THE NEW BUTCHER BOY

by Ives Gerny

"Anyway," said my aunt, emphasizing the end of her theatrically-told story with a sweep of the soupladle, barely missing the hanging lamp, "she's completely mad about him.'

In the silence that followed her statement we could hear once more the sounds from outside. A hen came clucking to the door; the dog lying

curled up asleep gave a nearly human sigh; the cooing of the pigeons drifted to us again.

"We can sit down now," said my grandmother, coming in from the kitchen. At her invitation the whole family got up and took their places around the table with the usual talk and laughter.

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