Through a lighted window I could see people sitting around a table.
Evidently the Pratts were at supper. I drew up in the yard. Some one
looked out of a window, and I heard a girl's voice:

"Why, Pa, here's Parnassus!"

Gingersnap must have been a welcome visitor at that farm, for in an
instant the whole family turned out with a great scraping of chairs
and clatter of dishes. A tall, sunburnt man, in a clean shirt with
no collar, led the group, and then came a stout woman about my own
build, and a hired man and three children.

"Good evening!" I said. "Is this Mr. Pratt?"

"Sure thing!" said he. "Where's the Perfessor?"

"On his way to Brooklyn," said I. "And I've got Parnassus. He told
me to be sure to call on you. So here we are."

"Well, I want to know!" ejaculated Mrs. Pratt. "Think of Parnassus
turned suffrage! Ben, you put up the critters, and I'll take Mrs.
Mifflin in to supper."

"Hold on there," I said. "My name's McGill--Miss McGill. See,
it's painted on the wagon. I bought the outfit from Mr. Mifflin.
A business proposition entirely."

"Well, well," said Mr. Pratt. "We're glad to see any friend of the
Perfessor. Sorry he's not here, too. Come right in and have a bite
with us."