She then makes a little fire, gets her little
teapot of bright shining tin, and puts into it a teaspoonful of black
tea, and so prepares her breakfast.
By this time mother comes creeping down-stairs, like an old tabby-cat
out of the ash-hole; and she kind o' doubts and reckons whether or no
she had better try to git any breakfast, bein' as she 's not much
appetite this mornin'; but she goes to the leg of bacon and cuts off a
little slice, reckons sh'll broil it; then goes and looks at the
coffee-pot and reckons sh'll have a little coffee; don't exactly know
whether it's good for her, but she don't drink much. So while Aunt
Nabby is sitting sipping her tea and munching her bread and butter
with a matter-of-fact certainty and marvelous satisfaction, mother
goes doubting and reckoning round, like Mrs. Diffidence in Doubting
Castle, till you see rising up another little table in another corner
of the room, with a good substantial structure of broiled ham and
coffee, and a boiled egg or two, with various et ceteras, which Mrs.
Diffidence, after many desponding ejaculations, finally sits down to,
and in spite of all presentiments makes them fly as nimbly as Mr.
Ready-to-Halt did Miss Much-afraid when he footed it so well with her
on his crutches in the dance on the occasion of Giant Despair's
overthrow.
I have thus far dined alternately with mother and Aunt Susan, not
having yet been admitted to Aunt Nabby's establishment.
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