Mr. Daddles hurried below, and soon came up with the pie.

"I hope some of you will," said he, "you do, in this region, don't
you?"

"In obscure parts of the ulterior," said Pete, "I have heard that
the habit lingers of eating pie for breakfast. It's merely a
tradition in my family, I regret to say."

"The old, robust stock is dying out," said Sprague, mournfully,
"but my father has told me that in his youth he often saw his
father do it. We are over civilized, but if there should be any
great national crisis,--a war, or anything like that,--I have no
doubt that New England would rally once again, and--"

"I am so much disappointed," said Daddles, turning slowly about,
with the pie in one hand, "my poor grandmother has often told me
about it, and I did hope to see the weird, old custom practised on
its native heath--won't you? Or you?"

He turned to one after the other of us.

"Yer can give me a mejum piece," observed Gregory the Gauger,
looking up from his fifth fried egg.

Mr. Daddles cut a large slice in evident delight. Gregory ate it,
slowly and thoughtfully.

"Have some more?"