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Mrs. Ruggles looked severe. “There, I knew yer’d do it in some sech fool-way,–try it agin ‘n if Larry can’t come in on two legs he can stay ter home!”

The matter began to assume a graver aspect; the little Ruggleses stopped giggling and backed into the bed-room, issuing presently with lock step, Indian file, a scared and hunted expression in every countenance.

“No, no, no!” cried Mrs. Ruggles, in despair; “Yer look for all the world like a gang o’ pris’ners; there ain’t no style ter that; spread out more, can’t yer, an’ act kind o’ careless like–nobody’s goin’ ter kill ye!” The third time brought deserved success, and the pupils took their seats in the row. “Now, yer know,” said Mrs. Ruggles, “there ain’t enough decent hats to go round, an’ if there was I don’ know ‘s I’d let yer wear ’em, for the boys would never think to take ’em off when they got inside–but, anyhow, there ain’t enough good ones. Now, look me in the eye. You needn’t wear no hats, none of yer, en’ when yer get int’ the parlor ‘n they ask yer ter lay off yer hats, Sarah Maud must speak up an’ say it was sech a pleasant evenin’ an’ sech a short walk that you left yer hats to home to save trouble. Now, can you remember?”

All the little Ruggleses shouted, “Yes, marm,” in chorus.

“What have you got ter do with it,” demanded their mother; “did I tell YOU to say it! Wasn’t I talkin’ ter Sarah Maud?” The little Ruggleses hung their diminished heads. “Yes, marm,” they piped, more feebly. “Now git up, all of ye, an’ try it. Speak up, Sarah Maud.”

Sarah Maud’s tongue clove to the roof of her mouth.

“Quick!”

“Ma thought–it was–sech a pleasant hat that we’d–we’d better leave our short walk to home,” recited Sarah Maud, in an agony of mental effort.

This was too much for the boys.

“Oh, whatever shall I do with ye?” moaned the unhappy mother; “I suppose I’ve got to learn it to yer!” which she did, word for word, until Sarah Maud thought she could stand on her head and say it backwards.

“Now, Cornelius, what are YOU goin’ ter say ter make yerself good comp’ny?”

“Dunno!” said Cornelius, turning pale.

“Well, ye ain’t goin’ to set there like a bump on a log ‘thout sayin’ a word ter pay for yer vittles, air ye? Ask Mis’ Bird how she’s feelin’ this evenin’, or if Mr. Bird’s havin’ a busy season, or somethin’ like that. Now we’ll make b’lieve we’ve got ter the dinner–that won’t be so hard, ’cause yer’ll have somethin’ to do–it’s awful bothersome ter stan’ round an’ act stylish. If they have napkins, Sarah Maud down to Peory may put ’em in their laps ‘n the rest of ye can tuck ’em in yer necks. Don’t eat with yer fingers–don’t grab no vittles off one ‘nother’s plates; don’t reach out for nothin’, but wait till yer asked, ‘n if yer never GIT asked don’t git up and grab it–don’t spill nothin’ on the table cloth, or like’s not Mis’ Bird ‘ll send yer away from the table. Now we’ll try a few things ter see how they’ll go! Mr. Clement, do you eat cramb’ry sarse?”

“Bet yer life!” cried Clem, who, not having taken in the idea exactly, had mistaken this for an ordinary family question.

“Clement Ruggles, do you mean to tell me that you’d say that to a dinner party? I’ll give ye one more chance. Mr. Clement, will you take some of the cramb’ry?”

“Yes marm, thank ye kindly, if you happen ter have any handy.”

“Very good, indeed! Mr. Peter, do you speak for white or dark meat?”

“I ain’t particler as ter color–anything that nobody else wants will suit me,” answered Peter with his best air.

“First rate! nobody could speak more genteel than that. Miss Kitty, will you have hard or soft sarse with your pudden?”