go
to school don't know nothing, eh?"

"Oh, no, sir," I said apologetically.

"'Cause they do, you know. And so we must buy the Gap, must we, and get
to be landlords, must we, and want to turn parties as has lived here
twenty or thirty years or more out of their houses and homes, must we?
Now, look ye here, young gent, what I've got to say is--Bah! What a
fool I am," he cried, smiting his open left hand with his fist. "What
am I talking about? 'Tar'n't his fault."

I was standing aghast and wishing myself a long way off, when his whole
manner changed and he patted me on the shoulder.

"'Tar'n't your fault, my lad, 'tar'n't your fault. So you've come home
for the holidays, eh?"

"Yes, sir."

"Hah! Bigley, my big babby, often talks about you when he writes to me,
lad. You're mates, eh?"

"Oh, yes," I said, finding his tone roughly kind now. "We sleep in the
same room."

"Hah, yes! Well, and what have you chaps been about?"

"Oh, climbing about, and down by the stream, father," put in Bigley
quickly.

"And you ar'n't hungry a bit, eh, lads? Well, I am," he said, without
waiting for us to speak. "Let's go in and see what Mother Bonnet has
got for us."

I was for hanging back, and so was Bob, who was jealous of the extra
notice taken of me; but old Jonas Uggleston took hold of us both by the
shoulders and marched us before him as if we were prisoners, and
regularly pushed us in at the low door and into the low rustic-looking
room, with its floor formed of big rough slabs of slate, and its
whitewashed walls hung with all kinds of fishing gear and odds and ends,
that looked very much as if they had come from different wrecks, so out
of keeping were they with the plain, homely room, smelling strangely of
sea-weed with a dash of fish.

"And I thought there'd be something ready to eat," said old Jonas.
"That's right, Big, put some chairs to the table, and come to an anchor
all of you."

He smiled grimly as he thrust both Bob and me into chairs and then
turned to his son.

"Take the big pitcher, boy, and fill it from the cider barrel. It's in
the back place yonder. Good cider won't hurt boys. It's only like
drinking apples 'stead o' chewing of 'em. I'm going to dip my hands.
Back directly."

He nodded and left the room with his son, leaving Bob and me staring at
each other across the table.

"Don't it seem rum," he whispered, "having no table-cloth?"

I said it did, but then the table was b