One of the children, of which there were four in the Hacket home, called us to supper. Mrs. Hacket, a stout woman with a red and kindly face, sat at one end of the table, and between them were the children--Mary, a pretty daughter of seventeen years; Maggie, a six-year-old; Ruth, a delicate girl of seven, and John, a noisy, red-faced boy of five. The chairs were of plain wood--like the kitchen chairs of to-day. In the middle of the table was an empty one--painted green. Before he sat down Mr. Hacket put his hand on the back of this chair and said: "A merry heart to you, Michael Henry." I wondered at the meaning of this, but dared not to ask. The oldest daughter acted as a kind of moderator with the others. "Mary is the constable of this house, with power to arrest and hale into court for undue haste or rebellion or impoliteness," Mr. Hacket explained. "I believe that Sally Dunkelberg is your friend," he said to me presently. "Yes, sir," I answered. "A fine slip of a girl that and a born scholar. I saw you look at her as the Persian looks at the rising sun." I blushed and Mary and her mother and the boy John looked at me and laughed. "_Puer pulcherrime!_" Mr. Hacket exclaimed with a kindly smile. Uncle Peabody would have called it a "stout snag." The schoolmaster had hauled it out of his brain very deftly and chucked it down before me in a kind of challenge. "What does that mean?" I asked. "You shall know in a week, my son," he answered. "I shall put you into the Latin class Wednesday morning, and God help you to like it as well as you like Sally." Again they laughed and again I blushed. "Hold up yer head, my brave lad," he went on. "Ye've a perfect right to like Sally if ye've a heart to." He sang a rollicking ballad of which I remember only the refrain: _A lad in his teens will never know beans if he hasn't an eye for the girls_. It was a merry supper, and when it ended Mr. Hacket rose and took the green chair from the table, exclaiming: "Michael Henry, God bless you!" Then he kissed his wife and said: "Maggie, you wild rose of Erin! I've been all day in the study. I must take a walk or I shall get an exalted abdomen. One is badly beaten in the race o' life when his abdomen gets ahead of his toes. Children, keep our young friend happy here until I come back, and mind you, don't forget the good fellow in the green chair." Mary helped her mother with the dishes, while I sat with a book by the fireside. Soon Mrs. Hacket and the children came and sat down with me. "Let's play backgammon," Mary proposed. "I don't want to," said John. "Don't forget Michael Henry," she reminded. "Who is Michael Henry?" I asked. "Sure, he's the boy that has never been born," said Mrs. Hacket. "He was to be the biggest and noblest one o' them--kind an' helpful an' cheery hearted an' beloved o' God above all the others. We try to live up to him."