ed up to the bank, mighty
shreued."

They had finished their codfish and potato, and Mrs. Peaslee,
without giving much attention to her husband's testimony to the
business acumen of his banking friends and incidentally of himself,
pulled the pale, thin pie toward her and cut it.

"Pass up your plate," said she.

When his plate was again in place before him, Mr. Peaslee inserted
the edge of his knife under the upper crust and raised it so that he
could get a better view of its contents; he had his suspicions of
that pie. What he saw confirmed them; between the crusts was a thin,
soft layer of some brown stuff, interspersed with spots of red.

"Them's the currants we had for supper the night before last, and
that's the dried-apple sauce we had for supper last night," he
announced accurately. "An' ye know how I like a proper pie."

"I ain't goin' to waste good victuals," said his wife, with
decision.

There was silence for a moment; Solomon did not dare make any
further protest.

"I suppose," his wife said, picking up again the thread of her
thoughts, "ye'll have to wear your go-to-meetin' suit all the time
to the grand jury. I expect they'll be all wore out at the end.
That'll take off something. You be careful, now. Settin' round's
awful wearin' on pants. You get a chair with a cushion. And don't ye
go treatin' cigars. And don't ye go to the hotel for your victuals.
I ain't goin' to have ye spendin' your money when ye can just as
well come home. Where ye goin' now?"

Mr. Peaslee was putting on his coat. "Well," he said, "I kind o'
thought I'd step over to Ed'ards's. I thought mebbe he'd be
interested."

"Goin' to brag, are ye?" was his wife's remorseless comment. "Much
good it'll do ye, talkin' to that hatchet-face. He ain't so pious as
he looks, if all stories are true."

But Mr. Peaslee was already outside the door. She raised her voice
shrilly. "You be back, now; them chickens has got to be fed!"

Mr. Peaslee sought a more sympathetic audience. Being drawn for the
grand jury had greatly flattered his vanity, for it encouraged a
secret ambition which he had long held to get into public life.
Service on the grand jury might lead to his becoming selectman,
perhaps justice of the peace, perhaps town representative from
Ellmington--who knew what else? He looked down a pleasant vista of
increasing office, at the end of which stood the state capitol. He
could be senator, perhaps! And he began planning his beh