horn!"

"I put some potatoes on," said he, gruffly.

"Got any pork? or have you used it all up?"

"I guess there's pork! I 'ain't touched it. I 'ain't eat anything but
potatoes; an' I've chopped wood for them, an' for what I burnt."

"Do tell!" said Mrs. Wadleigh. She set the potatoes forward, where they
would boil more vigorously. "Well, you go down sullar an' bring me up a
little piece o' pork--streak o' fat an' streak o' lean--an' I'll fry
it. I'll sweep up here a mite while you're gone. Why, I never see such
a lookin' kitchen! What's your name?" she called after him, as he set
his foot on the Upper stair.

He hesitated. "Joe!" he said, falteringly.

"All right, then, Joe, you fly round an' git the pork!" She took down
the broom from its accustomed nail, and began sweeping joyously; the
man, fishing in the pork-barrel, listened meanwhile to the regular
sound above. Once it stopped, and he held his breath for a moment, and
stood at bay, ready to dash up the stairs and past his pursuers, had
she let them in. But it was only her own step, approaching the cellar
door.

"Joe!" she called. "You bring up a dozen apples, Bald'ins. I'll fry
them, too."

Something past one o'clock, they sat down together to as strange a meal