The thrifty Scotswoman shook her head. "The mon kens nae mair aboot the
cost o' things than a cheild," said she. "But 'twould be, as ye say, a
peety to mak' him feel we dinna appreciate his thocht o' us."

So they had done their best for him, and the result was a wonderful
thing. To his supplies they had surreptitiously added small delicacies of
their own. Mrs. Kelcey contributed a dish of fat pickles, luscious to the
eye and cooling to the palate. Mrs. Murdison brought a jar of marmalade
of her own making--a rare delicacy; though the oranges were purchased of
an Italian vender who had sold out an over-ripe stock at a pittance. Mrs.
Lukens supplied a plate of fat doughnuts, and Mrs. Burke sent over a big
platter of molasses candy. Thus the people of the neighbourhood had come
to feel the affair one to which not only had they been bidden, but in
which they were all in a way entertainers.

The boys of the district, also, had their share in the fun. Though not
invited to the dinner proper, they had been given a hint that if they
dropped in that evening after their fathers and mothers had departed
there might be something left--and what boys would not rather "drop in"
after that fashion, by the back door, than go decorously in at the front
one? So they had been eager to furnish decorations for the party,
according to Brown's suggestion, by going in a body to the woods three
miles away and bringing back a lavish supply of ground-pine. They had
spent two happy evenings helping Brown make this material into ropes,
while he told them stories, and there was not a boy of them all who would
not cheerfully have lent his shoulders to the support of the dinner-table
throughout the coming meal, if it had suddenly been reported that Tim
Lukens's sawhorses were untrustworthy.

"Now, Misther Brown, I'll be goin' home to see to the twins and get me