"All you can eat," responded Jane, confidently. "Now if you ’ll let me seat you all, I ’ll make a place for every one. Mother to go first, at the other end, in the chair--our only one available as yet. Next, Ross, on the cracker-box, and Nan on the wood-box. Daddy’s to have this soap-box all to himself, with a cushion on it. Peter can sit on that coal-hod, turned upside down." There was a roar at this, and a protest from Peter. "’Can’t I have a newspaper to pad the top of it, sis?" "If you will find one," Jane responded, unmoved. "Rufe will have to take the top of that flour-barrel, and we ’ll hand up his things." Mrs. Bell was a famous cook, and understood well the quantity of food necessary to appease the keen appetites of her big family, so the bowls were replenished again and again, until all were satisfied, and still the kettle was not quite empty. "You’re not much like a girl I saw to-day, Janey," remarked Peter, balancing himself in the attempt to sit comfortably back upon his coal-hod, while his sister removed the plates and set forth a dish of baked apples and cream. Peter laughed at the recollection. "She was too stately and languid to lift her eyes to look at me, after the first frosty glance. We rode up town on the same street car yesterday, when I was coming here to make sure the house was ready for us. It was the rush hour, of course, and I gave her my seat. I think--yes, I really think"--Peter paused to reflect--"she said, ’Thank you,’ though since of course I was n’t looking at her as I took off my hat I did n’t see her lips move. She and I got off the car together, and came up Gay Street together----" [Illustration: "’YOU ’RE NOT MUCH LIKE A GIRL I SAW TODAY, JANEY’"] "Together!" from Jane. "On opposite sides of the street. She was a little ahead, for the car stopped on her side. I looked across at her with interest as I came along--wanted to find out what our neighbors were like, you know. She was carrying a big muff, and had some things in it--been shopping, of course. Oh, I don’t mean parcels--she would n’t be caught carrying a parcel--but letters and a purse and a card-case and a pocket-handkerchief, and so forth. Well, as we came along I noticed she had dropped something--handkerchief, by the way it fluttered down. Of course I bolted across the street, through six inches of spring mud, grasped the article, and rushed after her. I said, ’Pardon me, but you dropped your handkerchief,’ and held it out. She took it, murmured ’Thank you!’--I saw her lips move this time--"and sailed on like a queen. I took off my hat, waded back through the mud, and was continuing on my thankless way----" "Thankless!--I thought you just admitted she thanked you," objected Ross, with a twinkle. "It was one of those thankless thank-yous, just the same," explained Peter, with gravity. "Well, as I say, I went on--like this story--meditating upon her cordial manner, when I saw something else fall from the capacious muff."