“I like it exceedingly,” said Asenath, congratulating herself upon the happy inspiration of her answer, which was not surprise nor thanks, but cordial and pleased enough for either.  “The shops are next each other, just beyond Filbert Street.  Have the things charged to Mrs. Francis Scherman.  A quart of oysters,—­and how many muffins?  A dozen I think; then if there are two or three left, they’ll be nice for breakfast.  They will send them up.  Say that we want them directly.”

“I can bring the muffins.  I suppose they’ll want the oyster-can back.”

It may be a little doubtful whether Kate’s spirit of supererogatory doing would have gone so far, if it had not been for the deliciousness of piling up the wonder.  She retreated, upon the word, magnanimously, remitting further reply; and Bel directly after descended to her kitchen, to make the needful investigations among saucepans and toasters.

“Don’t be frightened at anything you may find,” Mrs. Scherman said to her as she went.  “I won’t answer for the insides of cupboards and pans.  But we will make it all right as fast as possible.  You shall have help if you need it; and at the worst, we can throw away and get new, you know.  Suppose, Bel,” she added, with enchanting confidence and accustomedness, “we were to have a cup of coffee with the oysters?  There is some real Mocha in the japanned canister in the china closet, and there are eggs in the pantry, to clear with; you know how?  Mr. Scherman is so fond of coffee.”

Bel knew how; and Bel assented.  As the door closed after her, below stairs, Mrs. Scherman caught up Sinsie into her lap, and gave her a great congratulatory hug.

“Do you suppose it will last, little womanie?  If it isn’t all gone in the morning, what comfort we’ll have in keeping house and taking care of baby!”

The daughter is so soon the “little womanie” to the mother’s loving anticipation!

Marmaduke was lustily struggling with and shouting to a tin horse six inches long, and tipping up a cart filled with small pebbles on the carpet.  He was outside already; the housekeeping was nothing to him, except as it had to do with the getting in of coals.

When Mr. Scherman opened the front door, the delicious aroma of oysters and coffee saluted his chilled and hungry senses.  He wondered if there were unexpected company, and what Asenath could have done about it.  He passed the parlor door cautiously, but there was no sound of voices.  Up-stairs, all was still; the children were in crib and cradle, and Asenath was shaking and folding little garments,—­shapes out of which the busy spirits had slidden.

He came up behind her, where she stood before the fire.

“All well, little mother?” he questioned.  “Or tired to death?  There are festive odors in the house.  Has anybody repented and come back again?”