nce, that she might feel a
greater security.

As for lovers' quarrels none occurred that were seriously respected by
either party. In fact there was but little to break the monotony of that
solid, absolute content with which all days began and ended.

"'Tis love that makes the world go round."

There is no doubt of that, but two lovers, with unfailing appetites,
however exalted their devotion, are sure, in time, to produce
conspicuous results with any ordinary store of provisions. In the
present instance the discovery--or realization--of this truth was
accidental. It came one morning as Elinor, in a blue and white apron,
with sleeves rolled up, was preparing corn-bread at the kitchen
table--so they called the table near the fireplace at the end of the
room. Pats came up from the cellar with a face of unusual seriousness.

"I have been an awful fool!"

She looked up with her sweetest smile:

"And that troubles you, darling?"

Without replying, he laid three potatoes on the table.

"I told you to get four."

"These are the last."

"Isn't there a second barrel?"

"No."

"Why, Patsy! We both saw it!"

"That's where I was a fool. I took it for granted the other barrel held
potatoes because it looked like the first one."

"But it was full of something."

"Yes, but not potatoes. It is crockery, glassware, a magnificent
table-set. Old Sevres, I should say."

"What a shame!" And with the back of a hand whose fingers were covered
with corn-meal, she brushed a stray lock from her face.

"Yes," he went on, "it's a calamity, for we cannot afford it. I took an
account of stock while I was down there, and all we have now in the way
of vegetables is the dried apples. Of course, there's the garden
truck,--the peas, beans, and the corn,--if it ever ripens."

After further conversation on that subject, Elinor said, with a sigh:
"Well, we did enjoy those baked potatoes! We shall have to eat more
eggs, that's all."

"Eggs!" and his face became distorted. "I am so chock full of eggs now
that everything looks yellow. I dream of them. I cackle in my sleep. My
whole interior is egg. I breathe and think egg. I gag when I hear a
hen."

"But you are going to eat them all the same. We have a dozen a day, and
you must do your share."

"I won't."

"Yes, you will."

As Pats's eyes fell on Solomon, he brightened up. "There's that dog eats
only the very things we are unable to spare. Why shouldn't _he_ eat
eggs?"

"You