The two homesteads by the Long Island shore were a little lonely for a while, after the departure of all those noisy, merry young fellows. Mr. Foster had enough to do in the city, and Ham Morris had his farm to attend to, besides doing more than a little for Mrs. Kinzer. It was much the better for both estates that he had that notable manager at his elbow. The ladies, however, old and young, had plenty of time to come together and wonder how the boys were getting along, even before the arrival of the first batch of letters.
"They must be happy," remarked kind Mrs. Foster, after the long, boyish epistles had been read, over and over; "and such good letters! Not one word of complaint of anything."
Mrs. Kinzer assented somewhat thoughtfully. Dabney had not complained of anything; but while he had praised the village, the scenery, the academy, the boys, and had covered two full sheets of paper, he had not said a word about the table of his boarding-house.
"He is such a growing boy," she said to herself. "I do hope they will give him enough to eat."
It went on a good deal in that way, however, for weeks, even till the Fosters broke up their summer residence and returned to the city. There were plenty of letters, and all his sisters wondered where Dabney had learned to write so capitally; but Mrs. Kinzer's doubts were by no means removed until Ham Morris showed her a part of a curious epistle Dabney had sent to him in a moment of confidence.
"I tell you what, Ham," he wrote, "mother doesn't know what can be done with corn. Mrs. Myers does. She raised a pile of it last year, and the things she makes with it would drive a cook-book crazy. I've been giving them Latin names, and Frank, he turns them into Hindustanee. It's real fun, but I sha'n't be the boy I was. I'm getting corned. My hair is silkier and my voice is husky. My ears are growing. I'd like some fish and clams for a change. A crab would taste wonderfully good. So would some oysters. They don't have any up here; but we went fishing, last Saturday, and got some perch and cat-fish and sun-fish. They call them pumpkin-seeds up here, and they aint much bigger. Don't tell mother we don't get enough to eat. There's plenty of it, and you ought to see Mrs. Myers smile when she passes the johnny-cake. We are all trying to learn that heavenly smile. Ford does it best. I think Dick Lee is getting a little pale. Perhaps corn doesn't agree with him. He's learning fast, though, and so am I; but we have to work harder than the rest. I guess the Hart boys know more than they did when they came here, and they didn't get it all out of their books, either. We keep up our French and our boxing; but oh, wouldn't I like to go for some blue-fish, just now! Has mother made any mince-pies yet? I've almost forgotten how they taste. I was going by a house here the other day and I smelt some ham, cooking. I was real glad I hadn't forgotten. I knew what it was right away. Don't you be afraid about my studying, for I'm at it all the while, except when we're playing ball or eating corn. They say they have sleighing here earlier than we do, and plenty of skating. Well, now, don't say anything to mother about the corn; but wont I eat when I get home.—Yours all the while. Dabney Kinzer."
"Why, the poor fellow!" exclaimed Mrs. Kinzer, and it was not very many days after that before young Dabney received a couple of boxes by express.
There was a boiled ham in the first one and a great many other things, and Dab called in all the other boys to help him get them out.
"Mince-pies!" shouted Ford Foster. "How'd they ever travel so far?"
"They're not much mashed," said Dabney. "There's enough there to start a small hotel. Now let's open the other."