n, Lemuel, Edgar, Sarah-Mary,
Bemis, Aldora and Joey, ages ranging from fourteen to two and a half,
kept on eating in silence--or, if not quite in silence, at least without
speaking. They had been taught not to talk at table; their mother had
taught them, their father playing the part of horrible example. Mrs.
Macomber, too, was silent. She was busy stacking plates and cups and
saucers preparatory to clearing away. When the clearing away was
finished she would be busy washing dishes and after that at some other
household duty. She was always busy and always behind with her work.

Her husband turned to the only other person at the crowded table.

"Cap'n Sears," he demanded, "you know 'most everything. What is it man
born of woman is full of besides a few days?"

Sears Kendrick thoughtfully folded his napkin. There was a hole in the
napkin--holes were characteristic of the Macomber linen--but the napkin
was clean; this was characteristic, too.

"Meanin' yourself, Joel?" he asked, bringing the napkin edges into line.

"Not necessarily. Meanin' any man born of woman, I presume likely."

"Humph! Know many that wasn't born that way?"

Mr. Macomber's not too intellectual face creased into many wrinkles and
the low ceiling echoed with his laugh. "Not many, I don't cal'late," he
said, "that's a fact. But you ain't answered my question, Cap'n. What is
man born of woman full of?"

Captain Kendrick placed the folded napkin carefully beside his plate.

"Breakfast, just now, I presume likely," he said. "At least, I know two
or three that ought to be, judgin' by the amount of cargo I've seen 'em
stow aboard in the last half hour." Then, turning to Mrs. Macomber, he
added, "I'm goin' to help you with the dishes this mornin', Sarah."

The lady of the house had her own ideas on that subject.

"Indeed you won't do anything of the sort," she declared. "The idea! And
you just out of a crippled bed, as you might say."

This remark seemed to amuse her husband hugely. "Ho, ho!" he shouted.
"That's a good one! I didn't know the bed was crippled, Sarah. What's
the matter with it; got a pain in the slats?"

Sarah Macomber seldom indulged in retort. Usually she was too busy to
waste the time. But she allowed herself the luxury of a half minute on
this occasion.

"No," she snapped, "but it's had one leg propped up on half a brick for
over a year. And at least once a week in all that time you've been
promisin' to bring home a new cast