te to their most distinguished pioneer ..."

During the rest of the meal no other subject was discussed.

The evening was bright with memories and dreams for Martie. When a
large dish of stewed apples in tapioca had been eaten, the whole family
rose and left the room, and Belle, the little maid, came in wearily,
alone, to attack the disordered table. For two hours the sound of
running water and the dragging of Belle's heavy feet would be heard in
the kitchen. Meanwhile, Belle's mother, in a small house down in the
village, would keep looking at the clock and wondering whatever had
become of Belle, and Belle's young man would loiter disconsolately at
the bridge, waiting.

The three Monroe girls and their mother went into the parlour, Malcolm
going across the hall to a dreary library, where he had an
old-fashioned cabinet desk, and Lenny gaining a reluctant consent to
his request to go down to "Dutch's" house, where he and Dutch would
play lotto.

"Why doesn't Dutch Harrison ever come here to play lotto?" Martie asked
maliciously. "You go to Dutch's because it's right down near
Bonestell's and Mallon's and the Pool Parlour!" Leonard shot her a
threatening glance, accepted a half-permission, snatched his cap and
was gone.

The parlour was large, cold, and uncomfortable, its woodwork brown, its
walls papered in dark green. Lydia lighted the fire, and as Leonard had
made his escape, Belle brought up a supplementary hodful of coal.
Martie lighted two of the four gas jets, and settled down to solitaire.
Sally read "Idylls of the King." Lydia and her mother began to sew, the
older woman busy with mending a hopelessly worn table-cloth, the
younger one embroidering heavy linen with hundreds of knots. Lydia had
been making a parasol top for more than a year. They gossiped in low,
absorbed tones of the affairs of friends and neighbours; the endless
trivial circumstances so interesting to the women of a small town.

There were two gas jets, also on hinged arms, beside the white marble
fireplace, and one of these Sally lighted, taking her father's
comfortable chair. A hood of thin plum-coloured flannel, embroidered in
coloured flowers, was on the mantel, with shells, two pink glass vases,
and a black marble clock. On the old square piano, where yellowing
sheets of music were heaped, there was a cover of the same flannel.
Albums and gift books, Schiller's "Bell" with Flaxman plates, and
Dante's "Inferno" with Dore's illustratio