circle in his slice of brown bread.

"Tell me what can be keeping your father," said Mrs. Lively, returning
to her subject.

"Can't."

"He'll come poking along in the course of time, I suppose, when all
the hot things are cold, and all the cold things are hot. Just like
him. And I worked myself into a fever to get them on the table piping
hot and ice-cold. From stove to cellar, from cellar to well, I rushed,
but if I'd worked myself to death's door, he'd stay his stay out, all
the same."

"Reason for stayin', I s'pose," suggested Napoleon.

"Yes, of course you'll take his part--you always do. For pity's sake,
what has your mother ever done that you should side against her?"

"Dunno."

"Dunno! Of course you don't. I'll tell you: She tended you through
all your helpless infancy: she nursed you through teething, and
whooping-cough, and measles, and scarlet fever, and chicken-pox,
and mercy knows what else. Many's the time she watched with you the
livelong night, when your father was snoring and dreaming in the
farthest corner of the house, so he mightn't hear your wailing and
moaning. She's toiled and slaved for you like a plantation negro,
while he--"

"He's comin'," interrupted Napoleon, without for a moment intermitting
his potato-shoveling. "Walkin' fast," continued the sententious lad,
swallowing immediately half a cup of milk.

Dr. Lively came hurrying into the dining-room.

"For pity's sake, I think it's about time," the wife began pettishly.

"Have you seen my purse anywhere about here?" the gentleman asked with
an anxious cadence in his voice.

"Your purse!" shrieked Mrs. Lively, turning short upon her husband and
glaring in wild alarm.

"Lost it?" asked Napoleon, digging his fork into a huge potato and
transferring it to his plate.

"Go, look in the bed-room, Nappy: I think I must have dropped it
there," said the father.

Napoleon rose from his chair, but stopped halfway between sitting and
standing for a farewell bite at his bread and butter.

"For mercy's sake, why don't you go along?" Mrs. Lively snapped out.
"What do you keep sitting there for?"

"Ain't a-settin'," responded Nappy, laying hold of his cup for a last
swallow.

"Standing there, then?"

"Ain't a-standin'."

"If you _don't_ go along--" and Mrs. Lively started for her son and
heir with a threat in every inch of her.

"Am a-goin'," returned the son and heir; and, sure enough, he went.

During this passage between mothe