"If a hundred of corn-meal costs two fifty, what will the biggest chanticleer in the lot come to? There's a question for you, Granny."
"Why, it would depend on—how much he weighed," said Granny cautiously.
"Oh, no! it would depend on how you cooked him. In my kitchen he'd come to pot-pie, according to the double rule of a good hot fire."
"You won't sell 'em all, Hal?" said Charlie anxiously.
"No: we will have a little Thanksgiving for ourselves."
Granny sighed. They all knew of whom she was thinking,—a sweet, fair face dropped out of the circle. Now that Flossy was gone, they remembered only her pleasant qualities; and it seemed as if Joe did not care half so much for making a noise when she was not here to be teased.
Mr. Kinsey did not return until Saturday, but he came over with a smiling face.
"Royal luck for you, Hal!" he said in his hearty tone. "I've half a mind to make you guess, and keep all that is over."
"But I might guess high;" and a bright smile brought sunshine into the boy's face.