"That's poetry," her grandfather explained with a wink at Judidy. "Fall to," he said as he served the last plateful of golden eggs and crisp bacon. "Here's Mother with her last chore done, and we ain't more than half through our breakfast. If that coffee's for Elizabeth, Mother, you can give it to me."
"I thought Elizabeth could have a little—very weak."
"Not at my table," Grandfather said.
Elizabeth poured a glass of milk and drank it in silence, but her grandfather gave her one sharp look from under his bushy brows.
"I see old Samuel's crawled out," he said, turning to Grandmother. "I guess we'll have some wet weather, now."
"He's a disgusting creature," Elizabeth said, looking resentfully at the jug of milk—and taking a second glass of it.
"He's a kind of relation of yours. His mother was my father's cousin. I think he'd be better off at the poor farm, but he's so dirty, the selectmen kinder hate the job o' trying to get him there."
"A relation?" Elizabeth cried. "Oh!"
"You don't know much about your Cape Cod relations, do you, Elizabeth?"
"I guess I'm a kind o' relation, too," Judidy simpered. "Everybody's relation on Cape Cod, I guess."