The children wished for veal stew also, and when they had eaten their meagre spoonfuls, clamored persistently for more.

“There isn’t any more,” whispered their mother, with two little vigorous side-shakes.  “If you don’t keep still, I shall take you away from the table.  Ain’t you ashamed?”

Then the little girls pouted and sniffed, but warily, lest the threat be carried into effect.

The rest of the family tried to ignore the embarrassing situation and converse easily with the guests, but it was a difficult undertaking.

Lois bent miserably over her plate, and every question appeared to shock her painfully.  She seemed an obstinately bashful young girl, to whom it was useless to talk.  Mrs. Field replied at length to all interrogations with a certain quiet hardness, which had come into her manner since her daughter’s arrival, but she never started upon a subject of her own accord.

It was a relief to every one when the meagre dinner lapsed into the borrowed pie.  Mrs. Low cut it carefully into the regulation six pieces, while the children as carefully counted the people and watched the distribution.  The result was not satisfactory.  The older little girl, whose sense of injury was well developed, set up a shrill demand.

“I want a piece of Mis’ Bennett’s pie,” said she.  “Mother, I want a piece of Mis’ Bennett’s pie!”

The younger, viewing the one piece of pie remaining in the plate and her clamorous sister, raised her own jealous little pipe.  “I want a piece of Mis’ Bennett’s pie,” she proclaimed, pulling her mother’s sleeve.  “Mother, can’t I have a piece of Mis’ Bennett’s pie?”

Flora’s face was very red, and her mouth was twitching.  She hastily pushed her own pie to the elder child, and gave the last piece on the plate to the younger.  Their grandmother frowned on them like a rock, but they ate their pie unconcernedly.

“I think Mis’ Bennett’s pie is a good deal better than grandma’s,” said the younger little girl, smacking her lips contemplatively; and Flora gave a half-chuckle, while her mother’s severity of mien so deepened that she seemed to cast an actual shadow.

“Now, Flora, I tell you what ’tis,” said she, when the meal was at last over and the guests were gone—­they took their leave very soon afterward—­“if you don’t punish them children, I shall.”

There was a wail of terror from the little girls.  “Oh, mother, you do it, you do it!” cried they.

Flora giggled audibly.

“You’ll just spoil them children,” said her mother, severely; “you ought to be ashamed of yourself, Flora.”

Flora tried to draw her face into gravity.  “Go right upstairs, children,” said she.  “It’s so funny, I can’t help it,” she whispered, with another furtive giggle.

“I don’t see anything very funny in children’s actin’ the way they have all dinner-time.”

The children thumped merrily over the stairs.  It was clear that they stood in no great fear of their mother’s chastisement.  They knew by experience that her hand was very soft, and the force of its fall tempered by mirth and tender considerateness; their grandmother’s fleshless and muscular old palm was another matter.