Aunt Mela, the cook, by bendin’ all her energies onto ’em, had made a tomato salad and some veal croquettes. I hain’t partial to ’em, but want everybody to be suited in the line of vittles, and Maggie loves ’em. And then on the sideboard wuz cake, and jellies, and fresh berries heaped up in crimson beauty on some china plates, and the table had posys on it and looked well. The cook’s teeth stopped achin’ about the time the supper wuz all ready—it seemed to give its last hard jump about the time I made the biscuit. I had proposed to have her make ’em, but I see it wouldn’t do. Wall, Maggie wuz delighted with the supper, and her relation eat more than wuz good for him, I wuz afraid—five wuz the number of the biscuit he consumed (they wuzn’t so very large), and three cups of coffee kep’ ’em company. Maggie told him who made ’em, and he complimented me so warmly (though still high-headed) that Josiah looked cross as a bear. Wall, the Senator seemed to like it at Belle Fanchon first rate; and as for Raymond Fairfax Coleman, he jest revelled in the warm home atmosphere and the lovin’ attentions that wuz showered down onto him. Poor little motherless creeter! He played with Snow, lugged her dolls round for her, and dragged Boy in his little covered carriage, and seemed to be jest about as much of a baby as our Boy. If you think our boy didn’t have any other name than Boy, there is where you are mistaken. His name wuz Robert Josiah from his birth—after his two grandpas; but Thomas Jefferson wuz so pleased to think he wuz a boy that he got in the habit of callin’ him Boy, and we all joined in and followed on after him, as is the habit of human bein’s or sheep. You know how the him reads: “First a daughter and then a son, Then the world is well begun.” I spoze Thomas J. had this in mind when he wuz so tickled at the birth of Boy. But howsomever and tenny rate, we all called him Boy. And he knew the name, and would laugh and dimple all over in his pretty glee when we would call him. Wall, I would take little Raymond up on my lap, and tell him stories, and pet him, and Maggie would mother him jest as she would Snow, and we wuz both on us sorry for him as sorry could be to think of his forlorn little state. Riches, and fame, and even his big name couldn’t make up for the loss of the tender counsels and broodin’ love of a mother. His father jest thought his eyes on him. But he couldn’t seem to stop fumblin’ that watch-chain of hisen, and stop a talkin’ them big words, and descend from his ambitious plans of self-advancement to come down to his little boy’s level and talk to him in a lovin’ way. Little Raymond looked up to his Pa with a sort of a admirin’ awe, jest about as the Jonesville children would to the President.