he continued in logical sequence. "Aw do."

"Make him, Mother," said Abby indignantly. "It's the
Queen's BIRTHDAY!"

"Time enough when the butter bill's paid," said Mrs
Murchison.

"Oh the BUTTER bill! Say, Father, aren't you going to?"

"What?" asked John Murchison, and again took out his
pipe, as if this were the first he had heard of the
matter.

"Give us our fifteen cents each to celebrate with. You
can't do it under that," Oliver added firmly. "Crackers
are eight cents a packet this year, the small size."

"Nonsense," said Mr Murchison. The reply was definite
and final, and its ambiguity was merely due to the fact
that their father disliked giving a plump refusal.
"Nonsense" was easier to say, if not to hear than "No."
Oliver considered for a moment, drew Abby to colloquy by
the pump, and sought his brother behind the woodpile.
Then he returned to the charge.

"Look here, Father," he said, "CASH DOWN, we'll take
ten."

John Murchison was a man of few words, but they were