the trees, we'll
fool him! We won't wait till he can make it hot, but we'll get right up
with the birds and the squirrels and we'll just run right along. And by
twelve o'clock we'll be in Richmond--where they have good things to eat.
So there you are--all mapped out. Only now we'll have a belt supper."

"A belt supper?" queried the child curiously, though her face brightened
at the thought of _any_ kind of supper, made out of belts or any other
thing.

"Um-hum," asseverated her father gravely. "See--this is the way it's
done."

He cupped his hands and took a draught from the spring, pretending to
chew it as it went down. "You take a big drink of nice cold water; then
draw up your belt as tight as you can--and say your prayers."

To his surprise his small daughter only sniffed scornfully.

"Oh, shucks, Daddy! I know a better way than that. Susan an' me used to
do it all the time while you were away."

"What did you do?" he asked curiously, for he had forgotten that more
than half the childish play world is the world of "make believe.'"

"Why, we--we just '_let on_,'" she answered, with simple naivete. "Sit
down an' I'll show you how."

He sat down obediently, but not before he had picked up an old tin can
from nearby and set it carefully between them.

"This rock is our table--the moss is the table cloth. Oh, it isn't
green," she cried as he looked down in serious doubt. "You must _help_
me make believe. Now--doesn't it look nice and white?"

"It does, indeed. I can see nothing but snowy linen of the finest
texture," he responded instantly.

"That's better," complimented his hostess. And then with a grand air--

"I'm so glad you dropped in, sir--an' just at supper time. Pass your
plate an' allow me to help you to some batter bread."

"Batter bread! Ah, just what I was hoping for," her guest replied,
thankfully extending his plate for the imaginary feast.

"Thank you. Delicious. The very best I've tasted for a year. Did you
make it yourself?"

"Oh, dear, no--the cook."

"Ah, of course! Pray pardon me, I might have known."

The little hostess inclined her head. "Take plenty of butter. 'Cause
batter bread isn't good 'thout butter."

"Thank you--what lovely golden butter. And--goodness gracious! What is
this I see before me? Can this really be a sausage?"

"Yes, sir," laughed Virgie with delight. "And there's the ham. I smoked
it myself over hick'ry wood. Please help yourself."

She pretended to arr