rself, as to age about forty, plump, rosy and
very business-like. She whisked the platter of fried mackerel and the
dishes of baked potatoes, stewed corn, hot biscuits and all the rest,
to the table is no time, and then, to Albert's astonishment, sat down at
that table herself. Mrs. Snow did the honors.

"Albert," she said, "this is Mrs. Ellis, who helps me keep house.
Rachel, this is my grandson, Albert--er--Speranza."

She pronounced the surname in a tone almost apologetic. Mrs. Ellis did
not attempt to pronounce it. She extended a plump hand and observed: "Is
that so? Real glad to know you, Albert. How do you think you're goin' to
like South Harniss?"

Considering that his acquaintance with the village had been so decidedly
limited, Albert was somewhat puzzled how to reply. His grandfather saved
him the trouble.

"Lord sakes, Rachel," he declared, "he ain't seen more'n three square
foot of it yet. It's darker'n the inside of a nigger's undershirt
outdoors to-night. Well, Al--Albert, I mean, how are you on mackerel?
Pretty good stowage room below decks? About so much, eh?"

Mrs. Snow interrupted.

"Zelotes," she said reprovingly, "ain't you forgettin' somethin'?"

"Eh? Forgettin'? Heavens to Betsy, so I am! Lord, we thank thee for
these and all other gifts, Amen. What did I do with the fork; swallow
it?"

As long as he lives Albert Speranza will not forget that first meal in
the home of his grandparents. It was so strange, so different from
any other meal he had ever eaten. The food was good and there was an
abundance of it, but the surroundings were so queer. Instead of the
well-ordered and sedate school meal, here all the eatables from fish
to pie were put upon the table at the same time and the servant--or
housekeeper, which to his mind were one and the same--sat down, not
only to eat with the family, but to take at least an equal part in the
conversation. And the conversation itself was so different. Beginning
with questions concerning his own journey from the New York town where
the school was located, it at length reached South Harniss and there
centered about the diminutive person of Laban Keeler, his loquacious and
tuneful rescuer from the platform of the railway station.

"Where are your things, Albert?" asked Mrs. Snow. "Your trunk or
travelin' bag, or whatever you had, I mean?"

"My trunks are coming by express," began the boy. Captain Zelotes
interrupted him.

"Your trunks?" he repeated. "Got