“‘Why, Mr. Parker!’ says she, ’how do you do?  Seems’s if I hadn’t seen you for an age!  Ain’t it dreadful lonesome at your house now your sister’s away?’

“Kenelm colored up some—­he always h’isted danger signals when women heave in sight—­and agreed that ‘twas kind of poky bein’ all alone.  Then they talked about the weather, and about the price of coal, and about the new plush coat Cap’n Jabez Bailey’s wife had just got, and how folks didn’t see how she could afford it with Jabez out of work, and so on.  And all the time the smell of things cookin’ drifted through the doorway.  Fin’lly Abbie says, says she: 

“‘Was you goin’ home, Mr. Parker?’

“‘Yes, ma’am,’ says Kenelm.  ‘I was cal’latin’ to go home and cook somethin’ for dinner.’

“‘Well, there, now!’ says Abbie.  ’I wonder why I didn’t think of it afore!  Why don’t you come right in and have dinner with me?  It’s all ready and there’s plenty for two.  Do come, Mr. Parker, to please me!’

“’Course Kenelm said he couldn’t, and, likewise, of course, he did.  ‘Twas a smashin’ dinner—­chicken and mashed potatoes and mince pie, and the land knows what.  He ate till he was full clear to the hatches, and it seemed to him that nothin’ ever tasted quite so good.  The widow smiled and purred and colored up and said it seemed so good to have a man at the table; seemed like the old days when Dan’l—­meanin’ the late lamented—­was on deck, and so forth.

“Then, when the eatin’ was over, she says, ‘I was expectin’ my cousin Benjamin down for a week or so, but he can’t come.  He’s a great smoker, and I bought these cigars for him.  You might as well use them afore they dry up.’

“Afore Kenelm could stop her she rummaged a handful of cigars out of the table drawer in the settin’-room.

“‘There!’ she says.  ’Light right up and be comfortable.  It’ll seem just like old times.  Dan’l was such a ‘smoker!  Oh, my!’ and she gave a little squeal; ‘I forgot you’ve stopped smokin’.’

“Well, there was the cigars, lookin’ as temptin’ as a squid to a codfish; and there was Kenelm hankerin’ for ’em so his fingers twitched; and there was Abbie lookin’ dreadful disapp’inted, but tryin’ to make believe she wasn’t.  You don’t need a spyglass to see what happened.

“‘I’d like to,’ says Kenelm, pickin’ up one of the cigars.  ’I’d like to mighty well, but’—­here he bites off the end—­’’twouldn’t hardly do, now would it?  You see—­’

“‘I see,’ says Abbie, scratchin’ a match; ’but we’ll never tell.  We’ll have it for our secret; won’t we, Mr. Parker?’

“So that’s how Kenelm took his first tumble from grace.  He told me all about it one day a good while afterward.  He smoked three of the cigars afore he went home, and promised to come to supper the next afternoon.

“‘You do look so comfortable, Mr. Parker,’ purrs Abbie, as sweet and syrupy as a molasses stopper.  ’It must be such a comfort to a man to smoke.  I don’t care what the minister says, you can smoke here just as much as you want to!  It must be pretty hard to live in a house where you can’t enjoy yourself.  I shouldn’t think it would seem like home.  A man like you needs a good home.  Why, how I do run on!’