Chapter Eighth.
"Home is the sphere of harmony and peace,
The spot where angels find a resting place,
When bearing blessings, they descend to earth."
—Mrs. Hale.
Cyril came running back carrying a covered basket.
"He's gone, girls. He wasn't the Lord at all; only a man; and he didn't stay long; I guess 'cause he sat down on the tacks and hurted himself.
"Here's our dinner. Mother says we may eat it out here under the trees and it'll be as good as a picnic."
"So it will. Let's see what it is," and Zillah took the basket and lifted the lid. "Oh that's nice! buttered biscuits and cold tongue and cheese and ginger bread—lots of it—and a turnover apiece."
"Isn't our mother good?" cried Ada gratefully. "Did you tell her about the Indian the berries?"
"Yes; and father was there—he just came home—and he says we needn't be a single bit afraid; they don't kill folks now, and they wouldn't dare to hurt us right here in the town; even if they wanted to."