“An Irish lady told me the other day that Webster was no authority.  I wish I could tell you all about Johnson; I love him, admire him, and pity him.”

Marjorie laughed and squeezed Miss Prudence’s hand.  “Don’t you wish you could tell us about every body and every thing, Miss Prudence?”

“And then help you use the knowledge.  I am glad of your question, Marjorie, ‘What did Mr. Buckle do with his knowledge?’ If I should learn a new thing this week and not use it next week I should feel guilty.”

“I don’t know how to use knowledge,” said Linnet.

“You are putting your knowledge of tatting to very good service.”

“Miss Prudence, will you use your things on me?” inquired Marjorie, soberly.

“That is just what I am hoping to do.”

“Hillo!  Hillo!  Hillo!” sounded a voice behind the woodshed.  After a moment a tall figure emerged around a corner, arrayed in coarse working clothes, with a saw over his shoulders.

“Hillo! gals, I can’t find your father.  Tell him I left my saw here for him to file.”

“I will,” Linnet called back.

“That’s African John,” explained Linnet as the figure disappeared around the corner of the woodshed.  “I wish I had asked him to stay and tell you some of his adventures.”

“African John.  He is not an African;” said Miss Prudence.

“No, oh no; he’s Captain Rheid’s cousin.  People call him that because he was three years in Africa.  He was left on the coast.  It happened this way.  He was only a sailor and he went ashore with another sailor and they got lost in a jungle or something like it and when they came back to the shore they saw the sails of their ship in the distance and knew it had gone off and left them.  The man with him fell down dead on the sand and he had to stay three years before a ship came.  He’s an old man now and that happened years and years ago.  Captain Rheid can’t tell anything more frightful than that.  Mother had a brother lost at sea, they supposed so, for he never came back; if I ever have anybody go and not come back I’ll never, never, never give him up.”

“Never, never, never give him up,” echoed Miss Prudence in her heart.

“They thought Will Rheid was lost once, but he came back!  Linnet didn’t give him up, and his father and mother almost did.”

“I’d never give him up,” said Linnet again, emphatically.

“Will Rheid,” teased Marjorie, “or anybody?”

“Anybody,” replied Linnet, but she twitched at her work and broke her thread.

“Now, girls, I’m going in to talk to your mother awhile, and then perhaps Linnet will walk part of the way home with me,” said Miss Prudence.

“To talk about that,” cried Marjorie.

“I’ll tell you by and by.”

VIII.

BISCUITS AND OTHER THINGS.