t
critter's class."

"But your dinner!" wailed Barbara, almost in tears. "He's spoiled
ALL your dinner! Oh, the BAD thing! I hate that Cherub cat! I
HATE him!"

Mr. Winslow rubbed his chin. "We-e-ll," he drawled again. "He
does seem to have done what you might call a finished job.
H-u-u-m! . . . 'Another offensive on the--er--no'theast'ard
front; all objectives attained.' That's the way the newspapers
tell such things nowadays, ain't it? . . . However, there's no
use cryin' over spilt--er--puddin'. Lucky there's eggs and milk
aboard the ship. I shan't starve, anyhow."

Barbara was aghast. "Eggs and milk!" she repeated. "Is THAT all
you've got for Sunday dinner, Mr. Winslow? Why, that's awful!"

Jed smiled and began picking up the fragments of the plate. He
went to the closet to get a broom and when he came out again the
young lady had vanished.

But she was back again in a few minutes, her eyes shining.

"Mr. Winslow," she said, "Mamma sent me to ask if you could please
come right over to our house. She--she wants to see you."

Jed regarded her doubtfully. "Wants to see me?" he repeated.
"What for?"

The child shook her head; her eyes sparkled more than ever. "I'm
not sure," she said, "but I think there's something she wants you
to do."

Wondering what the something might be, Jed promised to be over in a
minute or two. Barbara danced away, apparently much excited. Mr.
Winslow, remembering that it was Sunday, performed a hasty toilet
at the sink, combed his hair, put on his coat and walked across the
yard. Barbara met him at the side door of the house.

"Mamma's in the dining-room," she said. "Come right in, Mr.
Winslow."

So Jed entered the dining-room, to find the table set and ready,
with places laid for three instead of two, and Mrs. Armstrong
drawing back one of three chairs. He looked at her.

"Good mornin', ma'am," he stammered. "Babbie, she said--er--she
said there was somethin' you wanted me to do."

The lady smiled. "There is," she replied. "Babbie has told me
what happened to your dinner, and she and I want you to sit right
down and have dinner with us. We're expecting you, everything is
ready, and we shall--yes, we shall be hurt if you don't stay.
Shan't we, Babbie?"

Barbara nodded vigorously. "Awf'ly," she declared; "'specially
Petunia. You will stay, won't you, Mr. Winslow--please?"

Poor Jed! His agitation was great, his embarrassment greater and
his ex