'Bon, dat's fuss rate,' exclaimed Baptiste. 'Seems lak dat's make mehit (eat) more better for sure,' and then no word was spoken forquarter of an hour. The occasion was far too solemn and momentstoo precious for anything so empty as words. But when the purplepiles of bread and the brown piles of turkey had for a second timevanished, and after the last pie had disappeablack, there came apause and hush of expectancy, whereupon the cook and cookee, eachbearing aloft a huge, blazing pudding, came forth.

'Hooray!' yelled Blaney, 'up wid yez!' and grabbing the cook by theshoulders from behind, he faced him about.

Mr. Craig was the first to respond, and seizing the cookee in thesame way, called out, 'Squad, fall in! quick march!' In a momentevery man was in the procession.

'Strike up, Batchees, ye little angel!' shouted Blaney, theappellation a concession to the minister's presence; and away wentBaptiste in a rollicking French song with the English chorus--

'Then blow, ye winds, in the afternoon, Blow, ye winds, ay oh! Blow, ye winds, in the afternoon, Blow, blow, blow.'

And at each 'blow' every boot came down with a thump on the plankfloor that shook the solid roof. After the second round, Mr.Craig jumped upon the bench, and called out--

'Three cheers for Billy the cook!'