bench, and began to wash his hands at the sink.
"Breakfast in a minute, father," the woman observed.
Peewee reflected upon the form of this address. It was not possible that the thin man was the woman's father. "Father," in this instance, must be the correct formality in addressing him.
"Hello," the man remarked, looking at Peewee.
"Good morning, father," Peewee replied.
"You mustn't call him 'father,'" the woman rebuked him. "Call him Mr. Miller. And I'm Mrs. Miller."
"Yes, Mrs. Miller," Peewee assented.
The woman poured some of the fresh milk into a glass and put it on the table.
"Set up," she directed. Peewee stared at her, perplexed by this admonition which seemed to be addressed to himself. "Set up to the table," the woman repeated crossly.
Peewee drew himself upon the chair to which she pointed and tasted of the milk. It was still warm, and he pushed it away from him, repelled by recollection of the cow. He looked at
