"Come, Uncle Paul, you don't mean that. That's a scurvy welcome to give a nephew you haven't seen for eighteen years. I'm going to stay to dinner with you, and you must give me something better than that. Haven't you got any meat in the house?"
"No."
Just then Ben Haley, looking from the window, saw some chickens in the yard. His eye lighted up at the discovery.
"Ah, there is a nice fat chicken," he said. "We'll have a chicken dinner. Shall it be roast or boiled?"
"No, no," said the old farmer, hastily. "I can't spare them. They'll bring a good price in the market by and by."
"Can't help it, Uncle Paul. Charity begins at home. Excuse me a minute, I'll be back directly."
He strode to the door and out into the yard. Then, after a little maneuvering, he caught a chicken, and going to the block, seized the ax, and soon decapitated it.
"What have you done?" said Paul, ruefully, for the old man had followed his nephew, and was looking on in a very uncomfortable frame of mind.
"Taken the first step toward a good dinner," said the other, coolly. "I am not sure but we shall want two."
"No, no!" said Paul, hastily. "I haven't got much appetite."