the top of which were three generous slices of cheese.

This collection was placed by the side of the pie; the odd little woman
brought plates, knives, and forks, and two napkins from the pantry,
and, having arranged everything in proper order, said, as she stood
facing the boys, with her head slightly inclined to one side, until to
Joe she presented much the appearance of a sparrow:

"If you can eat all there is here, I'll bring more, an' willingly.
Afterwards, we will talk about what is to be done for the night."

"I can eat an' talk, too, jest as well as not," Plums said, as he drew
the pie towards him.

Perhaps aunt Dorcas thought he intended to appropriate the whole to
himself, for she hurriedly cut it into four pieces, one of which she
placed on his plate.

From Plums's manner of beginning the feast, there was good reason to
believe he had told the truth when he said he was starving, and, as she
watched him, an expression of deepest sympathy came over aunt Dorcas's
face.

"It's too bad I haven't some meat to give you, child, for you must be
famishing."

"I'd rather have this," Plums replied, speaking with difficulty, because
of the fullness of his mouth, and it appeared to his hostess as if he
had no sooner begun on a quarter of the pie than it disappeared.

She gave the fat boy another section of the yellow dainty, watching him
like one fascinated, as he devoured it. Then Plums began an onslaught on
the cookies, after casting a wistful glance at the remaining quarter of
the pie.

Joe was ashamed because his companion ate so greedily, and kicked him,
under the table, as a warning that he restrain his appetite; but Master
Plummer failed to understand the signal, and ate all the more greedily,
because he believed Joe thought it time to bring the feast to a close.

"You mustn't think anything of his stuffin' hisself like this, ma'am,--I
mean, aunt Dorcas," Joe said, apologetically. "Plums always was the
biggest eater in New York, an' I guess he always will be."

"What did you call him?" aunt Dorcas asked.

"Plums was what I said. That ain't exactly his name, but it comes mighty
near to it. George H. Plummer is what he calls hisself when he wants to
be swell."

"I think 'George' sounds much better than 'Plums,'" aunt Dorcas said,
thoughtfully.

"Perhaps it does; but it don't fit him half so well."

Meanwhile, the subject of this conversation was industriously engaged
devouring the cookies, and one w