am came down to breakfast attired in
the pink chintz gown, its skirt touching the floor, and with her long
brown hair tastefully done up in a knot upon her head.

"What a fine young woman has my little sister grown into!" exclaimed
Ralph. "To look at you, Miriam, it seems as if years must have passed
since yesterday. That is the pink dress that Dora Bannister wore when she
was here, isn't it?"

This remark irritated Miriam a little; Ralph saw the irritation, and was
sorry that he had made the remark. It was surprising how easily Miriam
was irritated by references to Dora.

"I lent it once," said his sister, as she took her seat at the table,
"but I shall not do it again."

That day Mike was interviewed in regard to what might be called his
foreign maintenance. The ingenuous negro was amazed. His Irish and his
African temperaments struggled together for expression.

"Bless my soul, Miss Miriam," he said; "nobody in this world ever
brought me nuthin' to eat, 'cause they know'd I didn't need it, an'
gittin' the best of livin' right here in your house, Miss Miriam, an' if
they had brought it I wouldn't have took it an' swallowed the family
pride; an' what's more, the doctor's cook didn't bring that pie on
purpose for me. She just comed down here to ax me how to make real good
corn-cakes, knowin' that I was a fust-rate cook, an' could make
corn-cakes, an' she wanted to know how to do it. When I tole her jes'
how to do it,--ash-cakes, griddle-cakes, batter-cake, every kin' of
cake,--she was so mighty obligated that she took a little bit of a pie,
made of meat, out of the bag what she'd brought along to eat on the way
home, not feelin' hungry at lunch time, an' give it to me. An' not
wantin' to hurt her feelin's, I jes' took it, an' when I went to my
house I het it an' eat it, an' bless your soul, Miss Miriam, it did
taste good; for that there woman in the kitchen don't give me half
enough to eat, an' never no corn-bread an' ham fat, which is mighty
cheap, Miss Miriam, an' a long sight better for a workin' pusson than
crusts of wheat bread a week old an'--"

"You don't mean to say," interrupted Miriam, "that Molly does not give
you enough to eat? I'll speak to her about that. She ought to be ashamed
of herself."

"Now look here, Miss Miriam," said Mike, speaking more earnestly, "don't
you go an' do that. If you tell her that, she'll go an' make me the
biggest corn-pone anybody ever seed, an' she'll put pizen into it. O