I saw the blackberry cordial person take a step forward.
"I would like to ask you one," he said. "How do you reconcile blackberry cordial with the W. C T.U.?"
Tish went white with anger, and would no doubt have flayed him with words, as our black berry cordial is made from her own grandmother's recipe, and a higher principled woman never lived. But unluckily the driver of the furniture wagon we were standing in had returned without our noticing it, and drove off at that moment, taking us with him.
It was about this time that Charlie Sands came to see me one day, looking worried.
"Look here," he said, "what's this about my having appendicitis?"
"Well, you ought to know," I replied rather tartly. "Don't ask me if you have a pain."
"But I haven't," he said, looking aggrieved. "I'm all right. I never felt better."
He then said that once, when a small boy, he had been taken with a severe attack of pain, following a picnic when he had taken considerable lemonade and pickles, followed by ice cream.
"I had forgotten it entirely," he went on. "But the other day Aunt Tish recalled the incident, and suggested that I get my appendix out. It
