As we were sitting down at the table that morning the younger children clung to the knees of Mr.Hacket and begged him to take them up the river in a boat.
"Good Lord! What wilt thou give me when I grow childless ?" he exclaimed with his arms around them.

"That was the question of Abraham, and it often comes to me.

Of course we shall go.

But hark! Let us hear what the green chair has to say." There was a moment of silence and then he went on with a merry laugh.
"Right ye are, Michael Henry! You are always right, my boy--God bless your soul! We shall take Bart with us an' doughnuts an' cheese an' cookies an' dried meat for all." From that moment I date the beginning of my love for the occupant of the green chair in the home of Michael Hacket.

Those good people were Catholics and I a Protestant and yet this Michael Henry always insisted upon the most delicate consideration for my faith and feelings.
"I promised to spend the morning in the field with Mr.Wright, if I may have your consent, sir," I said.
"Then we shall console ourselves, knowing that you are in better company," said Mr.Hacket.
Mr.Dunkelberg called at the house in Ashery Lane to see me after breakfast.
"Bart, if you will come with me I should like to order some store clothes and boots for you," he said in his squeaky voice.
For a moment I knew not how to answer him.