“In the name of wonder!” exclaimed the mother, snatching a half loaf from the pantry.  “There! take it and eat it, and burst—­Do,” she continued, turning to Dr. Lively, “stop your tramp, tramping round this room, and come and eat your dinner.  There’s not an atom of reason in spending your time looking for that purse.  You’ll never see it again.  Like enough you dropped it down the well:  it would be just like you.  I just know that purse is down that well.  Carelessness! the idea of dropping your purse down the well!”

Without heeding the rattle, Napoleon went on eating and Dr. Lively went on searching—­now in the dining-room, now in the kitchen, now in the hall.

Mrs. Lively soon returned to her life-work:  “What’s the sense in poking, and poking, and poking around, and around, and around?  Mortal eyes will never see that purse again.  I’ve no question but you put it in the stove for a chip this morning when you made the fire.  Who ever heard of another man kindling a fire with a purse?  Will you eat your dinner, Dr. Lively, or shall I clear away the table?  I can’t have the work standing round all day.”

Notwithstanding his worry, the doctor was hungry, so he replied by seating himself at the table.  “There’s nothing here to eat,” he said, glancing at the empty dishes and plates.

“If that boy hasn’t cleared off every dish!” cried the housekeeper.  “Why didn’t you lick the platters clean, and be done with it?” and she seized an empty dish in either hand and disappeared to replenish it.

While her husband took his dinner she went up stairs and ransacked the bed-room for the missing purse.  “What are you sitting there for?” she exclaimed, suddenly re-entering the dining-room, where Dr. Lively was sitting with his arms on the table.  “Why don’t you get up and look for that purse you lost?”

“No use, you said,” Napoleon put in by way of reminder.

“For pity’s sake, arn’t you done eating yet?”

“Just am,” answered the corporal, rising from his seat, yet chewing industriously.

Mrs. Lively began to gather the dirty dishes into a pan.  “What are you going to do about it, Dr. Lively?” she asked meanwhile.

“I don’t know what we can do about it, except to cut off corners—­live more economically.”

“As if we could!” cried Mrs. Lively, all ablaze.  “Where are there any corners to cut off?  In the name of charity, tell me.  I’ve cut and shaved until life is as round and as bare as this plate.”  With a mighty rattle and clatter she threw the said plate into the dish-pan and jerked up a platter from the table.  Holding it in her left hand, she proceeded:  “Do you know, Dr. Lively, what your family lives on?  Potatoes, Dr. Lively—­potatoes; that is, mostly.  How much do I pay out a month for help?  A half cent?  Not a quarter of it.  How much is wasted in my housekeeping?  Not a single crumb.  It would keep any common woman busy cooking for that