or in a good-humored
roar, "How can I start the day right 'thout a kiss from my Boozer?"

Becky blushed and simpered and cast down her eyes. "Get along with
you, Cilley! What a way to behave," she admonished, delighted and
abashed. "See--there's company here."

She pushed her suitor off with an elephantine shove and gestured to
Chris.

Chris was feeling the contagion of laughter catching up with him again
at the scene he had watched, and was glad when the sailor turned and
came over to where he sat.

"A visitor, eh? Well, well. Off a ship?"

[Illustration]

"No--no!" Becky put in quickly, and gave Chris a look. "No. He is a
friend of the master's, from--" she searched her mind--"from another
part of the country. He got here last night and slept late, as you
see."

"Indeed and indeed!" said the sailor, settling himself comfortably,
and as if for a long stay, in his chair and observing Chris through
his keen blue eyes. "Well, young man," he announced genially, "I am
Cilley," he said, and stretched out a hard brown hand.

"Christopher Mason," Chris said in return, and they solemnly shook
hands, taking account of each other as men do when they meet.

"I shall sit here, Mistress Becky, by your leave," Cilley called out,
as if Becky Boozer were a mile away, "to keep this lad company, as it
were."

"So you shall!" Becky answered warmly, smiling broadly, wrinkles of
pleasure at the corners of her eyes. "And could I tempt you with a
morsel, Master Cilley?"

Ned Cilley appeared to consider this invitation from all sides before
he gave his reply, cocking his head on one side like a parrot as he
reflected. Finally, he answered.

"How could I refuse when I know your fame as a cook?" he said with a
smile at Becky and a wink at Chris, and put his horny forefinger and
thumb the distance of a thread apart. "But a crumb, Mistress Becky. A
morsel. A taste. Just to pay my respects to your art, as it were."

Then such a commotion took place in the kitchen. Chris watched
flabbergasted, as Becky set before Cilley a meat pie, a large cheese,
fruit preserves, two kinds of bread, cakes and cookies, latticed
tarts, and pickles in jars. And with a beaming smile Becky drew from
a cask a jugful of ale which she set down on the table with a thud.

"Just a morsel, Master Cilley," she said, adding in a coaxing tone,
"Try just a taste, to please me."

Ned Cilley, his eyes winking with anticipation and smacking his lips,
attacked the