To those who have lived in the midst of plenty all their days, this dinner question may seem very amusing or very absurd, but the genteel poor understand it well. They know the humiliation and torture the sensitive hostess feels in trying to entertain the uninvited stranger within her gates; and here was this great, flaunting, high-feeding old man! There were people to whom the girls could have frankly offered bread and butter and tea, or crackers and cheese and a cup of coffee, but not to this "big animal," as Sybil called him. Dorothy laid her hand on her sister's arm and whispered: "Let us climb through the break in the wall and go up to the orchard and signal Lena to come to us, and there arrange what we are to do." "Good idea, that!" agreed Sybil, "for you--er--I mean, we shall never be able to escape papa's ponderous friend after we once make our appearance upon the scene." So in the orchard the sorely troubled three held secret conclave. "Uf id vasn't Suntay!" Lena kept groaning, "or uf id vas breakfas' alretty instet of dinner, ven tings get chopped all up mit demselves so peoples don't know vat tings dey com' eat; but der dinner, Himmel! Und dat old mans, he eat--ach! I know he eat like dot great hop-up-on-to-mus at der park! Himmel!" And Sybil threatened. "Dorrie! Dorrie! stop laughing this moment! Don't you dare grow hysterical! Lena, hold your tongue, and only answer direct questions. One chicken, you say? Only one? For five people? Dear heaven! But, Lena, has mamma her head bandaged up yet? Yes? Oh, joy! She need have no helping, then! She will be too sick, you see!" "Nein! nein!" cried Lena, "der mistress lofes der dinner too mooch!" "Yes, I know all that," sternly answered Sybil, "but she will restrain her appetite to-day for the reputation of her house! Dorrie, you _must_ manage that mamma demands in her most plaintive tone some very thin toast and some tea, and she must shiver daintily at the merest suggestion of dinner. Promise her eggs for late supper, to comfort her." Lena was for broiling their solitary chicken, but a cry of condemnation burst from Dorothy. "Broil it? Never! It must be eked out in some way. Lena, you can fry it--can't you? And make a great deal of cream sauce, and have some diamonds of toast around the edge of the dish to make it look full?" "Ja!" nodded the willing Lena, "but dat young hens only make four goot pieces for all dat gravy sauce; und you can't be sick too, my Miss Ladies!" "Oh!" cried Sybil. "Listen, Dorrie, listen! Lena, was there not a bit of veal left from dinner yesterday?" "Ja!" answered Lena, "but dat goes mit de oder scraps to be chopped for der breakfas'!"