nd a bottle
of wine. "Draw up, Henry," said Sidney.

"I've had supper."

"What?"

"Sylvia had chicken salad and flapjacks and hot biscuits."

Sidney sniffed. "Cut a slice off that ham," he ordered, "and draw a
chair up. Not that one; you'll go through. Yes, that's right. Bring
over another wineglass while you're about it. This is daisy wine, ten
years old. I've got a pie here that I'll be willing to stake your
fortune you can't analyze. It's after the pattern of the cold pasties
you read about in old English novels. You shall guess what's in it.
Draw up."

Henry obeyed. He found himself sitting opposite Sidney, eating and
drinking with intense enjoyment. Sidney chuckled. "Good?" said he.

"I don't know when my victuals have tasted right before," said Henry.
He received a large wedge of the pie on his plate, and his whole face
beamed with the first taste.

Sidney leaned across the table and whispered. "Squabs," said he,
"and--robins, big fat ones. I shot 'em night before last. It's all
nonsense the fuss folks make about robins, and a lot of other birds,
as far as that goes--damned sentiment. Year before last I hadn't a
bushel of grapes on my vines because the robins stole them, and not a
half-bushel of pears on that big seckel-pear-tree. If they'd eaten
them up clean I wouldn't have felt so bad, but there the ground would
be covered with pears rotted on account of one little peck. They are
enough sight better to be on women's bonnets than eating up folks'
substance, though I don't promulgate that doctrine abroad. And one
thing I ain't afraid to say: big fat robins ought to be made some use
of. This pie is enough sight more wholesome for the bodies of men who
have immortal souls dependent a little on what is eaten, in spite of
the preaching, than Western tainted beef. I made up my mind that pie
was the natural destiny of a robin, and I make squab-and-robin pies
every week of my life. The robins are out of mischief in that pie,
and they are doing us good. What makes you look so, though, Henry?
There's something besides my pie and ham and wine that gives that
look to your face."

"I'm going back to the shop to-morrow," said Henry.

Sidney looked at him. "Most folks would say you were an uncommon
fool," said he. "I suppose you know that."

"I can't help it," said Henry, happily. Along with the savory pie in
his mouth came a subtler relish to his very soul. The hunger of the
honest worker who returns to his work