s with the flavour of new grass, the bacon and
eggs, the potatoes, the rhubarb sauce, the great plates of new, hot
gingerbread and, at the last, the custard pie--a great wedge of it, with
fresh cheese. After the first ravenous appetite of hardworking men was
satisfied, there came to be a good deal of lively conversation. The
girls had some joke between them which Ben was trying in vain to fathom.
The older son told how much milk a certain Alderney cow had given,
and Mr. Stanley, quite changed now as he sat at his own table from the
rather grim farmer of the afternoon, revealed a capacity for a husky
sort of fun, joking Ben about his potato-planting and telling in a
lively way of his race with me. As for Mrs. Stanley, she sat smiling
behind her tall coffee pot, radiating good cheer and hospitality. They
asked me no questions at all, and I was so hungry and tired that I
volunteered no information.

After supper we went out for half or three quarters of an hour to do
some final chores, and Mr. Stanley and I stopped in the cattle yard and
looked over the cows, and talked learnedly about the pigs, and I admired
his spring calves to his hearts content, for they really were a
fine lot. When we came in again the lamps had been lighted in the
sitting-room and the older daughter was at the telephone exchanging
the news of the day with some neighbour--and with great laughter and
enjoyment. Occasionally she would turn and repeat some bit of gossip to
the family, and Mrs. Stanley would claim:

"Do tell!"

"Can't we have a bit of music to-night?" inquired Mr. Stanley.

Instantly Ben and the slim girl, Mary, made a wild dive for the front
room--the parlour--and came out with a first-rate phonograph which they
placed on the table.

"Something lively now," said Mr. Stanley.

So they put on a rollicking negro song called. "My Georgia Belle,"
which, besides the tuneful voices, introduced a steamboat whistle and
a musical clangour of bells. When it wound up with a bang, Mr. Stanley
took his big comfortable pipe out of his mouth and cried out:

"Fine, fine!"

We had further music of the same sort and with one record the older
daughter, Kate, broke into the song with a full, strong though
uncultivated voice--which pleased us all very much indeed.

Presently Mrs. Stanley, who was sitting under the lamp with a basket of
socks to mend, began to nod.

"Mother's giving the signal," said the older son.

"No, no, I'm not a bit sleepy,