“If it ain’t here in the mornin’, miss,” she said, “it’s been here tonight, anyways, an’ I shan’t never forget it.” She looked at each particular thing, as if to commit it to memory. “The fire was THERE”, pointing with her finger, “an’ the table was before it; an’ the lamp was there, an’ the light looked rosy red; an’ there was a satin cover on your bed, an’ a warm rug on the floor, an’ everythin’ looked beautiful; an’”—she paused a second, and laid her hand on her stomach tenderly—“there WAS soup

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