She had no pretty white cloth to lay on the tray, unfortunately, but she had a sheet of white paper that she had saved from a parcel, and she spread this on the tray, then arranged on it the cups and saucers and milk-jug and sugar-basin.

She made the tea next and put out some biscuits on a plate.
She could not carry all up at once, so she took the tray first, then came back for the teapot and kettle.

A second chair was got from Mrs.Lang's bedroom, and then the sociable little meal was begun.
It did not last long, but half-an-hour, at the longest.

Yet it was one of those bright little spots which linger long in the memory and make one glad, though sometimes sad, to look back upon.
"Well, I must get on, my work won't do itself, I guess," sighed Mrs.
Lang, at last reluctantly preparing to rise, but Charlie put out his hand to detain her.
"Don't go yet, mother, wait a minute, I want Miss Patch to sing.
Miss Patch, you will sing to us, just once, won't you ?" he pleaded.
"That one you used to sing to me.

Oh, do! please! please!" "But, my dear, my dinner is on cooking, and--and"-- Miss Patch's cheeks flushed a delicate pink, she was very shy--"I--I ain't accustomed to singing, except to myself, and--well, I used to sing to you sometimes when you were very little and didn't know what good singing was." "It was lovely," said Charlie earnestly, "and nobody ever sings to me now," he added wistfully.
Miss Patch's tender heart was touched, and her shyness overcome.
"Very well, dear, I will," she agreed bravely, and it was really brave of her, for to do so cost her a great effort.