The two boys made short work of washing up and combing their hair, and when they hurried down to the kitchen they had hungry looks that did Mrs. Kimball good to see. "I can't abide a poor eater," she said, as she heaped Roger's plate with the crisp brown chicken, fried in sweet butter, and handed him a plate of smoking hot golden-yellow corn bread. "I do like t' see a body pitch in 'n' eat th' victuals set afore 'em," she went on. "After a body goes t' work 'n' gits up a good meal, it's mighty disparagin' t' see th' things scorned down on. I'm glad t' see ye eat, Roger. Yer appetite's improved wonderful already. Yer uncle 'n' cousin usually don't need much urgin' in th' eatin' line," she added significantly, as she glanced at her husband's and son's well-heaped plates. "I guess not," mumbled Mr. Kimball, picking up a nicely browned wing, and munching it with every indication of enjoyment. "I guess not, Mrs. Kimball." Clara and her mother now sat down, and the meal progressed merrily. Roger almost forgot the homesickness that had twinged him once or twice during the day. The supper was about over when some one knocked at the kitchen door, opening it at the same time and calling out: "I brought your mail, neighbor Kimball." "Thanks, Enberry," said the farmer, as he got up to take several letters which Mr. Took had brought from the post-office. "Won't ye set down 'n' hev a bite, Enberry?" "No, thanks; got t' do my chores yit. How's th' drowned boy?" "Oh, I'm all right," called out Roger, "and I'm much obliged for getting me home so quick." "Allers willin' t' do a neighborly turn," said Mr. Took, as he went out. "Hello!" exclaimed Roger's uncle, looking at the addresses on the envelopes by the light of the kerosene lamp, "Hello! Here's a letter for you, Mr. Roger Anderson." "It's from mother," cried the boy, as he caught sight of the beloved writing, and for a few minutes he paid no attention to what went on around him, as he read the news from the dear ones at home. It told him all were well, and how they missed him greatly. "Take good care of yourself," Mrs. Anderson wrote, "and, though I shall miss you very much, though we all miss you, we hope your visit to Cardiff will do you good." There was a little mist in the boy's eyes as he saw, in memory, the pleasant little circle about the table at home; his father reading, his mother sewing, and the baby building a wonderful house of blocks. "Wa'al, what's th' news?" asked Mr. Kimball, in his deep hearty voice, and Roger told him what his mother had written. It was not long before supper was over, and, while Mrs. Kimball and Clara were clearing away the dishes, Roger, with his uncle and cousin, went out to the barn, where, by the light of a lantern, the two wagons were loaded up, ready for an early start on the next day's trip. Mr. Kimball was to take his own horses and wagon to Syracuse with a load of produce, while Roger and Adrian would have Truem Wright's rig.