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"
It
was
such
a
restless
place
,
"
Mrs
.
Baker
said
.
"
People
moved
before
they
had
time
to
gather
a
set
of
habits
,
or
manners
.
"
Mary
told
her
story
of
an
Irish
tea
in
Boston
with
the
water
boiling
in
round
tubs
over
an
open
fire
and
served
with
tin
ladles
.
"
And
they
don
’
t
steep
.
They
boil
,
"
she
said
.
"
That
tea
will
unsettle
varnish
on
a
table
.
"
There
must
be
ritual
preliminaries
to
a
serious
discussion
or
action
,
and
the
sharper
the
matter
is
,
the
longer
and
lighter
must
the
singing
be
.
Each
person
must
add
a
bit
of
feather
or
a
colored
patch
.
If
Mary
and
Mrs
.
Baker
were
not
to
be
a
part
of
the
serious
matter
,
they
would
long
since
have
set
up
their
own
pattern
of
exchange
.
Mr
.
Baker
had
poured
wine
on
the
earth
of
conversation
and
so
had
my
Mary
,
and
she
was
pleased
and
excited
by
their
attentiveness
.
It
remained
for
Mrs
.
Baker
and
for
me
to
contribute
and
I
felt
it
only
decent
to
be
last
.
She
took
her
turn
and
drew
her
source
from
the
teapot
as
the
others
had
.
"
I
remember
when
there
were
dozens
of
kinds
of
tea
,
"
she
offered
brightly
.
"
Why
,
everyone
had
recipes
for
nearly
everything
.
I
guess
there
wasn
’
t
a
weed
or
a
leaf
or
a
flower
that
wasn
’
t
made
into
some
kind
of
tea
.
Now
there
are
only
two
,
India
and
China
,
and
not
much
China
.
Remember
tansy
and
camomile
and
orange
-
leaf
and
flower
—
and
—
and
cambric
?
"
"
What
’
s
cambric
?
"
Mary
asked
.
"
Equal
parts
hot
water
and
hot
milk
.
Children
love
it
.
It
doesn
’
t
taste
like
milk
and
water
.
"
That
accounted
for
Mrs
.
Baker
.
It
was
my
turn
,
and
I
intended
to
make
a
few
carefully
meaningless
remarks
about
the
Boston
Tea
Party
,
but
you
can
’
t
always
do
what
you
intended
.
Surprises
slip
out
,
not
waiting
for
permission
.
"
I
went
to
sleep
after
service
,
"
I
heard
me
say
.
"
I
dreamed
of
Danny
Taylor
,
a
dreadful
dream
.
You
remember
Danny
.
"
"
Poor
chap
,
"
said
Mr
.
Baker
.
