"But the ice! Us poor farmin' folks can't afford ice; it's only them
that makes their livin' out of us--"
"Excuse me," said Mrs. Taggess, "but many of the farmers, your husband
among them, have been telling Doctor Taggess recently that they were
going to put up ice-houses next winter, and that they were foolish
or lazy for not having already done so before. I'm sure that all of
you who have enjoyed the cream so greatly will keep your husbands in
mind of it, especially as ice-cream, made at home, is as cheap as the
poorest food that any farmer's family eats."
The coming of the coffee caused conversation to abate once more, for in
each cup floated a puff of whipped cream--a spectacle unfamiliar to any
of the gossips, some of whom hastily spooned and swallowed it, in the
supposition that it was ice-cream, put in to cool the coffee somewhat.
Those who followed the motions of their hostess and Mrs. Taggess
stirred the whipped cream into the coffee, and enjoyed the result, but
again the voice of the tormentor arose:--
"We buy all our coffee at your store, but we don't never have none that
tastes like this here."
"Indeed?" Grace said, with an air of solicitude. "I wonder why, for
there is but one kind in the store, and this was made from it. Perhaps
we prepare it in different ways."
"I bile mine a plumb half-hour," said the tormentor, "so's to git ev'ry
mite o' stren'th out o' it."
"Oh! I never boil mine."
She never boiled coffee! Would the wonders of this house and its
housekeeper never cease?
"For pity sakes, how does any one make coffee without boilin', _I'd_
like to know?" said a little woman with a thin, aquiline nose and a
piercing voice.
"I used to do it," said Grace, "by putting finely ground coffee in
a strainer, and letting boiling water trickle through it, but the
strainer melted off one day, through my carelessness, so now I put the
coffee in a cotton bag, tie it, throw it into the pot, pour on boiling
water, set it on the cooler part of the stove, and let it stand without
boiling for five minutes. Then I take out the bag and its contents, to
keep the coffee from getting a woody taste. My husband, who often makes
the coffee in the morning, throws the ground coffee into cold water,
lets it stand on the stove until it comes to a boil, and removes it at
once. I'm not yet sure which way is the best."
"Nor I," said Mrs. Taggess, "although I've tasted it here made in both
ways, and seen it made, too."
The guests were so astonished that each took a second cup--not that
they really wanted it, as one explained to two others, but to see
whether it really was as good as it had seemed at first. Then Grace
arose, and led the way to the parlor. Some of the guests were loath to
follow, among them the tormentor, who said:--
"I s'pose if I'd talked about these crockery dishes, she'd have faced
me down, an' tried to make me believe they didn't cost as much as
mine."
"Oh, no, she wouldn't," said Mrs. Taggess, who overheard the remark;
"but I think 'twas very kind of her to set out her very best china,
don't you? Most people do that only for their dearest friends--never
for people who forget the manners due to the woman of the house,
whoever she may be."
"I don't see what you mean by that, Mis' Taggess, I'm sure. I only--"
"Ah, well, try not to 'only' in the parlor, for Mrs. Somerton is trying
very hard to make us feel entirely at home."
"Well, _I_ think she's just tryin' to show off, 'cause she's come into
old Jethro's money."
"Show off with what? Do tell me."
"Why, with her fine furniture an' fixin's. If that best room o' hern
was mine, I'd be 'feared to use it, an' I'd expect the house to be
struck by lightnin' to punish me for my wicked pride."
"I'm a-dyin' to ask her what some o' them things cost," said another,
"but I don't quite dass to."
"Then you may stop dying at once, for I'll ask her for you, although I
already know, within a few cents, the price of everything in the room.
Come along, now. Ahem! Mrs. Somerton, there's much curiosity among the
ladies as to the cost of furnishing your beautiful parlor. Won't you
tell us?"
"Very gladly," Grace said, "for I'm very proud of it."
"Didn't I tell you?" whispered the tormentor.
"Everything in the parlor, except the piano, which is the ugliest thing
in it," Grace continued, "cost less than twenty dollars."
"Sho!" exclaimed one woman, incredulously. "Why, that's no more money
than Squire Burress paid for the sofy that his gals is courted on, for
Mis' Burress told me the price o' that sofy herself, an' showed me the
bill to prove it."
"I've no bills to show," Grace said, with a laugh, "for the largest
articles are made of scraps, such as my husband gives away to any one
who asks for them. See here--" as she spoke she turned a chair upside
down to show that its basis was a barrel. Then she raised the drapery
of a divan to show the unpainted boxes beneath. "The matting on the
floor is three times as cheap as rag carpet. You can buy the window
hangings in the store at fifteen cents a yard--though don't imagine I'm
trying to advertise the goods. All the furniture covers are of cheap
bedquilt chintzes. Examine everything, ladies; for, as I've already
said, I'm very proud of my cheap little parlor."
"You didn't say nothin' about the cost of the labor," said the
tormentor.
"True," Grace admitted, "but I can reckon it with very little trouble,
for I did it all myself; I've no grown sons and daughters, like some of
you, so I did it alone. Besides my time it cost me--well, to be exact,
one thumb bruised with the hammer; one finger ditto; a bad scratch on
one hand, caused by a saw slipping; half a day of pain in one eye, into
which I blew some sawdust; two sore knees, got while putting down the
matting; and one twisted ankle--I accidentally stepped from a box while
tacking a picture to the wall."
"Well, I'm clean beat out o' my senses!" confessed one guest. "I never
heerd tell that they learned such work to women in cities."
"Perhaps they don't," Grace said, "but I learned most of it when I was
a country girl in western New York."
"What? You a country gal?"
"Indeed I am. I can milk cows, churn butter, make garden, take care of
chickens, saw wood and split it, wash clothes, and do any other country
housework, besides making my own clothes."
The woman who had elicited this information looked slowly from face to
face among her acquaintances, and then said:--
"I reckon we're a passel o' fools."
"Oh,--excuse me; but I assure you that I meant nothing of the kind."
"But I do, an' I mean it strong, too; yes, ma'am. We're a passel o'
fools. I won't feel over an' above safe until I git home an' take a
good long think, an' I reckon the sooner the rest of us go too, the
seldomer we'll put our foot in it."
There was general acquiescence in this suggestion; even the tormentor
seemed suppressed, but suddenly her eyes glared, her lips hardened,
and she said:--
"I suppose that scrumptious dress o' yourn was made o' scraps, too?"