"I hev it, ma! When's he comin'?"

"To-morrer fer breakfast."

"Then we must rayhearse to-night afore we kin put it on right. Come, all
you-uns, to the kitchen table."

The Jenkins children, accustomed to the vernacular of the profession,
were eager to participate in a rehearsal, and they scampered
boisterously to the kitchen precincts. Amarilly, as stage director,
provided seats at the table for herself, her mother, Flamingus, Gus, the
baby, and the Boarder, the long-suffering, many-roled family cat
personating the latter as understudy. Behind their chairs, save those
occupied by the Boarder and the baby, were stationed Milton, Bobby, Bud,
and Cory. This outer row, Amarilly explained, was to be fed from the
plates of their elders with food convenient as was Elijah by the
Scriptural ravens. This plan lifted the strain from the limited table
appointments, but met with opposition from the outpost who rebelled
against their stations.

"I ain't agoin' to stand behind Flam or Gus," growled Milton. "I won't
stand no show fer grub at all."

"I ain't, neither," and "Nit fer me!" chorused the near twins, Bobby and
Bud.

"I want to set at the table and eat like folks!" sobbed Cory.

Mrs. Jenkins advocated immediate surrender, but the diplomatic little
general, whose policy was pacification, in shrill, appealing voice