When the dinner-table was laid, Miss Lucinda rang her seldom-used bell out of the back door, and the boy came in promptly, with quite a color in his cheeks. “My!” he exclaimed, staring at the neat, plentiful table, “ain’t this a feed!” “You’d better go and wash your hands,” Miss Lucinda suggested, and the boy went cheerily to the sink, scrubbing himself vigorously and then wiping his hands on the spick-and-span roller. Miss Lucinda groaned at the great black marks on the towel, and went out into the kitchen to turn it about so that she might not have to look at them through the dining-room doorway. “Mercy on us!” she cried in distress as she came out into the kitchen, “you’ve left the door open. The house’ll be full of flies!” “Now, don’t you trouble,” the boy said soothingly. “I’ll catch every single fly that’s got in. I’m a great flycatcher, I am. I’m used to flies.” At the table, conversation did not at all flourish. Miss Lucinda had heard of a boy’s appetite, but she had never dreamed of such awful capacity as this young person displayed. After he had taken the first keen edge from his hunger he laid down his knife and fork and looked at her inquiringly. “Should you mind if I was to call you aunt?” he asked smilingly. “You know I useter live with my aunt, and I’m kinder useter sayin’ it.” “I think it would be better if you called me Miss Tarbox,” Miss Lucinda said, surprised, but not thrown off her guard. “That’s rather long,” the boy said meditatively; “but I guess if I say it often enough I kin git it Miss Tarbox, Misstarbox, Misstubox, Misstibox, Miss—” “Don’t say that over again, for goodness’ sake,” Miss Lucinda said irritably. “What is your name?” “Well, the whole of it is James Wilson, but I guess you’d better call me Jim. I’m useter that.” “What did you do this morning?” Miss Tarbox felt called upon to sustain and direct further conversation. “I went over to see the boy ’cross the street and we’re goin’ to play Indian this afternoon. Did you ever play Indian?” Miss Tarbox shook her head. “You stick feathers all ’round your hat, and you make a fire and roast potatoes, and yell and eat the potatoes. That boy is a mighty nice feller. I told him I was stoppin’ with you and goin’ to have a dandy time. I guess he don’t know you very well. I told him I thought you was kinder hard to git acquainted with. He said we’d git our feathers out o’ his hen-yard, and I thought p’r’aps I might bring the potatoes. Do you think you could let me have two potatoes? I won’t eat quite so much next time.” Miss Lucinda drew a long breath. “Yes,” she said, “I’ll let you have the potatoes.” “Now that’s real nice. I told him I thought you’d be willin’.” As soon as dinner was over Miss Lucinda brought the two potatoes from the cellar, but the boy did not go at once; he sat on a chair in the kitchen, and watched her brisk movements as she cleared the table and made ready to wash the dishes.