of their parents alive, and entertaining
guests of shining quality, was almost as satisfyingly unusual as death
and a funeral.

They were a noisy, hearty throng, and Bertha's heart went out to poor
Patrick McArdle, who sat amid the uproar, silent, patient, the heroic
breadwinner for them all. No wonder he was old before his time. Slowly
her antipathy died out. She began to find excuses even for the mother.
To feed such a herd of little pigs and calves, even out of wooden
troughs, would require much labor; to keep them buttoned, combed, and
fit for school was an appalling task. "Mart must help these folks," she
said to herself.

McArdle had nothing to say during the meal, and Bertha could see that
his family did not expect him to do more than answer a plain question.
Indeed, the children created a hubbub that quite cut off any connected
intercourse, and Fan, with a grin of despair, at last said: "They'll be
gorged in a few minutes, and then we'll have peace."

"This is what lack of money means," Bertha was thinking. And her house,
her automobile, her horses, became at the moment as priceless, as
remote, as crown jewels and papal palaces. Then, conversely, she grew to
a larger conception of the possibilities which lay in sixty thousand
dollars a year. Not only did it lift her and all hers above the heat and
mire and distress of the world of toil, it enabled them to help others.

Swiftly the children filled their stomachs, and, seizing each a piece of
cake or pie, withdrew, leaving the old folks and their guests in peace.

Thereupon, McArdle, taking a pipe from his pocket and knocking it
absent-mindedly on the seat of the chair, dryly remarked: "Now that we
can hear ourselves think, let's have it all over again. Who air ye, and
why air ye here?"

Being told a second time that this was his brother-in-law, a miner from
Colorado, he shook hands all over again, and accepted Mart's cigar with
careful fingers, as if fearing to drop and break the precious thing.

Bertha said: "I think we'd better be going, Captain. Our carriage is
outside."

"Gracious Peter," cried Mrs. McArdle, "I forgot all about it! Is he by
the day or by the hour?"

Mart answered, with an amused smile. "Well, now, I don't know. I think
by the hour."

"Ye're makin' a big bluff, Mart. We're properly impressed," said his
sister. "Go pay him off, and save the money."

McArdle put in a query. "You must have a good thing out there?"

"'Tis enough to