A special Saturday in the Procter home, since father expected to spend
the afternoon in the attic working at his invention! Once a month he had
this half-day vacation from the hardware store. True, to make up he
returned to work in the evening after supper, and remained sometimes
till midnight, but that was the bargain he had made with Job Doane, the
owner of the shop, and he stuck bravely by it.

The house was in beautiful order when father arrived at noon. He went at
once to the dining-room. Suzanna and Maizie, putting the last touches to
the table, greeted him cordially.

"We have carrots and turnips chopped up for lunch," announced Maizie
immediately.

"And baked apples, with the tiniest drop of cream for each one,"
completed Suzanna.

"And the baby has a clean dress on, too," Maizie added, like an
anticlimax.

Mr. Procter exclaimed in appropriate manner. He seemed younger today,
charged with a high spirit. His step was light, he held his head high;
his eyes, too, were full of fire. The children knew some vital flame
energized him, some great hope vivified him.

"Sold a scythe to old Farmer Hawkes this morning," he began, when they
were all seated around the table, the smoking dishes before them. He
smiled at his wife and the subtle understanding went around the board