tore to a hitching
post like any other beast of burden," returned Neale, following in her
footsteps out of the side gate.

This was a Saturday. Ruth had said that if they were to have company all
the following week and school was to open a week from Monday, they had
all better get out their school books on this evening and begin to get
familiar with the studies they were to go back to so soon.

"At least, we would better see if we all remember our A B C's," she said
dryly. "You, Sammy, after being out so long last term because of the
scarlet fever, will have to make up some studies if you wish to keep up
with your class."

"Don't care whether I keep up or not," growled Sammy. "I just hate
school. Every time I think of it I feel like going right off and being a
pirate, without waiting to learn navigation."

For Mr. Pinkney, who was a very wise man, had explained to Sammy that
there was scarcely any use in his thinking of being a pirate if he could
not navigate a ship. And navigation, he further explained, was a form
of mathematics that could only be studied after one had graduated from
high school and knew all about algebra.

Nevertheless, Sammy appreciated the fact that he was included in Ruth's
invitation and could bring his books over to the Corner House
sitting-room where the girls and Neale O'Neil were wont to study almost
every week-day night during the school year.

Neale usually took supper at the Corner House on Saturday evenings and,
considering the way he came back from the shopping expedition laden with
bundles, he certainly deserved something for "the inner man," as he
himself expressed it. A truly New England Saturday night supper was
almost always served by Mrs. MacCall--baked beans, brown bread and
codfish cakes.

And pudding! Mrs. MacCall was famous for her "whangdoodle pudding and
lallygag sauce"--a title she had given once to cottage pudding and its
accompanying dressing to satisfy little folks' teasing questions as to
"what is _that_?" Neale O'Neil was very fond of this delicacy.

As he passed his plate for a second helping on this occasion he quoted
with becoming reverence: "The woman that maketh a good pudding is better
than a tart reply."

"But Mrs. Adams made a tart once," observed Dot seriously, "and instead
of sifting powdered sugar on it she got hold of her sand-shaker, and
when she gave Margaret Pease and me each a piece it gritted our teeth
so we couldn't eat it. So then," conclude