her own; while Abe inwardly rejoiced to think that for seven days to
come--seven whole days--he and Angy would be free from the surveillance
of the sisters.

Mrs. Homan, in no way nonplussed, boomed on:

"Thar, I most fergot about his necktie. 'Course, they don't dress up
much at the Station; but jest the same that air tie o' yourn, Brother
Abe, is a disgrace. I told yew yew'd spile it a-wearin' it tew bed.
Naow, I got a red an' green plaid what belonged to my second stepson,
Henry O. He never would 'a' died o' pneumony, either, ef he'd a-took my
advice an' made himself a newspaper nightcap last time he substituted
with the 'Savers. An' yew kin have that necktie jest as well as not.
Naow, don't say a word; I'm better able to part with it 'n yew be not to
take it."

No one ever attempted the fruitless task of stopping Mrs. Homan once
fully launched; but when at last she permitted her back to rest against
her chair, folding her arms with the manner of one who makes a sacrifice
in a worthy cause, Abe broke into an explosive protest.

If any one fretted him in his somewhat fretful convalescence, it was
this grenadier member of the household, who since Blossy's marriage had
endeavored to fill the vacant post of "guardeen angel."

"Mis' Homan," he sputtered, rising to his feet, "I wouldn't wear a red
an' green plaid tie to a eel's funeral!"

Then with a somewhat ungracious "good-night" to the company in general,
he trudged across the hall and up the stairs, muttering something to