where they were warming and softening; brought an apple pie and a plate of
seed cakes from the pantry; settled the coffee with a piece of dried fish skin
and an egg shell; and transferred some fried potatoes from the spider to a
covered dish.

"Did you remember the meat, grandpa? We're all out," she said, as she began
buttoning a stiff collar around his reluctant neck.

"Remember? Land, yes! I wish't I ever could forgit anything! The butcher says
he's 'bout tired o' travelin' over the country lookin' for critters to kill,
but if he finds anything he'll be up along in the course of a week. He ain't a
real smart butcher, Cyse Higgins ain't.--Land, Rose, don't button that dickey
clean through my epperdummis! I have to sport starched collars in this life on
account o' you and your gran'mother bein' so chock full o' style; but I hope
to the Lord I shan't have to wear 'em in another world!"

"You won't," his wife responded with the snap of a dish towel, "or if you do,
they'll wilt with the heat."

Rose smiled, but the soft hand with which she tied the neckcloth about the old
man's withered neck pacified his spirit, and he smiled knowingly back at her
as she took her seat at the breakfast table spread near the open kitchen door.
She was a dazzling Rose, and, it is to be feared, a wasted one, for there was
no one present to observe her clean pink calico and the still more subtle note
struck in the green ribbon which was tied round her throat,--the ribbon that
formed a sort of calyx, out of which sprang the flower of her face, as fresh
and radiant as if it had bloomed that morning.

"Give me my coffee turrible quick," said Mr. Wiley; "I must be down to the
bridge 'fore they start dog-warpin' the side jam."