In the second Mrs. Kettleman was putting up her husband's dinner. There were piles and piles of goodies; and his cadaverous face was bent over the mass, the lips slightly parted, the nose longer than ever, and asking solemnly, "Can you get it all in, Becky?"
The third showed a group of laughing men round a small table, which was spread with different articles. One fellow held the pail up-side-down, saying, "The last crumb." The head of Mr. Kettleman was just in sight, ascending the stairs.
Lastly the kettle tied to a dog's tail. Mr. Kettleman in the distance, taller, thinner, and exceedingly woebegone, watching his beloved but unfortunate kettle as it thumped over the stones.
There were many irregularities and defects, but the faces were remarkable for expression. Mr. Darol laughed heartily.
"How old are you?" asked Mr. Wentworth, glancing curiously at the slender slip of a girl.
"Fifteen."
"You don't look that."
"You have a wonderful gift," said Mr. Darol thoughtfully.
"Oh, that is real!" exclaimed Charlie eagerly, as they turned to another. "My brother was in a store once, and sold some pepper for allspice. The woman put it in her pie."
"So I should judge from her husband's face;" and they both laughed again, and praised Charlie to her heart's content.