soda; the wry face that followed was wholly
involuntary.

"I declare they are horrid!" exclaimed Ruey, bursting into tears. "I
knew soda would spoil them, bitter stuff!"

Mr. Thorne did not then attempt to show why soda would not spoil
them, if properly used; grieved at his wife's distress, and becoming
hygienical, he said:

"Don't have anything more to do with these wretched things. They are
unwholesome anyway, and we are better off without them. Give them
up."

"Never!" said Ruey, resolutely. When Ruey spoke in that way, Philip
knew she meant it, and he sighed at the prospect of discordant
breakfasts through a series of experiments. A text about "A dinner of
herbs" floated through his mind as he walked abstractedly toward his
store.

After Mrs. Thorne had dried her tears she walked to the kitchen, and
with her own hands scraped that acid, alkaline mess into the drain.

"Buckwheat cakes are very mysterious and trying things," she remarked
to herself, "but I shall never give up till I can make them like
Philip's mother's."

"I find," said Mr. Thorne that evening, "that I must start to-morrow
morning for New York, and will need a very early breakfast. Let
Joanna just make me a cup of coffee. No cakes, remember," he
laughingly added. "You may have a whole week to experiment upon them
in my absence."

Ruey watched him down the street in the gray dawn of the next morning
as he hurried to the depot, and a bright idea came into her head.

Why not take a little trip on her own account? She might run up to
father Thorne's; why not be visiting as well as moping here alone?
She wished she had thought of it and mentioned it to Philip, but it
was better not; he would probably have thought she could not go so
far alone, but what was a day's journey when it could all be
accomplished before dark; then it was going to be a bright day, she
could see that by the rosy flush in the east; just the day for a
journey. Besides, Philip could not go to visit them this winter, and
how delighted they would be to have her come and break up the
monotony of their lives. She glanced at the clock; only six o'clock;
she would have ample time to get ready for the eight o'clock train,
the dress she had on would do to travel in--just slip her black
cashmere into her satchel, and she was ready. Yes, she would go.

Artful Ruey! Down in her heart she had a secret reason for this
visit, that did not come up to the surface with the others. She
wa