"But didn't ye git it, Si?" his wife persisted.

"Git it? No!"

"What!"

"I said no!"

"But who did, then?"

"The parson."

"What! Parson John?"

"Certainly. Who else would he fool enough to interfere with me?"

"Well, well!" ejaculated Mrs. Farrington. "Do tell us about it, Si?"

"No, not a word more about it," snapped her husband, "till we git down to
dinner. I'm most starved. Is it ready?"

"Dear me, yes. I'd clean fergot about it," and Mrs. Farrington bustled off
to the kitchen.

Everything in the dining-room betokened care and industry, from the
nicely-papered walls, adorned with pictures, to the large sideboard, with
its display of old china and glassware. The table-linen was spotlessly
clean, and the food served up was well cooked. But, notwithstanding this,
something seemed wrong. An indefinable atmosphere pervaded the place which