It was large, almost large enough for a punch-bowl, and had probably been used for one.

It was a stately old dish from overseas, a relic from Mrs.Edwards's mother, who had seen her palmy days before her marriage.

Mrs.Edwards had also in her parlor cupboard a part of a set of blue Indian china which had belonged to her mother.
The children watched while their mother dipped the parsnip stew into the china bowl.

Elmira, while constantly more amenable to her mother, was at the moment more outspoken against her.
"There won't be enough left for us," she burst forth, excitedly.
"I guess you'll get all you need; you needn't worry." "There won't be enough for father when he comes home, anyhow." "I ain't a mite worried about your father; I guess he won't starve." Mrs.Edwards went on dipping the stew into the bowl while the children watched.

She filled it nearly two-thirds full, then stopped, and eyed the girl and boy critically.