rds; but the simple laborer was no match for a man who made
his living by small chaffering. He was forced to give in, and Saturday
morning, bright and early, he appeared on the banks of Catnip Creek
accompanied by Master Cadge, Thomas Cadge, Jr., and Arabella Cadge.

"Daddy's going to give you kids a treat to-day," he announced. "My eye!
wot larks we will 'ave. Nothing to do all day long but play building a
stone fort right on the brook, and Daddy will show you 'ow to build it."

The little Cadges were perfectly charmed at this condescension on the
part of their sire, who seldom acknowledged their presence except with a
cuff in passing. They were eager to begin, and as they had no need to
strip their legs, which were always bare, the work proceeded apace.

Cadge, Sr., ensconced himself in the sunniest nook of the bank, and
directed his offspring what stones to select and where to place them,
and above all, to make haste, since the enemy would soon appear to
attack the fort.

Before their Saturday holiday was over, the children had discovered that
their father was a strenuous playfellow. In vain they suggested fishing,
hunting Injuns, or gathering wild flowers; they had set out to build a
fort on Catnip Creek, and build it they must.

They entertained hopes of sneaking off alone when they should go home
for lunch, but Mr. Cadge had provided for this contingency. His wife
appeared at noon with slices of bread and butter for the Cadgelings, to
which was added a cold beefsteak and a bucket of beer for the support of
their house. Having already lunched at home, she was permitted to lay a
tier of heavier stones along the wall while waiting for her family to
finish the repast.

It was an arduous day for the tribe of Cadge, excepting, of course, its
head. Not until the first star came out and the owls began to hoot along
the Catnip did he declare himself satisfied with the day's work and
proceed homeward to supper. Widow Pipkin's wall was half finished.

Not until Saturday was the patient father able to enlist once more the
services of his offspring, for, "What if they are your own kids!"
retorted Mrs. Cadge from her wash-board. "I've rubbed my 'ands raw to
give 'em the eddication you and me lacks, and to school they go. You
build that wall yourself, or wait until the week's end for your pay."

The former alternative was not to be thought of, and the Widow Pipkin
wondered mildly whether the half finished wall was ever to