"Good night," said he, holding out his hand to the old man.
"Nay; won't you stay and eat with us, Brother Powell? The supper will be ready directly."
Mr. Powell shook his head. "You know I never eat supper," he said, smiling.
"Well, well; perhaps you're in the right," responded old Max, very readily.
"And I am not clear," continued the preacher, "but that it would be better for you to leave off the habit."
"Me? Oh, no! I need it for my health's sake."
"But would it not suit your health better, to take your supper early? Say at six o'clock or so; so that you should not go to bed with a full stomach."
"No; it wouldn't," answered the old man, crabbedly.
David Powell stood meditating, with his hand to his chin. "I am not clear about it," he murmured. But Maxfield either did not hear, or chose to ignore the words.
"Father, may I go upstairs to Mrs. Errington?" asked Rhoda, softly; "I don't want any supper."