"Why, sir?" said the eldest son promptly.

"I want to give you the best," answered his father, with a
touch of comicality about the lines of his face.

"Are you afraid I shall work them too hard?"

"That's just what I'm afraid they'd do for you."

He went out; and his son attended to his breakfast in silence,
with a raised eyebrow and a curved lip.

"What do you want, Winthrop?" the mother presently called to
her second son, who had disappeared, and was rummaging
somewhere behind the scenes.

"Only a basket, mamma," -- came from the pantry.

His mother got up from table, and basket in hand followed him,
to where he was busy with a big knife in the midst of her
stores. Slices of bread were in course of buttering, and lay
in ominous number piled up on the yellow shelf. Hard by stood
a bowl of cold boiled potatoes. He was at work with dexterity
as neat-handed and as quick as a woman's.

"There's no pork there, Governor," his mother whispered as he
stooped to the cupboard, -- "your father made an end of that
last night; -- but see -- here --"