"Guess so too," said Jerome.

"Pass over your plate; you must be hungry by this time," said his
mother. She heaped his plate with the stew. "There," said she, "don't
you wait any longer. I guess mebbe you'd better set the dish down on
the hearth to keep warm for Elmira and your father first, though."

"Ain't you goin' to eat any yourself?" asked Jerome.

"I couldn't touch a mite of that stew if you was to pay me for it. I
never set much by parsnip stew myself, anyway."

Jerome eyed his mother soberly. "There's enough," said he. "I've got
all I can eat here."

"I tell you I don't want any. Ain't that enough? There's plenty of
stew if I wanted it, but I don't. I never liked it any too well, an'
to-day seems as if it fairly went against my stomach. Set it down on
the hearth the way I told you to, an' eat your dinner before it gets
any colder."

Jerome obeyed. He ate his plate of stew; then his mother obliged him
to eat another. When Elmira returned she had her fill, and there was
plenty left for Abel Edwards when he should come home.

Jerome, well fed, felt like another boy when he returned to his task
in the garden. "Guess I can get this spadin' 'most done this
afternoon," he said to himself. He made the brown earth fly around
him. He whistled as he worked. As the afternoon wore on he began to
wonder if he could not finish the garden before his father got home.