was all until we
came to the house, and then Mrs. Francis kissed her again and did me,
too, when she got started, and kissed Jim, too, and he kissed me, and
we had a great time. The meal was called a breakfast, but say, kids,
there was _eating_ for you! Maybe you think a breakfast is mostly
porridge and toast and the like o' that. Well, now, there wasn't a
sign of porridge--oyster soup came first."

"Wha's 'at?" Danny asked. The wedding details had reached the place
where Danny's interest began.

"They're the colour of gray stones, only they're soft, and if you
shut your eyes they're fine, and while you're wondering whether or
not you'll swallow them, they slip down and you begin to look for
another; and then there was little dabs of fried fish laid on a
lettuce leaf, with a sprig of parsley beside it, and a round of
lemon. They took the lemon in their fingers and squeezed it over
their fish. It looked a little mussy to me, but I guess it's manners
all right; and then there was olives on a little glass dish, and
every one took one--they taste like willow bark in spring. Mrs.
Burrell said she just loved them, and et a lot. I think that's
carryin' your manners too far. I et the one I took and thought I did
well. Mr. Burrell asked the blessin', and gave Jim and Camilla lots
of good advice. He said to be sure and get mad one at a time. And
then we had lots of other stuff to eat, and we went to the train, and
Camilla told me to watch that Mrs. Francis didn't let the tea-kettle
boil dry while I was there, and I guess that was all."

But of the incident of the pearl ring, strangely enough, she said not
a word.

* * *

When Thomas Perkins found out that Bud had really gone he was plunged
in deepest grief. He came over to where John Watson was ploughing
stubble, the very picture of self-pity. "Pretty hard on a man, John,
pretty hard," he began as soon as he came within hearing distance,
"to lose his only boy and have to hire help; after losin' the twins,
too, the year of the frozen wheat--fine little fellows they was, too,
supple as a string of suckers. And now, by golly, Bud's gone, John,
with the good new eighteen-dollar suit--that's what I paid for it in
cold cash in Brandon last winter--and I'll have to keep my hired man
on if he don't come back, and this beggar I have, he can eat like a
flock of grasshoppers--he just chunks the butter on his bread and
makes syrup of his tea. Oh, yes, John, it's rough on a man when he