"We're coming!" roared Ben, exultantly.

While we were hitching up the horse, the man said to me:

"You'll come down with us and have some supper."

"Indeed I will," I replied, trying not to make my response too
eager.

"Did mother make gingerbread to-day?" I heard the boy whisper
audibly.

"Sh-h--" replied the girl, "who is that man?"

"_I_ don't know" with a great accent of mystery--"and dad don't
know. Did mother make gingerbread?"

"Sh-h--he'll hear you."

"Gee! but he can plant potatoes. He dropped down on us out of a
clear sky."

"What is he?" she asked. "A tramp?"

"Nope, not a tramp. He works. But, Sis, did mother make
gingerbread?"

So we all got into the light wagon and drove briskly out along
the shady country road. The evening was coming on, and the air
was full of the scent of blossoms. We turned finally into a lane