rother replied in a smooth tone of
measureless aggravation, "the feller wa'n't acquainted with us, an' he
only went by appearances."

Aunt Polly appealed to John: "Ain't he enough to--to--I d' know what?"

"I really don't see how you live with him," said John, laughing.

Mrs. Cullom's face wore a faint smile, as if she were conscious that
something amusing was going on, but was not quite sure what. The widow
took things seriously for the most part, poor soul.

"I reckon you haven't followed theater-goin' much after that," she said
to her hostess.

"No, ma'am," Mrs. Bixbee replied with emphasis, "you better believe I
hain't. I hain't never thought of it sence without tinglin' all over. I
believe," she asserted, "that David 'd 'a' stayed the thing out if it
hadn't ben fer me; but as true 's you live, Cynthy Cullom, I was so
'shamed at the little 't I did see that when I come to go to bed I took
my clo'es off in the dark."

David threw back his head and roared with laughter. Mrs. Bixbee looked
at him with unmixed scorn. "If I couldn't help makin' a----" she began,
"I'd----"

"Oh, Lord! Polly," David broke in, "be sure 'n wrap up when you go
out. If you sh'd ketch cold an' your sense o' the ridic'lous sh'd strike
in you'd be a dead-'n'-goner sure." This was treated with the silent
contempt which it deserved, and David fell upon his dinner with the
remark that "he guessed he'd better make up fer lost time," though as a
matter of fact while he had done most of the talking he had by no means
suspended another function of his mouth while so engaged.

[Illustration]

For a time nothing more was said which did not relate to the
replenishment of plates, glasses, and cups. Finally David cleaned up his
plate with his knife blade and a piece of bread, and pushed it away with
a sigh of fullness, mentally echoed by John.

"I feel 's if a child could play with me," he remarked. "What's comin'
now, Polly?"

"The's a mince pie, an' Injun puddin' with maple sugar an' cream, an'
ice cream," she replied.

"Mercy on us!" he exclaimed. "I guess I'll have to go an' jump up an'
down on the verandy. How do you feel, John? I s'pose you got so used to
them things at the Eagle 't you won't have no stomech fer 'em, eh?
Wa'al, fetch 'em along. May 's well die fer the ole sheep 's the lamb;
but, Polly Bixbee, if you've got designs on my life, I may 's well tell
ye right now 't I've left all my prop'ty to the Institution fer
Disappinted