plates, Len also waiting hungrily, her father watching them sombrely.  If Len hadn’t come in and been so greedy, Martie thought in confused anger, tea would have been safely over by this time; if Pa were not there glowering she might have chattered at her ease with Rodney, no tea hour would have been too long.  As it was, she was self-conscious and constrained.  The clock struck six.  Really it was late.

The toast came in; Sally came in demurely at her mother’s side.  She had rushed out of the shadows to join her mother at the gate, much to Mrs. Monroe’s surprise.  Conversation, subdued but general, ensued.  Martie walked boldly with Rodney to the gate, at twenty minutes past six, and they stood there, laughing and talking, for another ten minutes.