canned provisions were for your own family."
Miss Delaware (secretly pleased at this sarcastic allusion to her
sister's friends, but concealing her delight): "I admire to hear you
talk that way, Mr. Sparrell; it's better than minstrels or a circus. I
suppose you get it outer that book," indicating the concealed volume.
"What do you call it?"
Sparrell (politely): "The First Principles of Geology."
Miss Delaware, leaning sideways and curling her little fingers around
her pink ear: "Did you say the first principles of 'geology' or
'politeness'? You know I am so deaf; but, of course, it couldn't be
that."
Sparrell (easily): "Oh no, you seem to have that in your hand"--pointing
to Miss Delaware's memorandum-book--"you were quoting from it when you
came in."
Miss Delaware, after an affected silence of deep resignation: "Well!
it's too bad folks can't just spend their lives listenin' to such
elegant talk; I'd admire to do nothing else! But there's my family up at
Cottonwood--and they must eat. They're that low that they expect me
to waste my time getting food for 'em here, instead of drinking in the
First Principles of the Grocery."
"Geology," suggested Sparrell blandly. "The history of rock formation."
"Geology," accepted Miss Delaware apologetically; "the history of rocks,
which is so necessary for knowing just how much sand you can put in the
sugar. So I reckon I'll leave my list here, and you can have the things
toted to Cottonwood when you've got through with your First Principles."
She tore out a list of her commissions from a page of her
memorandum-book, leaped lightly from the counter, threw her brown braid
from her left shoulder to its proper place down her back, shook out
her skirts deliberately, and saying, "Thank you for a most improvin'
afternoon, Mr. Sparrell," sailed demurely out of the store.
A few auditors of this narrative thought it inconsistent that a daughter
of Judge Piper and a sister of the angelic host should put up with a
mere clerk's familiarity, but it was pointed out that "she gave him as
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