"Pa is always meetin' a man he knows."
Mrs. Morgan began hastily removing the covered dishes from the hearth to the table.
"Well, where is the sugar you went over to the store to get?" she demanded with some irritation.
"I forgot it, Marthy. I'll go for it in the mornin'," in a confused, propitiatory tone.
She stared at him.
"I never! Forgot what you went after! You beat all, 'Lijy Morgan; you certainly do beat all."
"The man must 'a' sent your wits wool-gatherin', pa," cried Cynthia, jocosely.
'Lizabeth leaned forward. Her face was long, thin, and pale, and the smooth hair framing it glinted like silver in the firelight; but her dark eyes were wonderfully soft and beautiful, and her mouth had chastened, tender lines about it.
"Are you sick, 'Lijy?" she inquired, in a gentle, subdued voice, a voice with much underlying, patient sweetness in it.
Morgan gave her a grateful look. "N—no; but I don't think I care for any supper," he said slowly. "I'll step out an' see if the stock has all been fed."