The Winslow mail., 1915-02-13

1t contained great ranges, pots, pans,
, crockery, barrels of flour, bags of
sugar, in fact a culinary outfit that
astonished the inexperienced Peter
Then, as he was regarding the layout
open-mouthed, his host shot the
| shrewd inquiry at him:
| What else are ye but a fine
whistler"
A fine baker!" proclaimed Peter
with proud conf1dence-"but Scotch,
mind ye. The trades no good in this
country"
1t took David Mcpherson, club
| cook, a very few minutes to turn his
fellow countryman inside out as he
expressed it.
And what for all this prodigious
food?" questioned Peter
THE banquet, mon,' returned
David ITS the spread after the con-
cert and the speechifying-th real
enjoyment, with mountain dew adden-
dum," and the old fellow went on to
tell how, as the chef de cuisine in all
the functions of st. Andrews society
he held a lucrative and busy place.
l can use ye, lad, maybe perma-
nently, if ye fill the bill,' he said, and
he shared his supper and his bed with
Peter, to wake up at sunrise to find
his guest standing patiently beside
him in a manifest state of suppressed
excitement.
I've an idea," spoke Peter at
walked me hours since" and then with
enthusiastic vim he developed a
wondrous scheme that had come into
his mind. Scotsmen all, those at
the banquet might hail the novelty
of real Scotch cooking with ardor.
Theirs mutton pies, We mind" ex-
planned Peter. Their mouths will
water for the real homemade cook
cry. And brose-no great quantity,
but suggestion of the heathesy
moor and the childhood cot And
scones, and oat cakes, and short
| bread, and whole wheat Farrels, and
Melton Mowbray pork pies!"
Peter had set the imagination of
old David on fire. He was heart and
soul in harmony with the plan of
surprising the banqueters with Scotch
| fare purely. And so it came about.
It was marvellous success. Upon
the eventful night men who saw be-
fore them the unadulterated products
of their home soil, grew tender and
loyal, and the hall rang with unre-
strained enthusiasm that marked the
occasion as glowing and grand.
Now at the banquet was one Peter
Wilbur. And it so happened that at
the home of this stalwart son of
Scotia, now prosperous business
man, Jessie had secured employment.
Peter had taken home one of the
mutton pies to remind his wife of old
times, as he had been reminded, and
Mrs. Wilbur had given it to Jessie.
I've noticed yo're longing all the
time" she said to her favorite maid.
Maybe for home. Here's touch of
it, lassie, that may solace your poor
homesick heart"
Jessie took the pie and began to
partake of it with eyes retrospective
and fearful. A taste made her sob.
There was one, and one only in
old Scotia who made the like" she
wailed-"my best laddie, and-oh!"
She burst into scream, staring at
criss-cross mark upon the top layer
of crust.
Peters mark! know it WELL" she
tremored. "Ah! only he used that
mark. Oh, tell me, tell me whence
came the pie!"
Mr.. Wilbur was called and he ex-
planned. On with her bonnet, and
Jessie was flying in the direction of
the hall where old David had engaged
Peter as his permanent assistant.
She burst in upon them unceremoni-
ously. She fell into his outstretched
arms. There were only two words
spoken, but so fervently uttered that
old David thrilled at their simple elo-
quence-
"Lassie!"
"Laddie!"
Copyright, 1914, by w G. chapman)