"I didn't intend going over until the afternoon," he said, "but Joe
Hemming sent word yesterday he wouldn't be buying pork after twelve
today. So I have to tote my hogs over at once. I don't care about
doing business New Year's morning."

"Should think New Year's would be pretty much the same as any other
day to you," said Mr. Miller, for Richard Baker was a bachelor, with
only old Mrs. Janeway to keep house for him.

"Well, I always like a good dinner on New Year's," said Richard Baker.
"It's about the only way I can celebrate. Mrs. Janeway wanted to spend
the day with her son's family over at Oriental, so I was laying out to
cook my own dinner. I got everything ready in the pantry last night,
'fore I got word about the pork. I won't get back from Navarre before
one o'clock, so I reckon I'll have to put up with a cold bite."

After her Uncle Richard had driven away, Prissy walked thoughtfully
home. She had planned to spend a nice, lazy holiday with the new book
her father had given her at Christmas and a box of candy. She did not
even mean to cook a dinner, for her father had had to go to town that
morning to meet a friend and would be gone the whole day. There was
nobody else to cook dinner for. Prissy's mother had died when Prissy
was a baby. She was her father's housekeeper, and they had jolly times
together.

But as she walked home, she could not help thinking about Uncle
Richard. He would certainly have cold New Year cheer, enough to chill
the whole coming year. She felt sorry for him, picturing him returning
from Navarre, cold and hungry, to find a fireless house and an
uncooked dinner in the pantry.

Suddenly an idea popped into Prissy's head. Dared she? Oh, she never
could! But he would never know--there would be plenty of time--she
would!

Prissy hurried home, put her matches away, took a regretful peep at
her unopened book, then locked the door and started up the road to
Uncle Richard's house half a mile away. She meant to go and cook Uncle
Richard's dinner for him, get it all beautifully ready, then slip away
before he came home. He would never suspect her of it. Prissy would
not have him suspect for the world; she thought he would be more
likely to throw a dinner of her cooking out of doors than to eat it.

Eight years before this, when Prissy had been nine years old, Richard
and Irving Baker had quarrelled over the division of a piece of
property. The fault had been mainly on Richard's side, and