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 too small, and we were all sitting too close together for her to have the least chance of making that great plateful look even partly eaten unless it really was. Of course I knew that she'd a lot rather make her dinner off of bread and butter and corn than take a mouthful of the chicken,—but I also knew that she'd rather go to bed for a week than have Aunt Fannie know that the dinner which she had planned as just the thing for us hungry kids, was a dead failure as far as Bess was concerned. I knew that it wasn't notion with Bess, either; for I've seen her when she had what she used to call a "chicken sick," that she had got from eating soup that had just a little chicken in it when she didn't know it, and once when she ate some fried chicken over at our house because I dared her to. But that was before she took up Christian Science.

When everybody was served, and it was time to start in, I looked at Bess again. She took up her knife and fork, put up her head for an instant and looked me square in the eye, and then she fell too and—ate chicken!

Gee, but that girl has grit!

She didn't ask for a second helping, but she