An' now mebbe we'd better get down to the bizness of this here meetin'." They seated themselves around the table, upon which Bostil laid an old and much-soiled ledger and a stub of a lead-pencil.
"First well set the time," he said, with animation, "an' then pitch into details....

What's the date ?" No one answered, and presently they all looked blankly from one to the other.
"It's April, ain't it ?" queried Holley.
That assurance was as close as they could get to the time of year.
"Lucy!" called Bostil, in a loud voice.
She came running in, anxious, almost alarmed.
"Goodness! you made us jump! What on earth is the matter ?" "Lucy, we want to know the date," replied Bostil.
"Date! Did you have to scare Auntie and me out of our wits just for that ?" "Who scared you?
This is important, Lucy.

What's the date ?" "It's a week to-day since last Tuesday," answered Lucy, sweetly.
"Huh! Then it's Tuesday again," said Bostil, laboriously writing it down.

"Now, what's the date ?" "Don't you remember ?" "Remember?
I never knew." "Dad! ...

Last Tuesday was my birthday--the day you DID NOT give me a horse!" "Aw, so it was," rejoined Bostil, confused at her reproach.