took a step backward. Of course they did not
mean what they said; but I thought joking on this occasion was in
very poor taste.

"Got left over? Poor little dear!"

The woman stopped her work to pity me, and drops of egg dripped from
the fork-tines like yellow tears. I fell to crying then.

"It seems she's some related to Captain Tenney's folks," said the
whistling man, ending with another love-pat, and "Poor Sissy!"

But even those insulting words could not stop my crying this time.

"Leave her to me, Peter," said the woman. "Most likely she's afraid of
men folks."

The man went away, to my great relief, and she took my bonnet and
cloak, and then made me tell her all about my trials, while she beat
time with her fork. My mouth once open, I talked steadily, giving the
complete history of my life between my sobs,--only leaving out my lie
about the hatchet.

"Something cut my foot and I go a little lame, or I could have catched
that kitty,--she has white _pors_. But _does_ the railroad have any
right to run off and leave folks that's bought tickets?"

"Never mind, dear, you're welcome to stay over with us. Brother Peter
and I never calculate to turn folks away while we have a crust to eat,
or a roof to cover us."

"O, dear, what poor people!" I ought not to stay. But it seemed they
were to have something to-night better than crusts. Harr'et was frying
pancakes,--how could she afford it?--and shaking them out of the
kettle with a long-handled skimmer into a pan in a chair. She brought
me one, which she called her "try-cake;" but it didn't look like
Ruth's, and I was too homesick to eat; so I managed to slip it into my
pocket.

Harr'et wore heavy calfskin shoes, and shook the house fearfully when
she walked. I couldn't help thinking of what she had said about the
roof, and it seemed as if it might fall any minute and "cover us,"
sure enough.

While I sat on the door-step watching her, all forlorn, she drew out a
red armchair, gave it a little twitch, as you would to a sunshade, and
lo! it turned into a table, with a round top. Then she covered it with
a cloth, from a drawer in the chair part of the table, and put on some
green and white dishes.

When tea was ready, the whistling man seemed to know it, and came in.
It didn't look very inviting to me. The biscuits were specked with
brown spots as if the oven had freckled them; and I didn't like
molasses for sauce.

I thought of home, and the nice supper cous