It was hard to have no share in those long conversations between Sarah and her sister, and not to know the result of the mysterious researches among the receipts which had been written out on blue foolscap and bound in marbled pasteboard before Miss Deborah was born.
Her time, however, came.

Miss Deborah owned that no one could arrange a table like Miss Ruth.

The tall silver candlesticks with twisted arms, the fruit in the open-work china baskets, the slender-stemmed glasses for the wines, the decanters in the queer old coasters, and the great bunch of chrysanthemums in the silver punch-bowl in the centre,--no one could place them so perfectly as her sister.
"Ruth," she affirmed, "has a touch," and she contemplated the board with great satisfaction.
"Pray," said Miss Ruth, as she quietly put back in its place a fruit dish which Miss Deborah had "straightened," "pray where are Mr.Dale's comfits?
They must be on the tray to be taken into the parlor." "Sarah will fetch them," answered Miss Deborah; and at that moment Sarah entered with the candy and a stately and elaborate dish, which she placed upon the sideboard.
"Poor, dear man," said Miss Ruth.

"I suppose he never gets all the candy he wishes at home.

I trust there is plenty for to-night, sister?
But what is that Sarah just brought in ?" "Well," Miss Deborah replied, with anxious pride in her tone, "it is not Easter, I know, but it does look so well I thought I'd make it, anyhow.
It is Sic itur ad astra." This dish had been "composed" by Miss Deborah many years ago, and was considered by all her friends her greatest triumph.