"Nonsense, Sanders! you twist every mortal thing around in your mind, and you are never happy until you set your best friends up as a target for your folly. Answer my question: will you take supper with--with us?" Mr. Sanders regarded old Jonas with real interest. His mild but fearless blue eyes studied the other's face as if they would read there the solution to some mystery. "Yes, Jonas; I'll not stay to supper, but I'll come back in time for supper. But don't publish it; ef the public know'd anything about it, they might think I was tryin' for to wheedle you out of a loan, an' then what'd happen? Why, all my creditors would come swarmin' aroun' me like gnats aroun' a sleepin' dog. I could jest as well stay right here tell supper time, but I'm oblidze for to git out an' walk about a little, an' git the amazement out'n my system. Off an' on, Jonas, I've been a-knowin' you mighty nigh thirty year, an' this is the fust time you've ast me to take a meal in your house. I feel as funny as a flushed pa'tridge!" Jonas stalked out of the room pretending to be very angry, but he began to chuckle as soon as his back was turned. "Sanders is out of his sphere," he said to himself. "More than half the time he should have a big tent over his head and be rigged up like a clown." Mr. Sanders watched the door through which old Jonas had gone, as if he expected him to come back. Then he called out to him: "Jonas! be shore to have somethin' for supper that me an' that child can eat!" Old Jonas heard the voice of Mr. Sanders, but he paid no attention to its purport. He went on into the kitchen where Adelaide and Lucindy were having a conversation. He tried to smile at the child, but he realised that his face was not made for smiles. It may have been different in the days of his boyhood, and probably was, but since he had devoted himself to the heartless problems that beset a man who is money-mad, the facial muscles that smiling brings into play had become so set in other directions, and had been so frequently used for other purposes, that they made but a poor success of a smile. Realising this, he turned to Lucindy, with a business-like air. "Lucindy, Mr. Sanders is coming to supper; I reckon he knows how you can cook, for he jumped at the invitation. And then there's the little girl; we must have something nice and sweet for her," he went on. "No, Mr. Jonas!" Lucindy exclaimed; "nothin' sweet fer dis chile; des a little bread an' milk, er maybe a little hot-water tea." "Well, you know about that," remarked Jonas, with a sigh; "we shall have to get a nurse for the child, I reckon."