“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 differing 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?” Jee was still sitting where he had planted himself two hours or so before. He still wore his round cap, with the tabs tied down over his ears. In addition to his overcoat, someone—probably his daughter—had wrapped a shawl about his thin shoulders. The boots had not come in, as yet, from the stove, and the blanket was drawn up over his stockinged feet to the knees. From time to time his lips moved, as if he were reciting scripture texts to himself, but so far as I knew, he had said nothing to anyone. His cough seemed rather worse than better. “Yes, come, father!” Esther added to the farmer's invitation, and drew a chair back for him two plates away from Abner. Thus adjured he rose and hobbled stiffly over to the place indicated, bringing his foot-blanket with him. Esther stooped to arrange this for him and then seated herself next the host. “You see, I'm going to sit beside you, Mr. Beech,” she said, with a wan little smile. “Glad to have you,” remarked Abner, gravely. The Underwood girl brought in a first plate of buckwheat cakes, set it down in front of Abner, and took her seat opposite Hagadorn and next to me. There remained three vacant places, down at the foot of the table, and though we all began eating without comment, everybody continually encountered some other's glance straying significantly toward these empty seats. Janey Wilcox, very straight and with an uppish air, came in with another plate of cakes and marched out again in tell-tale silence. “Hurley! Come along in here an' git your breakfast!” The farmer fairly roared out this command, then added in a lower, apologetic tone: “I 'spec' the women-folks 've got their hands full with that broken-down old stove.”