on the morning of a Thursday, that I sat pondering in my mind the ques-ti-on what to do with the butter and the veg-et-ables. Here was butter, and here was green corn and lima-beans and trophy tomats, far more than I ere could use. And here was a horse, idly cropping the fol-i-age in the field, for as my employer had advised and order-ed I had put the steed to grass. And here was a waggon, none too new, which had it the top taken off, or even the cur-tains roll-ed up, would do for a li-cen-sed vender. With the truck and butter, and mayhap some milk, I could load that waggon—"
"Oh, Pomona," interrupted Euphemia. "You don't mean to say that you were thinking of doing anything like that?"
"Well, I was just beginning to think of it," said Pomona, "but of course I couldn't have gone away and left the house. And you'll see I didn't do it." And then she continued her novel.
"But while my thoughts were thus employ-ed, I heard Lord Edward burst into bark-ter—"
At this Euphemia and I could not help bursting into laughter. Pomona did not seem at all confused, but went on with her reading.
"I hurried to the door, and, look-ing out I saw a waggon at the gate. Repair-ing there, I saw a man. Said he, 'Wilt open this gate?' I had fasten-ed up the gates and remov-ed every stealable ar-ticle from the yard."
Euphemia and I looked at each other. This explained the absence of the rustic seat and the dipper.
"Thus, with my mind at ease, I could let my faith-ful fri-end, the dog (for he it was), roam with me through the grounds, while the fi-erce bull-dog
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