said Isom.

Isom led the way into the smoky kitchen, inwardly more gratified than
displeased over this display of spirit. According to the agreement
between them, he had taken under bond-service the Widow Newbolt's "minor
male child," but it looked to him as if some mistake had been made in
the delivery.

"He's a man!" exulted Isom in his heart, pleased beyond measure that he
had bargained better than he had known.

Joe put his lean brown hand into the bosom of his shirt and brought out
a queer, fat little book, leather-bound and worn of the corners. This he
placed on top of his bundle, then followed Chase into the kitchen where
the table was spread for breakfast.

Mrs. Chase was busy straining milk. She did not turn her head, nor give
the slightest indication of friendliness or interest in Joe as he took
the place pointed out by Chase. Chase said no word of introduction. He
turned his plate over with a businesslike flip, took up the platter
which contained two fried eggs and a few pieces of bacon, scraped off
his portion, and handed the rest to Joe.

In addition to the one egg each, and the fragments of bacon, there were
sodden biscuits and a broken-nosed pitcher holding molasses. A cup of
roiled coffee stood ready poured beside each plate, and that was the
breakfast upon which Joe cast his curious eyes. It seemed absurdly
inadequate to the needs of two strong men, accustomed as Joe was to four
eggs at a meal, with the stays of life which went with them in
proportion.

Mrs. Chase did not sit at the table with them, nor replenish the empty
platter, although Joe looked expectantly and hungrily for her to do so.
She was carrying pans of milk into the cellar, and did not turn her head
once in their direction during the meal.

Joe rose from the table hungry, and in that uneasy state of body began
his first day's labor on Isom Chase's farm. He hoped that dinner might
repair the shortcomings of breakfast, and went to the table eagerly when
that hour came.

For dinner there was hog-jowl and beans, bitter with salt, yellow with
salt, but apparently greatly to the liking of Isom, whose natural food
seemed to be the very essence of salt.

"Help yourself, eat plenty," he invited Joe.

Jowls and beans were cheap; he could afford to be liberal with that
meal. Generosity in regard to that five-year-old jowl cost him scarcely
a pang.

"Thank you," said Joe politely. "I'm doing very well."

A place was laid for Mrs. Cha