The highly satisfactory Thanksgiving feast was eaten and praised.  The dishes were washed and set away in the immaculate pantry, and Amos and John Levine were smoking by the fire.

“Seems to me this room looks all slicked up,” said Levine.

Amos nodded.  “Lydia’s coming along.  Says the cooking school teacher told her to sprinkle wet tea leaves over the carpet before sweeping to keep down the dust.  Place was like a cyclone this morning for an hour, but the result pays.  She’s growing like her mother.”

“She’s only a child, and small for her age, at that,” said John.  “It’s a shame for her to work so hard.”

“I know it,” answered Amos, “but what can I do?  On a dollar and a half a day—­I swan—­”

There was a rap on the door.  Lizzie admitted Dave Marshall and Margery.

“Out for a tramp as a digester,” explained Dave.  “Came to call on my friend Lydia.  I ain’t seen her for ages.”

He and Levine nodded to each other.  Amos shook hands and Dave kissed Lydia, catching a dark scowl on Levine’s face as he did so.

“Let’s play paper dolls,” said Margery, as soon as she had pulled off her coat.

“You play ’em,” replied Lydia, “I’m awful tired.”

“Why should a baby like you be tired?” inquired Marshall, pulling her to his side as he seated himself in Amos’ arm chair.

“If you’d tasted our dinner,” said Amos, “you’d know why she and Lizzie should be half dead.”

“I wish I could ‘a’ tasted it,” replied Marshall.  “Have a smoke, friends?”

Amos took a cigar but Levine refused.

“Come, John, come,” said the stout banker, banteringly.  “This is a legal holiday and you and I at least agree on Lydia.  Let’s stop war for the day, eh?”

Levine’s sallow face hardened, then he caught Lydia’s blue gaze on him as she stood beside Marshall.  It was such a transparent, trusting gaze, so full of affection, so obviously appealing to him to “be nice,” that in spite of himself he grinned and took a cigar.

Amos settled back with a sigh of satisfaction.  He enjoyed company and had had no one but John since his wife’s death.

“Looks as if the country’d go Republican next fall,” he said by way of starting a conversation.

“I don’t see why,” returned Marshall, who was a Democrat.

“Folks are sick of Democratic graft,” said Levine.

“And Republicans think it’s their turn, eh?” inquired Marshall.  “Well, maybe it is, maybe it is!”

Amos laughed genially.  “Satisfied with your share, Dave?”

“Got my eye on just one more little mite.  Just one little mite, then I’m through,” chuckled Marshall.

“Then you good Republicans can get your feet into the trough.”

“Co-ee!  Lydia!” came a call from the lake shore.

Lydia ran to the kitchen door.  Charlie Jackson and Kent were skating up to the bank.