"Oh! not next Sunday, Cap'n Parks!" cried Miss Phrony, with another languishing glance. "That is too suddin! The Sunday after, p'raps, if you will have it so."
"Just as you say!" said Calvin, struggling with a specially dry chip of ham. "The sooner the better, Miss Phrony, if things is as you said."
"Have some pie!" cried the lady with sudden tenderness. "Do! I made it o' purpose for you, Cap'n!"
"Did!" said Calvin, and he eyed the pie gravely. "Well, just a leetle portion, Miss Phrony! I made a hearty dinner, and—mince, is it, or—or what?" he added, after the first mouthful. "I don't seem to recognize the flavor."
"It's Pie-fillene!" said Miss Phrony complacently. "I got a sample package when I was over to the Corners, and I saved it for you."
"Now that was real thoughtful of you!" said Calvin.
"Do you like it?" asked the maiden coyly.
"It's consid'able different from mince!" said Calvin. "Yes, it is a remarkable pie," he added, after a second bite; "no two ways about that. I never tasted one like it. Do you s'pose I could have just a mite of butter on this biscuit, Miss Phrony?"
