“I tell you what, Ham,” he wrote, “mother doesn’t know what can be done with corn.  Mrs. Myers does.  She raised a pile of it last year, and the things she makes with it would drive a cook-book crazy.  I’ve been giving them Latin names, and Frank, he turns them into Hindustanee.  It’s real fun, but I sha’n’t be the boy I was.  I’m getting corned.  My hair is silkier and my voice is husky.  My ears are growing.  I’d like some fish and clams for a change.  A crab would taste wonderfully good.  So would some oysters.  They don’t have any up here; but we went fishing, last Saturday, and got some perch and cat-fish and sun-fish.  They call them pumpkin-seeds up here, and they aint much bigger.  Don’t tell mother we don’t get enough to eat.  There’s plenty of it, and you ought to see Mrs. Myers smile when she passes the johnny-cake.  We are all trying to learn that heavenly smile.  Ford does it best.  I think Dick Lee is getting a little pale.  Perhaps corn doesn’t agree with him.  He’s learning fast, though, and so am I; but we have to work harder than the rest.  I guess the Hart boys know more than they did when they came here, and they didn’t get it all out of their books, either.  We keep up our French and our boxing; but oh, wouldn’t I like to go for some blue-fish, just now!  Has mother made any mince-pies yet?  I’ve almost forgotten how they taste.  I was going by a house here the other day and I smelt some ham, cooking.  I was real glad I hadn’t forgotten.  I knew what it was right away.  Don’t you be afraid about my studying, for I’m at it all the while, except when we’re playing ball or eating corn.  They say they have sleighing here earlier than we do, and plenty of skating.  Well, now, don’t say anything to mother about the corn; but wont I eat when I get home.—­Yours all the while.  DABNEY KINZER.”

“Why, the poor fellow!” exclaimed Mrs. Kinzer, and it was not very many days after that before young Dabney received a couple of boxes by express.

There was a boiled ham in the first one and a great many other things, and Dab called in all the other boys to help him get them out.

“Mince-pies!” shouted Ford Foster.  “How’d they ever travel so far?”

“They’re not much mashed,” said Dabney.  “There’s enough there to start a small hotel.  Now let’s open the other.”

“Ice.  Sawdust.  Fish, I declare.  Clams.  Oysters.  Crabs.  There’s a lobster.  Ford, Frank, Dick, do you think we can eat those fellows?”

“After they’re cooked,” said Ford.

“Well, I s’pose we can; but I feel like shaking hands with ’em, all round.  They’re old friends and neighbors of mine, you know.”

“I guess we’d better eat ’em.”

“Cap’n Dab,” remarked Dick Lee, “dey jest knocks all de correck pronounciation clean out of me.”

Eaten they were, however, and Mrs Myers was glad enough to have her boarders supply such a remarkable “variety” for her table, which, after that “hint,” began to improve a little.