xiety. He stole sly
glances at Dad and at Dave and made a mental calculation. Then he
fixed his eyes longingly on the one remaining scone, and ate faster and
faster....Still silence. Joe glanced again at Dad.

The dogs outside barked. Those inside, lying full-stretch beneath the
table, instantly darted up and rushed out. One of them carried off
little Bill--who was standing at the table with his legs spread out
and a pint of tea in his hand--as far as the door on its back, and
there scraped him off and spilled tea over him. Dad spoke. He said,
"Damn the dogs!" Then he rose and looked out the window. We all
rose--all except Joe. Joe reached for the last scone.

A horseman dismounted at the slip-rails.

"Some stranger," Dad muttered, turning to re-seat himself.

"Why, it's--it's the minister!" Sal cried--"the minister that married
Kate!"

Dad nearly fell over. "Good God!" was all he said, and stared
hopelessly at Mother. The minister--for sure enough it was the Rev.
Daniel Macpherson--was coming in. There was commotion. Dave finished
his tea at a gulp, put on his hat, and left by the back-door. Dad
would have followed, but hesitated, and so was lost. Mother was
restless--"on pins and needles."

"And there ain't a bite to offer him," she cried, dancing hysterically
about the table--"not a bite; nor a plate, nor a knife, nor a fork to
eat it with!" There was humour in Mother at times. It came from the
father's side. He was a dentist.

Only Joe was unconcerned. He was employed on the last scone. He
commenced it slowly. He wished it to last till night. His mouth
opened and received it fondly. He buried his teeth in it and lingered
lovingly over it. Mother's eyes happened to rest on him. Her face
brightened. She flew at Joe and cried:

"Give me that scone!--put it back on the table this minute!"

Joe became concerned. He was about to protest. Mother seized him by
the hair (which had n't been cut since Dan went shearing) and hissed:

"Put--it--back--sir!" Joe put it back.

The minister came in. Dad said he was pleased to see him--poor
Dad!--and enquired if he had had dinner. The parson had not, but said
he did n't want any, and implored Mother not to put herself about on
his account. He only required a cup of tea--nothing else whatever.
Mother was delighted, and got the tea gladly. Still she was not
satisfied. She would be hospitable. She said:

"Won't you try a scone with it, Mr.