er, more especial the mother of a honly son, which 'arrowing
is no name for them. As I were saying to Miss Penny this very day--a
true lady, sir, if there is one in hall Red Jacket, and wife of No. 2,
timber boss, my Mark being the same in No. 3--Miss Penny, sez I--but,
laws! what's the use of telling sich things to a mere man? as I
frequent sez to my Mark and my Tom, which he hain't no more'n a boy
when all's said and done, if he does claim to vote, and halways on the
side of 'is father, when, if wimmen had the privilege--as Miss Penny,
who is a geniwine lady, and by no means a woman-sufferer, has frequent
said to me, that it's a burning shame they shouldn't--things would be
more naturally equalled up. Same time, young sir, seeing has 'ow
you've come--"

"And is also nearly starved," interrupted Mark Trefethen. "Let's have
supper. You've done yourself proud, mother, and give Mr. Peril a
master-welcome; but eating before talking, say I, and so let us fall
to."

Faint with hunger as he was, the guest needed no second invitation to
seat himself at the homely but hospitable table, on which was placed a
great dish of corned beef and cabbage, another of potatoes, a wheaten
loaf, and a pot of tea. Cups, plates, and saucers were of thickest
stone-ware, knives and forks were of iron, and spoons were of pewter,
but Peveril managed to make successful use of them all, and though
betraying a woful ignorance of the proper functions of a knife, ate
his first working-man's meal with all of a working-man's appetite and
hearty appreciation.

Mrs. Trefethen occupied a great rocking-chair at one end of the
table, surrounded by a group of clamorous little ones, into whose open
mouths she dropped bits of food as though they were so many young
birds in a nest, and kept up an unceasing flow of conversation
regarding her friend Mrs. Penny, to which Peveril strove to pay polite
attention.

From the opposite end her husband expatiated between mouthfuls upon
the fate that had overtaken 'Blacky' that evening, but Peveril was too
hungry to talk, and so apparently was Tom. These four were waited on
by a slim, rosy-cheeked lass, with demure expression but laughing
eyes, to whom the guest had not been introduced, but who, from her
likeness to Tom, he rightly concluded must be his sister. She was
addressed as "Nelly."

After supper the three men adjourned to a little front porch, where
Mark Trefethen lighted a pipe and questioned Peveril concern