"I wish I had the seasoning of his dinner,' said Flora, venomously, and with this amiable sentiment the remainder of her ill-humour evaporated, and she set herself about preparing Eben's favourite cake for supper.
"Well, Jeduthun, I've come back once more," said Eben as he entered the mill. "You may as well go to your dinner."
"Once more," echoed Jeduthun. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that I have got my walking-paper, as Tom Wilbur says. Mr. Francis has turned me out of the mill."
"No!" exclaimed Jeduthun, starting up from the heap of bags where he had been reposing. "I guess you're mistaken, Eben. What did he say?"
Eben repeated Mr. Francis's words as well as he could remember them.
"I rather guess you're borrowing trouble," said Jeduthun. "I don't think the old gentleman meant to turn you off, only to show off his own wit. You see, he thinks he's awful sharp and sarcastic—which is a dreadful good receipt for any man that wants to make a fool of himself—and he was kind of riled this morning. Anyhow, don't despair yet—not till you know for certain. I guess I'll go to dinner, as you say, and when I come back I'll find out all about it. The old gentleman will feel better when he has had a real good dinner—kind of oils his works, don't you see?—and I guess we'll make it all right yet."
"You are real clever, not to say 'I told you so,'" said Eben.
"Well, that ain't my kind," returned Jeduthun. "It don't make a man feel much better when he has just broken a leg to stick a pin into him. But don't you give up yet."
Mr. Francis did not seem in any hurry to get back to the mill, and when he did come it was evident, as Jeduthun had predicted, that he was in a better humour. He was complimenting Mr. Antis on having such an excellent wife.