sounds aristocratic," suggested Nattie, as she cleared the books from the least shaky table, and spread it with three towels, in lieu of a table-cloth. "But what shall we do for plates to put the pies on?"
"Take those two wooden box covers in the closet," promptly responded Cyn. "That is right, and see, here is room also for the coffee—pardon me, I had almost said commonplace coffee-pot!"
"But the tomato! what can we pour that in?" suddenly exclaimed Nattie, with great concern.
Cyn scanned every object in the room with dismay.
"The—the wash-bowl!" she insinuated at last, determined not to be daunted.
"Don't you think it rather large? to say nothing of its being too suggestive?" said Nattie, laughing.
Cyn did not press the point, but shook her head, dubiously.
"I have it!" cried Nattie, "there is a fruit-dish in my room."
"Just the thing!" interrupted Cyn ecstatically, "I will run and bring it, if you will attend to the cooking."
"Look out for Miss Kling," said Nattie, warningly; "if she catches a glimpse of you making off with my fruit-dish, she will never rest until she finds out everything."
"Rely on me for secrecy and dispatch," said Cyn,
