"Baked beans again, Cy!" exclaimed Asaph, dropping in one evening after
supper. "'Tain't Saturday night so soon, is it?"

"No," was the dismal rejoinder. "It's Tuesday, if my almanac ain't out
of joint. But we had beans Saturday and they ain't all gone yet, so I
presume we'll have 'em till the last one's swallowed. Aunt Debby's got
what the piece in the Reader used to call a 'frugal mind.' She don't
intend to waste anything. Last Thursday I spunked up courage enough to
yell for salt fish and potatoes--fixed up with pork scraps, you know,
same's we used to have when I was a boy. We had 'em all right, and if
beans of a Saturday hadn't been part of her religion we'd be warmin' 'em
up yet. I took in a cat for company 'tother day, but the critter's
run away. To see it look at the beans in its saucer and then at me was
pitiful; I felt like handin' myself over to the Cruelty to Animals'
folks."

"Is she neat?" inquired Mr. Tidditt.

"I don't know. I guess so--on the installment plan. It takes her a week
to scrub up the kitchen, and then one end of it is so dirty she has to
begin again. Consequently the dust is so thick in the rest of the house
that I can see my tracks. If 'twan't so late in the season I'd plant
garden stuff in the parlor--nice soil and lots of shade, with the
curtains down."

From the rooms in the rear came the words of a gospel hymn sung in a
tremulous soprano and at concert pitch.

"Music with my meals, just like a high-toned restaurant," commented