n. When our Wes was a baby there was nothing would quiet him like
a piece o' lemon pie."

"Well, Ella Anne Long, there won't be no orphant to bring home if you
folks has your way!"

The exasperated little woman darted down the cellar steps, her voice
coming up from the cool depths, indistinct, but plainly disapproving:
"Lemon pie an' ras'berry vinegar! If Providence hasn't given folks
children, it's a sign they didn't ought to have any! An' it's jist
goin' clean against nature for them to go an' adopt one, that's what
I'll always say!"

The young lady with the pies glanced irresolutely toward a stout woman
who had just entered the back door, carrying a crock of butter. "You
put them pies in, if Hannah wants them," whispered the newcomer,
looking apprehensively toward the cellar, "an' say no more about it.
Half the mischief in the world's done by talking about things." She
hurried out to the vehicle and planted her contribution beside the
bundle of wrappings.

"That there butter's for the children at the Home, Jake. Don't forget
to give it to them poor things. Like as not they give 'em lard or
someth'n'."

"Davy!" she called to the young man on the front seat.

"What, maw?"

"For pity's sake don't forget to call us when the train hoots for
Cameron's Crossin'. 'Cause they've jist got to start then."

The boy in the buggy opened his eyes, stretched and yawned.

"I will, if it hoots good 'n' loud," he remarked, indifferently.

The maelstrom of hurry and bustle surged around Master David Munn,
leaving him placid and undisturbed, but to the rest of the gathering
the affair was of no small moment. Had the Sawyers been setting out on
a polar expedition it is doubtful if Elmbrook could have been more
exercised. For ten years, ever since their only baby had brightened
their home for one week, and then gone back to heaven, Jake and Hannah
Sawyer had wanted to adopt a child. That they had not done so long
before was not their fault, but because the village in general, and
Mrs. Winters in particular, who ruled the village, could never be
brought to consent. For already the Sawyers were about as great a
burden as Elmbrook could shoulder. They were the orphan children of
the village themselves, and needed to be perpetually adopted. They
were as good-hearted and lovable a pair as it was possible for man and
woman to be; all the stray dogs and hungry cats and needy tramps found
their way to the Sawyer house by