"No, you mustn't," cried Dick, bounding in in time to catch the last words. "Mamma said no one was to have anything different, if we came to breakfast, from what the Peppers are going to eat. I like the yellow stuff; give me some, do," and he slid into a chair and passed his plate to Mrs. Pepper.
"So you shall, Dicky," she said hastily. "And you will never taste sweeter food than this," giving him a generous spoonful.
"Grandpapa is eating ham and fried eggs over at the minister's house," contributed Dick, after satisfying his hunger a bit.
"Ham and fried eggs!" exclaimed Mother Pepper, aghast. "Why, he never touches them. You must be mistaken, my boy."
"No, I'm not," said Dick, obstinately. "The minister's wife said it was, and she asked me if I wouldn't have some, and I said I was going over to the Peppers to breakfast; I'd rather have some of theirs. And Grandpapa said it was good—the ham and fried eggs was—and he took it twice; he did, Mrs. Pepper."
"Took it twice?" she repeated, faintly, with troubled visions of the future. "Well, well, the mischief is done now, so there is no use in talking about it; but I'm worried, all the same."
"Hurry up, Percy," called Joel across the table, "and don't dawdle so. We're going to make a double ripper, four yards long, to go down that hill there." He laid down his spoon to point out the window at a distant snow-covered slope.
Percy shivered, but recalling himself in time, said "Splendid," and addressed himself with difficulty to his mush.
"Well, you'll never be through at that speed," declared Joel. "See I've eaten three saucerfuls," and he handed his plate up, "And now for the fourth, Mamsie."
"Oh! baked potatoes," cried Ben, rolling one around in his hand before he took off its crackling skin. "Weren't they good, though, with a little salt. I tell you, they helped us to chop wood in the old times!"