After tea Cousin Annetta went home, and just about dark Grandfather King went over to Uncle Jeremiah's on an errand.

As he passed the open, lighted pantry window he happened to glance in, and what do you think he saw?
Delicate Cousin Annetta standing at the dresser, with a big loaf of bread beside her and a big platterful of cold, boiled pork in front of her; and Annetta was hacking off great chunks, like Dan there, and gobbling them down as if she was starving.
Grandfather King couldn't resist the temptation.

He stepped up to the window and said, 'I'm glad your appetite has come back to you, Annetta.
Your mother needn't worry about your continuing to exist as long as you can tuck away fat, salt pork in that fashion.' "Cousin Annetta never forgave him, but she never pretended to be delicate again." "The Jews don't believe in eating pork," said Peter.
"I'm glad I'm not a Jew and I guess Cousin Annetta was too," said Dan.
"I like bacon, but I can never look at a pig without wondering if they were ever intended to be eaten," remarked Cecily naively.
When we finished our lunch the barrens were already wrapping themselves in a dim, blue dusk and falling upon rest in dell and dingle.

But out in the open there was still much light of a fine emerald-golden sort and the robins whistled us home in it.

"Horns of Elfland" never sounded more sweetly around hoary castle and ruined fane than those vesper calls of the robins from the twilight spruce woods and across green pastures lying under the pale radiance of a young moon.
When we reached home we found that Miss Reade had been up to the hill farm on an errand and was just leaving.