M’rye followed him out and put a hand on his arm. “Don’t go off like that, Abner!” she adjured him. “You _know_ there ain’t nothin’ in this whole wide world I wouldn’t do to please you--if I _could!_ But this thing jest goes agin my grain. It’s the way folks are made. It’s your nater to be forgivin’ an’ do good to them that despitefully use you.” “No, it ain’t!” declared Abner, vigorously. “No, sirree! ‘Holdfast’ is my nater. I stan’ out agin my enemies till the last cow comes home. But when they come wadin’ in through the snow, with their feet soppin’ wet, an’ coughin’ fit to turn themselves inside out, an’ their daughter is there, an’ you’ve sort o’ made it up with her, an’ we’re all campin’ out in a barn, don’t you see--” “No, I can’t see it,” replied M’rye, regretful but firm. “They always said we Ramswells had Injun blood in us somewhere. An’ when I get an Injun streak on me, right down in the marrow o’ my bones, why, you mustn’t blame me--or feel hard if--if I--” “No-o,” said Abner, with reluctant conviction, “I s’pose not. I dare say you’re actin’ accordin’ to your lights. An’ besides, he’ll be goin’ the first thing after breakfast.” “An’ you ain’t mad, Abner?” pleaded M’rye, almost tremulously, as if frightened at the dimensions of the victory she had won. “Why, bless your heart, no,” answered the farmer, with a glaring simulation of easy-mindedness. “No--that’s all right, mother!” Then with long heavy-footed strides the farmer marched past me and out into the cow-yard. CHAPTER XIII--THE BREAKFAST If there was ever a more curious meal in Dearborn County than that first breakfast of ours in the barn, I never heard of it. The big table was among the things saved from the living-room, and Esther spread it again with the cloth which had been in use on the previous evening. There was the stain of the tea which the Underwood girl had spilled in the excitement of the supper’s rough interruption; there were other marks of calamity upon it as well--the smudge of cinders, for one thing, and a general diffused effect of smokiness. But it was the only table-cloth we had. The dishes, too, were a queer lot, representing two or three sets of widely different patterns and value, other portions of which we should never see again. When it was announced that breakfast was ready, Abner took his accustomed arm-chair at the head of the table. He only half turned his head toward Hagadorn and said in formal tones, over his shoulder, “Won’t you draw up and have some breakfast?”