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Updated: May 13, 2026
To add to her woe, she found Elizabeth lying on the couch in the darkened study, suffering from a nerve-racking headache, and the preacher, looking very droll togged out in his little wife's kitchen-apron, was flying about serving up the scorched, unseasoned dinner for the forlorn family.
"Lie down, Yassuh, and go to sleep," cried Avrillia; and so saying she took down her kitchen-apron from the gold-headed pin where it hung and began to flit about the cook-table measuring out snow-sugar and breaking butterfly eggs into her shining cups and bowls. Then Avrillia baked the waffles and they sat down to eat.
On his return, he noticed the kitchen-apron, picked it up and held it a moment irresolutely. Then opening a door in the wainscot near the fireplace he flung it in. Before the door went to, Elsie had a glimpse of worse disorder of the sort that is supposed to pertain to a junk-shop. "That's Katy's apron," remarked Mrs. Middleton plaintively.
A kitchen-apron was flung across an armchair; a dirty, paper-covered book lay on a little table with a plate beside it covered with cake-crumbs, and there were crumbs on the richly colored Turkish rug and on the arm of the tapestry-covered chair on the edge of which Elsie perched. Surely there was some mistake, some monstrous mistake! She had somehow been brought to the wrong house.
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