FKIED POEK 119 



was a heaping dish of steaming potatoes. A 

 knife had been drawn once around each, just to 

 give it a chance to expand and show mealy white 

 between the gaping circles that covered its bulk. 

 At the other side was a boat of milk gravy, 

 which had followed the pork into the frying-pan 

 and had come forth fit company for the boiled 

 potatoes. I went back forty years at one jump, 

 and said, 



" I now renew my youth. Is there anything 

 better under the sun than fried salt pork and 

 milk gravy ? If there is, don't tell me of it, for 

 I have worshipped at this shrine for forty years, 

 and my faith must not be shaken." 



Such a supper twice or thrice a week would 

 warm the cockles of my old heart ; but Polly 

 says, " No modern cook can make these things 

 just right ; and if not just right, they are horrid." 

 That is true ; it takes an artist or a mother to 

 fry salt pork and make milk gravy. 



There were other things on the table, quan- 

 tities of bread and butter, apple sauce (in a dish 

 that would hold half a peck), stacks of fresh gin- 

 ger-bread, tea, and great pitchers of milk ; but 

 naught could distract my attention from the 

 piece de resistance. Thrice I sent my plate back, 

 and then could do no more. That meal con- 

 vinced me that I could trust Mrs. Thompson. 

 A woman who could fry salt pork as my mother 

 did, was a woman to be treasured. 



I left the farm-house at 7, and reached home 



