"'How did you?—how could you?' as you said to me."
"How could I help it," Grace replied, "after the delicate hint you left behind you,—the kettle boiling on the stove?"
"My dear girl, like little George Washington, I cannot tell a lie. Caleb was responsible for that tea-kettle; he brought it from the store, and said something poetical about the singing of a kettle being music to a woman's ear."
"Caleb did that?" exclaimed Grace, springing from her chair. "Set another place, please!" Then she dashed through the darkness, into the store, and exclaimed:—
"Mr. Wright, I shan't eat a single mouthful until you come down and join us. Lock the store—quick—before things get cold."
"Your word's law, I s'pose," said Caleb, locking the front door, "but—"
"'But me no buts,'" Grace said, taking his hand and making a true "home run." Caleb seated himself awkwardly, looked around him, and said:—
"Hope you asked a blessin' on all this?"
"I never ate a meal without one," Philip replied.