"The fact is, that last bottle of Veuve Clicquot we had for supper wasn't as dry as I am this morning." Accustomed to these regular Barmecide suggestions, Barker made no direct reply.

Presently, looking up from the fire, he said, "There's no more saleratus, so you mustn't blame me if the biscuit is extra heavy.

I told you we had none when you went to the grocery yesterday." "And I told you we hadn't a red cent to buy any with," said Stacy, who was also treasurer.

"Put these two negatives together and you make the affirmative--saleratus.

Mix freely and bake in a hot oven." Nevertheless, after a toilet as primitive as Barker's they sat down to what he had prepared with the keen appetite begotten of the mountain air and the regretful fastidiousness born of the recollection of better things.