"Well, you may have the meat," Mrs. Negus had said, "but you can't have the potatoes. If they want dinner at night let them stay at home. I am very glad to see them, but they must accommodate themselves to our ways. Bread and butter and cheese and apple sauce are good enough for anybody." And now the beef was going to give out and Marion would be covered with confusion, for Aunt Negus would be sure to say, in her good-natured, stubborn way, "You shouldn't have proposed it." "I have a plan," said Captain White, his downcast face clearing as he watched Miss Gastonguay's knife wandering vainly around the promontories and head-lands of the joint, searching for meat and finding none. "Pass me the plates, children, I'll doctor them." When they stood in a row before him, he seized a fork, and expeditiously lifting the slices from one plate to another, got at last an equal quantity on each one. "Now we ought to have some potatoes. I'll fry some. Marion, come help me." "Micah White," ejaculated Mrs. Negus, "you impertinent boy." "I saw them in the pantry," he said, "a whole dish full. Here, Cousin Derrice, is another piece for you. I've too much on my plate. Good Aunt Negus, forgive me, and come too;" and as he passed her place he stretched out his muscular arms, lifted her bodily, chair and all, and carried her out to the kitchen with him, she meanwhile clutching at the little cap set over the knob of hair on the back of her head, exclaiming loudly at his foolishness, and trying to control the shrieking crew of children behind her. "That wild sailor," said Chelda, scornfully. "He is not as bad as O'Toole," said her aunt. "I'd rather have a sober riot than a drunken one. What, has Derrice Mercer gone, too? She likes a bit of fun. Well, as they have all deserted us, it is not worth while for you and me to stay," and seizing a newspaper she threw herself into an armchair and began to read. Captain White was addressing Mrs. Negus. "You see, auntie, we must do something to flank that supper. There are the cat and dog to come yet, and also Rebecca," and he pointed to the old black woman holding the white baby and grinning at the invasion of her kitchen. "You draw the line a little short. If you and John Gilpin's wife could have set up housekeeping together you would have died millionaires," and humming, gaily, "She was of a frugal mind," he turned up his coat-sleeves, sliced the cold potatoes rapidly, and tossed them to Marion, who put them into a hot frying-pan. In ten minutes they returned to the dining-room, flushed and happy, and bearing between them a huge platter of smoking hot potatoes with a ring of fried onions around them. "Who is for onions?" asked Captain White. "Miss Chelda Gastonguay, you must have some. Great beauty-feeders are they. Ugly girls can become pretty by eating onions--" Miss Gastonguay suppressed a smile. The sharp-eyed captain had discovered Chelda's disdain.