“Wha - a maid?”. Mable couldn’t help but laugh. “No, Anne, not at all! It’s just… oh, well, don’t think poorly of me for this, but I never got to eat at the table much growing up. My brother and I would have picnics on towels, or just eat outside by the creak.”

Mable watched her friend clean away ash and handed her wood to replace it. Meanwhile, she was trying her hardest to remember how her brother had set the table the few times they had eaten at it, or if he even did.