things."

Silas, with the spring-wagon, duly appeared. On top of the baggage, legs
in air, was the discarded canopy of the carryall. Beside Silas sat
Nelton. He was trembling all over. In his lap he held Lewis's hat. His
bulging eyes were fastened on it.

"There they be," grunted Silas. "Told you they was all right. William be
a keerful driver."

Nelton raised his eyes slowly. They lit, with wonder.

"Mr. Leighton," he cried, "Master Lewis, are you safe?'

"Quite safe, Nelton," said Leighton. "Why?"

Nelton mutely held out Lew's hat and jerked his head back at the wrecked
canopy.

"Oh, yes," said Leighton, nodding; "we dropped those. Thank you for
picking them up. Take the bags up-stairs."

"Lew," said Leighton, as they were washing, "did you use to have dinner
at night at Nadir or supper?"

"Supper," said Lewis.

"Well," said Leighton, "that's what you'll get today--at six o'clock,
and don't you be frightened when you see it. It has been said of the
Scotch that the most wonderful thing about them is that they can live on
oats. The mystery of the brawn and muscle of New England is no less
wrapped up in pies. But don't hesitate. Pitch in. There's something
about this air that turns a nightly mixture of mince-pies, pumpkin-pies,
custard-pies, lemon-pies, and apple-pies, with cheese, into a substance
as heavenly light as fresh-fallen manna. It is a tradition, wisely
fostered by the farmers, that the only thing that can bring nightmare
and the colic to a stomach in New England are green apples and stolen
melons."

Lewis was in good appetite, as was Leighton. They ate heartily of many
things besides pies, went to bed at nine, and would have slept the round
of the clock had not a great gong--a bit of steel rail hung on a
wire--and all the multitudinous noises of farm headquarters broken out
in one simultaneous chorus at half-past five in a glorious morning.

Noisy geese and noisier cocks, whinnying horses and lowing cattle, the
rattle of milk-tins, the squeak of the well-boom, the clank of
mowing-machines, the swish of a passing brush-harrow, and, finally, the
clamoring gong, were too much for Nelton. Lewis, on his way to look for
a bath, caught him stuffing what he called "cotton an' wool" into his
ears.

"Tork about the streets of Lunnon, Master Lewis," he said. "I calls this
country life _deafenin'_."

Lewis had wanted to telegraph to Natalie, but Leighton had stopped him.

"You've waited too long for