THE HEAD OF THE CORNER


Everybody wore their company manners to the breakfast-table--the first
time in the whole history of the Home when company manners had graced
the initial meal of the day. Being pleasant at supper was easy enough,
Aunt Nancy used to say, for every one save the unreasonably
cantankerous, and being agreeable at dinner was not especially
difficult; but no one short of a saint could be expected to smile of
mornings until sufficient time had been given to discover whether one
had stepped out on the wrong or the right side of the bed.

This morning, however, no time was needed to demonstrate that everybody
in the place had gotten out on the happy side of his couch. Even the
deaf-and-dumb gardener had untwisted his surly temper, and as Abraham
entered the dining-room, looked in at the east window with a
conciliatory grin and nod which said as plainly as words:

"'T is a welcome sight indeed to see one of my own kind around this
establishment!"

"Why don't he come in?" questioned Abe, waving back a greeting as well
as he could with the treasured cup in one of his hands and the saucer in
the other; whereupon Sarah Jane, that ugly duckling, explained that the
fellow, being a confirmed woman-hater, cooked all his own meals in the
smokehouse, and insisted upon all his orders being left on a slate
outside the tool-house door. Abe sniffed disdainfully, contemplating her
homely countenance, over which this morning's mood had cast a not
unlovely, transforming glow.