“Oh, yes, supper will be ready in a very short time. It takes so long for supper to cook when the fire don’t burn. Did I ever have any beaux? Yes, I was forgetting to tell you about a beau I once had, when I was a gay and young woman. His name was Nehemiah, and he used to come around before I knew Joshua. Well, Nehemiah came one evening to see me and I was not in good humor at all. After the old folks had left us to spark a little, I moved over to one end of the settle, and when Nehemiah moved toward me, I sat up as stiff as a stake and I turned my back on him and never spoke once to him that whole evening. Well, at last when I wouldn’t speak or stir, he got skeered and I haven’t seen his face from that day to this. Well, I must tell you, Mr. La,--LaFeet, I don’t like men anyway.” “Oh, yes, I perceive you don’t, nor anything to eat either,” chuckled Barclugh. “Oh, yes, you see it is such a pleasure for me to converse with a gentleman that understands my better qualities and can appreciate the fact that he comes into the environment of a refined and well-bred lady. You know that there are so many inn-keepers who are vulgar. They haven’t any china that has been in the family for two generations,--no plate, nor manners. My sakes! I have been forgetting all about supper with my stories,--” “About yourself,” interjected Barclugh. “Jest so, Mr. Feet. I’ll go out and see if Betty has the supper on the table.” As soon as Mrs. Puffer disappeared, Barclugh drew a long breath and exclaimed: “Whew! whew! I’ll have a time to get something to eat here!” “Why! what do you think, Mr. Feet? Supper has been ready a long time. My Betty can cook a chicken, boil a ham and make tea quicker than anybody I ever knew. Come right along this way. “I’ll sit down with you and I know you will enjoy your supper. Will you be seated right there? Here is some chicken. I never eat any meat for supper, myself, before going to bed. I drink my cup of tea. Oh, can’t you cut the chicken? Oh, that’s too bad. Just sharpen the knife a little. That’s it. Just put a little muscle into it.--Well, I declare, Betty just half boiled that chicken. If you can wait a little I shall take it out and boil it a little more.” “No, thank you, Mrs. Puffer,” said Barclugh, as he sat down out of breath, after he had stood up to carve the fowl. “Here’s some bread and butter, Mr. Feet. I do enjoy Betty’s bread and butter. It’s about all I care to take for my supper.” “Madam, is that some ham, on the other side of the table?” queried Barclugh, as he saw that he would have to take matters into his own hands, if he were to have any supper. For the first time, Mrs. Puffer looked embarrassed, as she replied: “Yes, that is one of those celebrated hams that are cured in Connecticut. It came from old Haddam, and it is well seasoned. Yes, my father used to cure those hams fifty years ago.” “Not that one, I hope, Mrs. Puffer?” helplessly queried Barclugh.