"Authorized by these ladies to speak for them, I desire to return

sincere thanks for this manifestation of your regard for them. Your

visit was entirely unexpected by Miss Mason and a great surprise to her.

But it is a most pleasant surprise, and she desires me to thank you

again and again for your kind thoughts and your good company this

evening. She and her mother join in giving you a most hearty welcome.

They wish you to make yourselves at home and will do all in their power

to make the evening a happy one and one long to be remembered by the

inhabitants of Mason's Corner. The inception of this happy event, I

learn, is due to Professor Strout, who for some time, I understand, has

been Miss Mason's music teacher, and the ladies, whose ideas I am

expressing, desire me to call upon him to take charge of the festivities

and bring them to a successful close, as he is no doubt competent and

willing to do."

Quincy bowed low and retired behind the other members of the party.

Quincy's speech was greeted with cheers and more clapping of hands. Even

Strout's friends were pleased by the graceful compliment paid to the

Professor, and joined in the applause.

Strout had by this time fully recovered his equanimity. A chair was

placed upon the kitchen table and Abner Stiles was boosted up and took

his seat thereon. While he was tuning up his fiddle the Professor opened

a package that one of the girls handed to him and passed a pair of

knitted woollen wristers to each lady in the company. He gave three

pairs to Huldy, who in turn gave one pair to her mother and one to

Alice. There were several pairs over, as several girls who had been

expected to join the party had not come.

"Now, Mrs. Mason," said the Professor, "could you kindly supply me with

a couple of small baskets, or if not, with a couple of milk pans?"

The Professor took one of the pans and Robert Wood the other.

"The ladies wall please form in line," cried the Professor; which was

done. "Now will each lady," said the Professor, "as she marches between

us, throw one wrister in one pan and t'other wrister in the other pan?

Give us a good, lively march, Abner," he added, and the music began.

The procession passed between the upheld pans, one wrister of each pair

thrown right and the other left, as it moved on.

The music stopped. "Now, will the ladies please form in line again,"

said the Professor, "and as they pass through each one take a wrister

from the pan held by Mr. Wood."

The music started up again and the procession moved forward and the work

of selection was completed.

Again the music stopped. "Now will the gentlemen form in line, and as

they march forward each one take a wrister from the pan that I hold,"

said the Professor.

Once more the music started up. The line was formed, the procession

advanced, 'Zekiel and Quincy bringing up the rear. As Quincy took the

last wrister from the pan that the Professor held, the latter turned

quickly away and beat a tattoo on the bottom of the pan with his

knuckles and cried out, "Gentlemen will please find their partners. The

wristers become the property of the gentlemen."

Then a wild rush took place. Screams of laughter were heard on every

side, and it was fully five minutes before the excitement subsided, and

in response to another tattoo upon the milk pan by the Professor, the

couples, as arranged by the hand of Fate, formed in line and marched

around the great kitchen to the music of a sprightly march written by

the Professor and called "The Wrister March," and respectfully dedicated

to Miss Hulda Mason. This announcement was made by Mr. Stiles from his

elevated position upon the kitchen table.

The hand of Fate had acted somewhat strangely. The Professor and Mandy

Skinner stood side by side, as did 'Zekiel Pettengill and Mrs. Mason.

Lindy Putnam and Huldy by a queer twist of fortune were mated with

Cobb's twins.

But Fate did one good act. By chance Quincy and Alice stood side by

side. She looked up at him and said to her partner, "What is your name,

I cannot see your face?"

"My name is Quincy," said Sawyer in a low voice.

"I am so glad!" said Alice, leaning a little more heavily on his arm.

"So am I," responded Quincy ardently.

After the procession had made several circuits of the great kitchen,

Professor Strout gave a signal, and it broke up, each gentleman being

then at liberty to seek the lady of his own choice.

"What games shall we play fust?" asked Strout, taking the centre of the

room, and looking round upon the company with a countenance full of

smiles and good nature.

"Who is it?" "Who is it?" came from a dozen voices.

"All right," cried Strout; "that's a very easy game to play. Now all you

ladies git in a line and I'll put this one chair right front of yer. Now

all the gentlemen must leave the room except one. I suppose we can use

the parlor, Mrs. Mason?"

Mrs. Mason nodded her head in the affirmative.

"I'll 'tend door," said Hiram; and he took his position accordingly.

After the rest of the gentlemen had left the room, Hiram closed the

door, and turning to Huldy said, "Shall I call them, or will you?"

"You call them," said Huldy.

"Got the handkerchief ready?" asked Hiram.

Huldy swung a big red bandanna in the air. Opening a door, Hiram called

out in a loud voice, "Obadiah Strout."

As Strout walked towards the line of young girls they called out

together, "Mister, please take a chair."

Strout sat down in a chair. One of the girls who had the bandanna

handkerchief in her hand passed it quickly over his eyes and tied it

firmly behind his head. Two of the girls then stepped forward and each

one taking one of his hands and extending it at right angles with his

body held it firmly in their grasps. At the same instant his head was

pulled back by one of the girls and a kiss was imprinted on his upturned

mouth.

"Who is it?" screamed the girls in unison. The holds on the Professor's

head and hands were released and he sat upright in the chair.

"I kinder guess it was Miss Huldy Mason," said he.

A loud laugh burst from the girls, mixed with cries of "You're wrong!"

"You ain't right!" "You didn't get it!" "You're out!" and similar

ejaculations.

The handkerchief was taken from his eyes and he was marched to the left

of the line of girls, which ran length-wise of the kitchen.

Abner Stiles was the next one called in, and he was subjected to the

same treatment as had befallen his predecessor, but to the intense

disgust of Professor Strout he saw Hiram Maxwell come on tiptoe from the

parlor door, lean over and kiss Abner Stiles. The thought of course ran

through his mind that he had been subjected to the same treatment. He

was on the point of protesting at this way of conducting the game when

the idea occurred to him that it would be a huge satisfaction to have

that city chap subjected to the same treatment, and he decided to hold

his peace.

The next one called was 'Zekiel Pettengill, and he was treated in the

same manner as the Professor and Abner had been; but as Hiram leaned

over to kiss him, 'Zekiel's foot slipped upon the floor and struck

against Hiram's, Hiram being in front of him. 'Zekiel then put up both

of his feet and kicked with them in such a way that Hiram was unable to

approach him.

'Zekiel called out, "It's Hiram Maxwell," and the room rang with the

laughs and cries of the girls.

'Zekiel, having guessed who it was, was marched off to the right of the

line of girls.

Strout called out, "Let's play something else," but the sentiment of the

company seemed to be that it wasn't fair to the others not to give them

a chance, so the game continued. Quincy was the next one called, and to

still further increase the disgust of Strout and Abner, instead of Hiram

leaving the door, as before, one of the girls stepped out from the line,

at a signal from Huldy, and kissed Quincy. He guessed that it was Miss

Huldy Mason, and was greeted with the same cries that Strout had heard.

He took his place at the left with the latter.

Strout leaned over and whispered in Abner's ear, "That was a put-up job.

I'll get even with Hiram Maxwell before I get through."

The game continued until all the men had been called in. With the

exception of Emmanuel Howe, none of them were able to guess who it was.

When Emmanuel took his place by the side of 'Zekiel he confided the fact

to him that he guessed it was Miss Putnam on account of the perfumery

which he had noticed before he left the house with her.

After this game others followed in quick succession. There were

"Pillow," "Roll the Cover," "Button, Button, Who's Got the Button?"

"Copenhagen," and finally "Post Office." From all of these games Alice

begged to be excused. She told the Professor that she was not bashful

nor diffident, but that her eyesight was so poor that she knew she would

detract from the pleasure of the others if she engaged in the games.

The Professor demurred at first, but said finally that her excuse was a

good one. Then he turned to Abner and remarked that he supposed Mr.

Sawyer would ask to be excused next 'cause his girl wasn't going to

play.

But Quincy had no such intention. After leading Alice to a seat beside

Mrs. Mason, he returned to the company and took part in every game,

entering with spirit and vivacity into each of them. He invented some

forfeits that one girl objected to the forfeit exacted of her as being

all out of proportion to her offence, the matter was referred to Quincy.

He said that he would remit the original forfeit and she could kiss him

instead. But she objected, saying that forfeit was worse than the other

one. This pleased Strout greatly, and he remarked to Abner, who kept as

close to him as the tail to a kite, that there was one girl in town who

wasn't afraid to speak her mind.

The game of Post Office was the most trying one to Quincy. Of his own

free will he would not have called either Huldy or Lindy, but Strout and

Abner and all the rest of them had letters for both of these young

ladies. He was afraid that his failure to call them out might lead to

remark, as he knew that Strout and Abner and Robert Wood were watching

his actions closely. So, near the middle of the game, when he had been

called out, he had a letter from England for Miss Lindy Putnam.

As she raised her face to his for the kiss on the cheek that he gave

her, she said, "I was afraid you had not forgiven me, after all."

"Oh, yes, I have," said Quincy, and carried away by the excitement of

the occasion, he caught her again in his arms and gave her another kiss,

this time upon the lips.

At this instant Abner Stiles, who was tending door, opened it and called

out, "Takes a long time to pay the postage on one letter!"

A little later Quincy was again called out, and this time he had a

letter from Boston for Miss Mason. He kissed her on the cheek, as he had

done with Lindy. Huldy looked up with a laugh and said, "Were you as

bashful as that with Miss Putnam?"

"Yes," said Quincy, "at first, but there was double postage on her

letter, the same as on yours." And though Huldy tried to break away from

him he caught her and kissed her upon the lips, as he had done to Lindy.

Again Abner opened the door and cried out that the mails would close in

one minute, and he'd better get the stamps on that letter quick.

All such good times come to an end, and the signal for the close was the

return of Deacon Mason from his visit to town. He was popular with all

parties, and Stroutites, Anti-Stroutites, and neutrals all gathered

'round him and said they were having a beautiful time, and could they

have a little dance after supper?

The Deacon said he didn't know that dancing in itself was so bad, for

the Bible referred to a great many dances. "But," said he, "I have

always been agin permiscuous dancing."

"But we ain't permiscuous," said Tilly James. "We are all friends and

neighbors."

"Most all," said Strout; but his remark was unnoticed by all excepting

Quincy.

"Well, under the circumstances," concluded the Deacon, "I don't object

to your finishing up with an old-fashioned reel, and mother and me will

jine in with you, so as to countenance the perceedings."

The call was now made for supper. A procession was again formed, each

gentleman taking the lady who had accompanied him to the party. They all

filed into the dining-room and took their places around the long table.

The most of them looked at its contents with surprise and delight.

Instead of seeing only home-made cakes, and pies, and dishes of nuts,

and raisins, and apples, that they had expected, occupying the centre

of the table, they gazed upon a large frosted cake, in the centre of

which arose what resembled the spire of a church, made of sugar and

adorned with small American flags and streamers made of various colored

silk ribbons. Flanking the centrepiece at each corner were large dishes

containing mounds of jelly cake, pound cake, sponge cake, and angel

cake. On either side of the centrepiece, shaped in fancy moulds, were

two large dishes of ice cream, a third full of sherbet, and the fourth

one filled with frozen pudding. In the vacant spaces about the larger

dishes were smaller plates containing the home-made pies and cake, and

the apples, oranges, dates, figs, raisins, nuts, and candy taken from

the pound packages brought by the members of the surprise party. Piled

upon the table in heaps were the fifty boxes containing the souvenir

gifts that Quincy had ordered.

As they took their places about the table, Quincy felt it incumbent upon

him to say something. Turning to the Professor he addressed him:

"Professor Strout, I think it is my duty to inform you that I have made

this little addition to the bountiful supper supplied by you and the

members of this party, on behalf of my friends, Mr. and Miss Pettengill,

and myself. I trust that you will take as much pleasure in disposing of

it as I have in sending it. In the language of the poet I would now say,

'Fall to and may good digestion wait on appetite!'"

Quincy's speech was received with applause. The hot coffee had arrived

and was soon circulating in cups, mugs, and tumblers. Everybody was

talking to everybody else at the same time, and all petty fueds,

prejudices, and animosities were, apparently, forgotten.

The young fellows took the cue from Quincy, who, as soon as he had

finished his little speech, began filling the plates with the good

things provided, and passing them to the ladies, and in a short time all

had been waited upon. When both hunger and appetite had been satisfied,

Quincy again addressed the company.

"In those small paper boxes," said he, "you will find some little

souvenirs, which you can keep to remind you of this very pleasant

evening, or you can eat them and remember how sweet they were." A

general laugh followed this remark. "In making your selection,"

continued Quincy, "bear in mind that the boxes tied up with red ribbon

are for the ladies, while those having blue ribbons are for the

gentlemen."

A rush was made for the table, and almost instantly each member of the

company became possessed of a souvenir and was busily engaged in untying

the ribbons.

Again Quincy's voice was heard above the tumult.

"In each package," cried he, "will be found printed on a slip of paper a

poetical selection. The poetry, like that found on valentines, is often

very poor, but the sentiment is there just the same. In the city the

plan that we follow is to pass our own slip to our left-hand neighbor

and he or she reads it."

This was too much for the Professor.

"I don't think," said he, "that we ought to foller that style of doin'

things jest because they do it that way in the city. We are pretty

independent in the country, like to do thing's our own way."

"Oh! it don't make any difference to me," said Quincy; "in the city when

we get a good thing we are willing to share it with our partners or

friends; you know I said if you didn't wish to keep your souvenir, you

could eat it, and of course the poetical selection is part of the

souvenir."

A peal of laughter greeted this sally, which rose to a shout when Strout

took his souvenir out of the box. It proved to be a large sugar bee,

very lifelike in appearance and having a little wad of paper rolled up

and tucked under one of the wings.

As Strout spread out the slip of paper with his fingers, loud cries of

"Eat it!" "Read it!" and "Pass it along!" came from the company. The

Professor stood apparently undecided what course to pursue, when Tilly

James, who was standing at his left, grabbed it from his fingers, and

running to the end of the table, stood beside young Hill with an

expression that seemed to say, "This is my young man, and I know he will

protect me."

Loud cries of "Read it, Tilly!" came from all parts of the table.

"Not unless Professor Strout is willing," said Tilly with mock humility.

All eyes were turned upon Strout, who, seeing that he had nothing to

gain by objecting, cried out, "Oh, go ahead; what do I care about such

nonsense!"

Tilly then read with much dramatic expression the following poetical

effusion:

"How does the wicked bumblebee

Employ the shining hours,

In stinging folks that he dislikes,

Instead of sipping flowers."

Another loud laugh greeted this; largely due to the comical expression

on Tilly James's face, which so far upset Quincy's habitual gravity that

he was obliged to smile in spite of himself.

If Strout felt the shot he did not betray it, but turned to Huldy, who

stood at his right, and said, "Now, Miss Mason, let me read your poetry

for you, as they do it in the city."

Huldy hesitated, holding the slip of paper between her fingers, "Oh!

that ain't fair," said Strout. "I've set you a good example, now you

mustn't squeal. Come, walk right up to the trough."

"I'm no pig," protested Huldy.

As Strout leaned over to take the paper he said in an undertone, "No,

you are a little dear;" whereat Huldy's face flushed a bright crimson.

Strout cleared his voice and then read:

"Come wreathe your face with smiles, my dear,

A husband you'll find within the year."

This was greeted with laughter, clapping of hands, and cries of "Who is

it, Huldy?"

The Professor looked at Huldy inquiringly, but she averted her eyes. He

leaned over and said in an undertone, "May I keep this?"

Huldy looked up and said in a tone that was heard by every one at the

table, "I don't care; if you like it better than that one about the

bumblebee you can have it."

The Professor then turned to Quincy and said, "Perhaps Mr. Sawyer will

oblige the company by passing his poetry along, as they do it in the

city."

Quincy answered quickly, "Why, certainly," and handed the slip to his

left-hand neighbor, who chanced to be Miss Seraphina Cotton, who was the

teacher in the public school located at Mason's Corner.

She prided herself on her elocutionary ability, and read the following

with great expression:

"Though wealth and fame fall to my lot,

I'd much prefer a little cot,

In which, apart from care and strife,

I'd love my children and my wife."

Strout laughed outright.

"By the way, Mr. Sawyer," said he, "have you seen any little cot round

here that you'd swap your Beacon Street house for?"

"I've got my eye on some real estate in this town," said Quincy, "and if

you own it perhaps we can make a trade."

'Zekiel Pettengill passed his slip to Lindy Putnam; it ran thus:

"'An honest man's the noblest work of God,'

No nobler lives than he who tills the sod."

This was greeted with shouts and cries of "Good for 'Zeke!" while one of

Cobb's twins, who possessed a thin, high voice, cried out, "He's all

wool and a yard wide."

This provoked more shouts and hand-clapping, and 'Zekiel blushed like a

peony.

Lindy Putnam handed her slip to Quincy; he took in its meaning at a

glance and looked at her inquiringly.

Strout saw the glance and cried out, "Oh, come, now; don't leave out

nothin'; read it jist as it's writ."

Lindy nodded to Quincy and he read:

"There is no heart but hath some wish unfilled,

There is no soul without some longing killed,

With heart and soul work for thy heart's desire.

And turn not back for storm, nor flood, nor fire."

"This is gittin' quite tragic," said Strout. "I guess we've had all we

want to eat and drink, and have listened to all the bad poetry we want

ter, and I move--"

"Second the motion," cried Abner Stiles.

"And I move," continued Strout, "that we git back inter the kitchen, and

have a little dance jist to shake our suppers down."

After the company returned to the kitchen, Abner was again lifted to his

elevated position on the kitchen table, and the fun began again. There

was no doubt that in telling stories Abner Stiles often drew the long

bow, but it was equally true that he had no superior in Eastborough and

vicinity on the violin, or the fiddle, as he preferred to call it. He

was now in his glory. His fiddle was tucked under his chin, a red silk

handkerchief with large yellow polka dots protecting the violin from

injury from his stubbly beard rather than his chin from being injured by

the instrument.

[Illustration: "THE DEACON AND HIS WIFE LED OFF."]

After a few preliminary chords, Abner struck up the peculiar dance

movement very popular in those days, called "The Cure." As if

prearranged, Hiram Maxwell and Mandy Skinner ran to the centre of the

room and began singing the words belonging to the dance. Abner gradually

increased the speed of the melody, and the singers conformed, thereto.

Faster and faster the music went, and higher and higher the dancers

jumped until the ceiling prevented any further progress upward. They

leaned forward and backward, they leaned from side to side, but still

kept up their monotonous leaps into the air. Finally, when almost

exhausted, they sank into chairs hastily brought for them, amid the

applause of the party.

Quincy had seen the dance at the city theatres, but acknowledged to

himself that the country version was far ahead of the city one. At the

same time it seemed to him that the dance savored of barbarism, and he

recalled pictures and stories of Indian dances where the participants

fell to the ground too weak to rise.

"I put my right hand in," called out one of the fellows. Cries of "Oh,

yes, that's it!" came from the company, and they arranged themselves in

two rows, facing each other and running the length of the long room.

They were in couples, as they came to the party. Abner played the melody

on his violin, and the fellows and girls sang these words:

"I put my right hand in,

I put my right hand out,

I give my right hand a shake, shake, shake,

And I turn myself about."

As they sang the last line they did turn themselves about so many times

that it seemed a wonder to Quincy, who was an amused spectator, how they

kept upon their feet.

Seeing that one of the young ladies in the line was without a partner,

Quincy took his place beside her and joined in the merriment as heartily

as the rest. Then followed all the changes of "I put my left hand in,"

"I put my right foot in," "I put my left foot in," and so on until the

whole party was nearly as much exhausted as Hiram and Mandy had been.

At this moment the door leading to the parlor opened and Deacon Mason

entered, accompanied by his wife. They were greeted with shouts of

laughter. Quincy looked at them with astonishment, and had it not been

for their familiar faces, which they had not tried to disguise, he would

not have recognized them.

Out of compliment to their guests, the Deacon and his wife had gone back

to the days of their youth. Probably from some old chest in the garret

each had resurrected a costume of fifty years before. They advanced into

the room, smiling and bowing to the delighted spectators on either side.

They went directly to Abner, and the latter bent over to hear what the

Deacon whispered in his ear. The Deacon then went to Strout and

whispered something to him.

Strout nodded, and turning to the company said, "As it's now half past

'leven and most time for honest folks to be abed and rogues a runnin',

out of compliment to Miss Huldy's grandpa and grandma, who have honored

us with their presence this evenin', we will close these festivities

with a good old-fashioned heel and toe Virginia reel. Let 'er go, Abner,

and keep her up till all the fiddle strings are busted."

Like trained soldiers, they sprang to their places. Quincy and his

partner took places near the end of the line. He explained to her that

he had never danced a reel, but thought he could easily learn from

seeing the others, and he told her that when their turn came she need

not fear but that he would do his part.

The Deacon and his wife led off, and their performance caused great

enthusiasm. Sam Hill was not a good dancer, so he resigned Miss Tilly

James to Professor Strout. Miss James was a superb dancer, and as Quincy

looked at her his face showed his appreciation.

His partner saw the glance, and looking up to him said, "Don't you wish

you could dance as well as that?"

"I wish I could," said Quincy. "I have no doubt you can," he added,

looking at his partner's rosy face.

"Well," said she, "you do the best you can, and I'll do the same."

Professor Strout and Tilly did finely, and their performance gained them

an encore, which they granted. One by one the couples went under the

arch of extended arms, and one by one they showed their Terpsichorean

agility on the kitchen floor, over which Mandy Skinner had thoughtfully

sprinkled a handful of house sand.

At last came the turn of Quincy and his little partner, whose name was

unknown to him. He observed the grace with which she went through the

march, and when the dance came be wished he could have stood still and

watched her. Instead, he entered with his whole soul into the dance, and

at its conclusion he was astonished to hear the burst of applause and

cheers that fell upon his ears.

"Come along!" said his partner, and taking him by the hand she drew him

back through the arch, and the dance was repeated.

Three times in succession was this done in response to enthusiastic

applause, and Quincy was beginning to think that he would soon fall in

his tracks. He had no idea that any such fate would befall his partner,

for she seemed equal to an indefinite number of repetitions.

But, as has been said before, to all good things an end must come at

last, and when the old-fashioned Connecticut clock on the mantelpiece

clanged out the midnight hour, as if by magic a hush came over the

company and the jollities came to an end. Then followed a rush for

capes, and coats, and jackets, and shawls, and hats. Then came good-byes

and good-nights, and then the girls all kissed Huldy and her mother,

wished them long life and happiness, while their escorts stood quietly

by thinking of the pleasant homeward trips, and knowing in their hearts

that they should treasure more the pressure of the hand or the single

good-night kiss yet to come than they did the surprise party kisses that

had been theirs during the evening.

Mrs. Mason and 'Zekiel had prepared Alice for her homeward trip. Quincy

took occasion to seek out his partner in the reel to say good night, and

as he shook hands with her he said, "Would you consider me rude if I

asked your name and who taught you to dance?"

"Oh! no," she replied; "my name is Bessie Chisholm. I teach the dancing

school at Eastborough Centre, and Mr. Stiles always plays for me."

"Is he going to see you home to-night?" asked Quincy.

"Oh! no," said she; "I came with my brother. Here, Sylvester," cried

she, and a smart-looking, country fellow, apparently about twenty-one

years of age, came towards them. "I'm ready," said Bessie to him, and

then, turning to Quincy, "Mr. Sawyer, make you acquainted with my

brother, Sylvester Chisholm."

"Ah, you know my name," said Quincy.

"I guess everybody in Eastborough knows who you are," retorted she with

a toss of her head, as she took her brother's arm and walked away.

Hiram had brought 'round the Pettengill sleigh from the barn. 'Zekiel,

Alice, Quincy, and Mandy were the last of the party to leave. Quincy

took his old place beside Alice, while Mandy sat on the front seat with

'Zekiel.

It was a beautiful moonlight night and the ride home was a most

enjoyable one.

"I am sorry," said Quincy to Alice, "that you could not take part in

more of the games. I enjoyed them very much."

"Oh, Mrs. Mason kept me informed of your actions," said Alice with a

laugh.

Halfway to Hill's grocery they passed the Professor and Abner walking

home to Mrs. Hawkins's boarding house. They called out, "Good night and

pleasant dreams," and drove rapidly on. In the Square a number of the

party had stopped to say good night again before taking the various

roads that diverged from it, and another interchange of "Good nights"

followed.

When Strout and Abner reached the Square it was deserted. There was no

light shining in the boarding house. The kerosene lamps and matches were

on a table in the front entry. Strout lighted his lamp and went

upstairs. Strout's room was one flight up, while Abner's was up two. As

they reached Strout's room he said, "Come in, Abner, and warm up. Comin'

out of that hot room into this cold air has given me a chill." He went

to a closet and brought out a bottle, a small pitcher, and a couple of

spoons. "Have some rum and molasses, nothin' better for a cold."

They mixed their drinks in a couple of tumblers, which Strout found in

the closet. Then he took a couple of cigars from his pocket and gave one

to Abner. They drank and smoked for some time in silence.

At last Abner said, "How are you satisfied with this evenin's

perceedin's?"

"Wall, all things considered," said Strout, "I think it was the most

successful party ever given in this 'ere town, if I did do it."

"That's so," responded Abner sententiously. "Warn't you a bit struck up

when that city feller come in?"

"Not a bit," said Strout. "You know when I come back, you see it was so

cussed hot, yer know I said it was the heat, but I knew they wuz there.

Mrs. Mason, told me."

"Did she?" asked Abner, with wide-opened eyes. "I thought it was one on

you."

"When I went down to the road before the bugle was blown," said Strout,

"Mrs. Mason told me they was there. You see, Huldy didn't suspect

nothin' about the party and so she asked them over to tea. She sorter

expected they would go right after tea, but they got singin' songs and

tellin' stories, and Huldy saw they had come to stay."

"But," said Abner, "that city feller must have known all about it

aforehand or how could he git that cake and frozen stuff down from

Bosting so quick?"

"Didn't you say," said Strout, "that you seen them going over to

Eastborough Centre about five o'clock?"

"Yes," replied Abner, "but how did he know when it was? Some one must

have told him, I guess."

"There are times, Abner Stiles," exclaimed Strout, "when you are too

almighty inquisitive."

"Wall, I only wanted to know, so I could tell the truth when folks asked

me," said Abner.

"That's all right," said Strout. "Cuddent you guess who told him? 'Twas

that Hiram Maxwell. I've been pumping him about the city chap, and of

course, I've had to tell him somethin' for swaps. But to-morrow when I

meet him I'll tell him I don't want anythin' more to do with a

tittle-tattle tell-tale like him."

"What d'ye think of that pome 'bout the bumblebee?" drawled Abner.

"Oh, that was a put-up job," said Strout.

"How could that be?" asked Abner, "when you took it out of your own

box?"

"Well," rejoined Strout, "he'll find I'm the wustest kind of a bumblebee

if he stirs me up much more. When my dander's up a hornet's nest ain't a

patch to me."

"I kinder fancied," continued Abner, "that the reason he had them fancy

boxes sent down was because he sorter thought our pound packages would

be rather ornary."

"I guess you've hit it 'bout right," remarked Strout; "them city swells

would cheat their tailor so as to make a splurge and show how much money

they've got. I guess he thought as how I'd never seen ice cream, but I

showed him I knew all about it. I eat three sasserful myself."

"I beat you on that," said Abner; "I eat a sasserful of each kind."

As Abner finished speaking he emptied his glass and then reached forward

for the bottle in order to replenish it. Strout's glass was also empty,

and being much nearer to the bottle than Abner was, he had it in his

possession before Abner could reach it. When he put it down again it was

beyond his companion's reach. Abner turned some molasses into has

tumbler, and then said, "Don't you think 'twas purty plucky of that city

feller to come to our party to-night?"

"No, I don't," said Strout, "he jest sneaked in with 'Zeke Pettengill

and his sister. He'll find out that I'm no slouch here in Eastborough.

When I marry the Deacon's daughter and git the Deacon's money, and am

elected tax collector agin, and buy the grocery store, and I'm app'inted

postmaster at Mason's Corner, he'll diskiver that it's harder fightin'

facts like them than it is Bob Wood's fists. I kinder reckon there won't

be anybody that won't take off their hats to me, and there won't be any

doubts as to who runs this 'ere town. That city feller's health will

improve right off, and he'll go up to Boston a wiser man than when he

come down."

"That's so," remarked Abner; and as he spoke he stood up as if to

emphasize his words. Before he sat down, however, he reached across the

table for the bottle, but again Strout was too quick for him.

"I was only goin' to drink yer health an' success to yer," said Abner.

"All right," said Strout, "make it half a glass and I'll jine yer."

The two men clinked their glasses, drank, and smacked their lips.

"If you don't go to bed now you won't git up till to-morrer," said the

Professor.

"Yer mean ter-day," chuckled Abner, as he got up and walked 'round to

the other side of the table, where he had left his lamp.

"I guess," remarked Strout, "I'll have some more fire. I ain't goin' to

bed jest yet. I've got some heavy thinkin' to do."

While he was upon his knees arranging the wood, starting up the embers

with the bellows, Abner reached across the table and got possession of

his tumbler, from which he had fortunately removed the spoon. Grasping

the bottle he filled it to the brim and tossed it down in three big

swallows. As he replaced the tumbler on the table, Strout turned round.

"There was 'bout a spoonful left in the bottom of my tumbler," said

Abner, apologetically. "Them that drinks last drinks best," said he, as

he took up his lamp. "I guess that nightcap won't hurt me," he muttered

to himself as he stumbled up the flight of stairs that led to his room.

The fire burned brightly and Strout resumed his seat and drew the bottle

towards him. He lifted it up and looked at it.

"The skunk!" said he half aloud; "a man that'll steal rum will hook

money next. Wall, it won't be many days before that city chap will buy

his return ticket to Boston. Then I shan't have any further use for

Abner. Let me see," he soliloquized, "what I've got to do to-morrer? Git

the Deacon's money at ten, propose to Huldy 'bout half past, git home to

dinner at twelve, buy the grocery store 'bout quarter-past three;

that'll be a pretty good day's work!"

Then the Professor mixed up a nightcap for himself and was soon sleeping

soundly, regardless of the broad smile upon the face of the Man in the

Moon, who looked down upon the town with an expression that seemed to

indicate that he considered himself the biggest man in it.

CHAPTER XXVII.

TOWN POLITICS.

At the table next morning the conversation was all about the surprise

party. The Cobb twins declared that without exception it was the best

party that had ever been given at Mason's Corner, to their knowledge.

After breakfast Quincy told Ezekiel that he was going over to

Eastborough Centre that morning; in fact, he should like the single

horse and team for the next three days, as he had considerable business

to attend to.

He drove first to the office of the express company; but to his great

disappointment he was informed that no package had arrived for him on

the morning train. Thinking that possibly some explanation of the

failure of the bank to comply with his wishes might have been sent by

mail, he went to the post office; there he found a letter from the

cashier of his bank, informing him that he had taken the liberty to send

him enclosed, instead of the five hundred dollars in bills, his own

check certified for that amount, and stated that the local bank would

undoubtedly cash the same for him.

As he turned to leave the post office he met Sylvester Chisholm. Quincy

greeted the young man pleasantly, and asked him if he were in business

at the Centre. Sylvester replied that he was the compositor and local

newsman on the "Eastborough Express," a weekly newspaper issued every

Friday. The bank being located in the same building, Quincy drove him

over. Sylvester asked Quincy if he would not step in and look at their

office. Quincy did so. A man about thirty years of age arose from a

chair and stepped forward as they entered, saying, "Hello, Chisholm, I

have been waiting nearly half an hour for you."

"Mr. Appleby, Mr. Sawyer," said Sylvester, introducing the two men.

"Mr. Appleby occupies a similar position on the 'Montrose Messenger' to

the one that I hold on the 'Eastborough Express,'" said Sylvester, by

way of explanation to Quincy. "We exchange items; that is, he supplies

me with items relating to Montrose that are supposed to be interesting

to the inhabitants of Eastborough, and I return the compliment. Here are

your items," said Sylvester, passing an envelope to Mr. Appleby.

Mr. Appleby seemed to be in great haste, and with a short "Good morning"

left the office.

"He is a great friend of Professor Strout's," remarked Sylvester.

"You speak as though you were not," said Quincy.

"Well," replied Sylvester, "I used to think a good deal more of him at

one time than I do now, not on account of anything that he has done to

me, but I do not think he has treated one of my dearest friends just

right. Did you hear anything, Mr. Sawyer, about his being engaged or

likely to be engaged to Deacon Mason's daughter, Huldy?"

Quincy looked at Sylvester and then laughed outright.

"No, I haven't heard of any such thing," he replied, "and considering

certain information that I have in my mind and which I know to be

correct, I do not think I ever shall."

"Will you tell me what that information is?" asked Sylvester.

"Well, perhaps I will," said Quincy, "if you will inform me why you wish

to know."

"Well, the fact is," remarked Sylvester, "that for quite a while

Professor Strout and my sister Bessie, whom you saw last night at the

party and with whom you danced, kept company together, and everybody

over here to the Centre thought that they would be engaged and get

married one of these days; but since that concert at the Town Hall,

where you sang, a change of mind seems to have come over the Professor,

and he has not seen my sister except when they met by accident. She

thinks a good deal of him still, and although the man has done me no

harm personally, of course I do not feel very good toward the fellow who

makes my sister feel unhappy."

"Now," said Quincy, "what I am going to say I am going to tell you for

your personal benefit and not for publication. I happen to know that

Miss Huldy Mason is engaged definitely to Mr. Ezekiel Pettengill, and

has been for some time. Now, promise me not to put that in your paper."

"I promise," said Sylvester, "unless I obtain the same information from

some other source."

"All right," rejoined Quincy, and shaking hands with the young man he

crossed the passageway and went into the bank.

He presented his certified check, and the five hundred dollars in bills

were passed to him, and he placed them in his inside coat pocket. He was

turning to leave the bank when he met Deacon Mason just entering.

"Ah, Deacon," said he, "have you come to draw some money? I think I have

just taken all the bank bills they have on hand."

"I hope not," said the Deacon, "I kinder promised some one that I'd be

on hand about noon to-day with five hundred dollars that he wants to use

on a business matter this afternoon."

Quincy took the Deacon by the arm and pulled him one side, out of

hearing of any other person in the room.

"Say, Deacon Mason, I am going to ask you a question, which, of course,

you can answer or not, as you see fit; but if this business matter turns

out to be what I think it is, I may be able to save you considerable

trouble."

"I don't think you would ask me any question that I ought not to

answer," replied the Deacon, glancing up at Quincy with a sly look in

his eye and a slight smile on his face.

"Well," continued Quincy, "are you going to let Strout have that money

to pay down on account of the grocery store?"

"Why, yes," said the Deacon, "I guess you have hit it about right.

Strout seemed to think that there warn't any doubt but what he could get

the store, but as he said the town clerk was willing to endorse his

note, I came over here last night just on purpose to find that out. I

kinder thought I was perfectly safe in letting him have the money."

"Oh, you would be all right, Deacon, financially, if the town clerk or

any other good man endorsed his note; but you see Strout won't need the

money. I happen to know of another man that is going to bid on that

grocery store. How much money do you think Strout can command; how high

will he bid?"

"Well, he told me," the Deacon answered, "that he had parties that would

back him up to the extent of two thousand dollars, and this five hundred

dollars that I was goin' to lend him would make twenty-five hundred, and

he had sort o' figured that the whole place, including the land and

buildings and stock, warn't wuth any more than that, and that Benoni

Hill would be mighty glad to get such a good offer."

"That's all right," said Quincy, "but I happen to know a man that's

going to bid on that grocery store and he will have it if he has to bid

as high as five thousand dollars, and he is ready to put down the solid

cash for it without any notes."

The Deacon glanced up at Quincy, and the sly look in his eye was more

pronounced than ever, while the smile on his face very much resembled a

grin.

"I guess it must be some outside feller that is a-going to buy it

then," said the Deacon, "for I don't believe there is a man in

Eastborough that would put up five thousand dollars in cold cash for

that grocery store, unless he considered that he was paying for

something besides groceries when he bought it."

"Well, I don't think, Deacon," continued Quincy, "that we need go

further into particulars; I think we understand each other; all is, you

come up to the auction this afternoon, and if the place is knocked down

to Strout I will let you have the five hundred dollars that I have here

in my pocket; besides, it would have been poor business policy for you

to let him have the money on that note before the sale; for if the store

was not sold to him you could not get back your money until the note

became due."

"That's so," assented the Deacon. "Well, I've got to get home, cuz I

promised to meet him by twelve o'clock."

"So have I," said Quincy, "for I have got to see the man who is going to

buy the grocery store and fix up a few business matters with him."

Both men left the bank and got into their respective teams, which were

standing in front of the building.

"Which road are you going, Deacon?" asked Quincy.

"Waal, I guess, for appearance's sake, Mr. Sawyer, you better go on the

straight road, while I'll take the curved one. Yer know the curved one

leads right up to my barn door."

"Yes, I know," said Quincy, "I found that out last night;" and the two

men parted.

Quincy made quick time on his homeward trip. As he neared the Pettengill

house he saw Cobb's twins and Hiram standing in front of the barn. He

drove up and threw the reins to Bill Cobb, saying, "I shall want the

team again right after dinner;" and turning to Hiram, be said, "Come

down to Jacob's Parlor, I want to have a little talk with you."

They entered the large wood shed that Ezekiel's father had called by

the quaint name just referred to, and took their old seats, Quincy in

the armchair and Hiram on the chopping block facing him. Hiram looked

towards the stove and Quincy said, "It is not very cold this morning, I

don't think we shall need a fire; besides, what I have got to say will

take but a short time. Now, young man," continued he, "how old did you

say you were?"

"I am about thirty," replied Hiram.

"You are about thirty?" repeated Quincy, "and yet you are satisfied to

stay with Deacon Mason and do his odd jobs for about ten dollars a month

and your board, I suppose."

"Well, he isn't a mean man," said Hiram, "he gives me ten dollars a

month and my board, and two suits of clothes a year, including shoes and

hats."

"Have you no ambition to do any better?" asked Quincy.

"Ambition?" cried Hiram, "why I'm full of it. I've thought of more than

a dozen different kinds of business that I would like to go into and

work day and night to make my fortune, but what can a feller do if he

hasn't any capital and hasn't got any backer?"

"Well, the best thing that you can do, Hiram, is to find a partner;

that's what people do when they have no money; they look around and find

somebody who has."

"You mean," said Hiram, "that I've got to look 'round and find some one

who has got some money, who's willin' to let me have part of it. There's

lots of fellers in Eastborough that have got money, but they hang to it

tighter'n the bark to a tree."

"And yet," said Quincy, "a man like Obadiah Strout can go around this

town and get parties to back him up to the extent of twenty-five hundred

dollars."

"Yes, I know," answered Hiram, "but he couldn't do that if the parties

didn't have a mortgage on the place, and o' course if Strout can't keep

up his payments they'll grab the store and get the hull business. I

happen to know that one of the parties that's goin' to put his name on

one of Strout's notes said quietly to another party that told a feller

that I heerd it from that it wouldn't be more'n a year afore he'd be

runnin' that grocery store himself."

"Well, Hiram Maxwell, I've got some money that I am not using just now.

You know that I've got quite a large account to settle with that

Professor Strout, and I can afford to pay pretty handsomely to get even

with him. Now do you think if you had that grocery store that you could

make a success of it?"

"Could I?" cried Hiram, "waal, I know I could. I know every man, woman,

and child in this town, and there isn't one of them that's got anythin'

agin me that I knows of."

"I'd back you up," said Quincy, "but I've got something against you, and

I will not agree to put my money into that store until you explain to me

something that you told me several weeks ago. I don't say but that you

told me the truth as far as it went, but you didn't tell me the whole

truth, and that's what I find fault with you for."

Hiram's eyes had dilated, and he looked at Quincy with a wild glance of

astonishment. Could he believe his ears? Here was this young man, a

millionaire's son, saying that he would have backed him up in business

but for the fact that he had told him a wrong story. Hiram scratched his

head and looked perplexed.

"True as I live, Mr. Sawyer, I don't remember ever tellin' you a lie

since I've known yer. I may have added a little somethin' to some of my

stories that I have brought inter yer, jest to make them a little more

interesting and p'r'aps ter satisfy a little pussonal spite that I might

have agin some o' the parties that I was tellin' yer about, but I know

as well's I'm standin' here that I never told yer nothin' in the way of

a lie to work yer any injury. You've alwus treated me white, and if

there's one thing that Mandy Skinner says she can't abear, it's a man

that tells lies."

"Then," remarked Quincy with a smile, "you think a good deal of Miss

Mandy Skinner's opinion?"

"I ain't never seen any girl whose opinion I think more of," answered

Hiram.

"Did you ever see any girl that you thought more of?" continued Quincy.

"Waal, I guess it's an open secret 'round town," said Hiram, "that I'd

marry her quicker'n lightnin', if she'd have me."

"Well, why won't she have you?" persisted Quincy.

"That's easy to answer," said Hiram. "You stated the situation purty

plainly yourself when you counted up my income, ten dollars a month and

my food and two suits of clothes. How could I pervide for Mandy out o'

that?"

"Well," asked Quincy, "supposing I bought that grocery store for you and

you got along well and made money. Do you think Mandy would consent to

become Mrs. Maxwell?"

"I can't say for sure, Mr. Sawyer, but I think Miss Mandy Skinner would

be at a loss for any good reason for refusin' me, in case what you jest

talked about come to pass," said Hiram.

"Now," proceeded Quincy, "we will settle that little matter that I

referred to a short time ago. You remember you were telling me your war

experiences. You said you were never shot, but that you were hit with a

fence rail at the battle of Cedar Mountain."

"Waal, I guess if you git my war record you will find I didn't tell yer

any lie about that."

"Well, no," said Quincy, "that's all right; but why didn't you tell me

that on one occasion, when the captain of your company was shot down,

together with half the attacking force, that you took his body on your

back and bore him off the field, at the same time sounding the retreat

with your bugle? Why didn't you tell me that on two separate occasions,

when the color sergeants of your company were shot and the flag fell

from their grasp, that you took the flag and bore it forward, sounding

the charge, until you were relieved of your double duty? In other words,

when there were so many good things that you could say for yourself, why

didn't you say them?"

Hiram thought for a moment and then he said, "Waal, I didn't think that

I had any right to interduce outside matters not connected with what we

were talkin' about. You asked me if I'd ever been shot, and I told yer

how I got hit; but I didn't consider the luggin' the cap'n off the field

or h'istin' Old Glory, when there wasn't anybody else to attend to it

jest that minute, come under the head of bein' shot."

Quincy laughed outright and extended his hand, which Hiram took. Quincy

gave it a hearty shake and said, "Hiram, I think you're all right. I've

decided to buy that grocery store for you for two reasons. The first is

that you have served me well; Mandy has been very kind and attentive to

me, and I want to see you both prosper and be happy. My second reason

relates to the Professor, and, of course, does not need any explanation,

so far as you're concerned. Now, you go up to the house, put on your

best suit of clothes, tell the Deacon that I want your company this

afternoon; I will drive up your way about two o'clock, and we will go to

the auction."

While these events were taking place, others, perhaps equally

interesting, were transpiring in another part of Mason's Corner. The

Professor had not arisen until late, but ten o'clock found him dressed

in his best and surveying his personal appearance with a pleased

expression. He felt that this was a day big with the fate of Professor

Strout and Mason's Corner!

When he left Mrs. Hawkins's boarding house he went straight to Deacon

Mason's.

"Is the Deacon in?" he asked, as pleasant-faced Mrs. Mason opened the

door.

"No, he has gone over to the Centre. He said he'd got to go to the bank

to get some money for somebody, but that he'd be back 'tween 'leven and

twelve."

"Oh, that's all right," said Strout, stepping inside the door; "is Miss

Huldy in?"

"Yes, she's in the parlor; she went in to practise on her music lesson,

but I guess she's reading a book instead, for I haven't heard the piano

since she went in half an hour ago."

"Waal, I'll step in and have a little chat with her whilst I'm waiting

for the Deacon," said the Professor; "but you just let me know as soon

as the Deacon comes, won't you, Mrs. Mason?"

Mrs. Mason replied that she would, and the Professor opened the parlor

door and stepped in.

"Oh, good morning, Miss Mason," said the Professor; "I hope I see you

enjoying your usual good health after last evening's excitement."

Huldy arose and shook hands with the Professor.

"Oh, yes," said she, "I got up a little late this morning, but I never

felt better in my life. It was very kind of you, Mr. Strout, and of my

other friends, to show your appreciation in such a pleasant manner, and

I shall never forget your kindness."

"Waal, you know, I've always taken a great interest in you, Miss Mason."

"I know you have in my singing," answered Huldy, "and I know that I have

improved a great deal since you have been giving me lessons."

"But I don't refer wholly to your singin'," said the Professor.

"Oh, you mean my playing," remarked Huldy. "Well, I don't know that I

shall ever be a brilliant performer on the piano, but I must acknowledge

that you have been the cause of my improving in that respect also."

"Waal, I don't mean," continued the Professor, "jest your singin' and

your playin'. I've been interested in you as a whole."

"I don't exactly see what you mean by that, Mr. Strout, unless you mean

my ability as a housekeeper. I am afraid if you ask my mother, she will

not give me a very flattering recommendation."

"Oh, you know enough about housekeepin' to satisfy me," said the

Professor.

Huldy by this time divined what was on the Professor's mind; in fact,

she had known it for some time, but had assured herself that he would

never have the courage to put his hints, and suggestions, and allusions,

into an actual declaration. So she replied with some asperity, "What

made you think I was looking for a situation as housekeeper?"

"Oh, nothin'," said he, "I wasn't thinkin' anythin' about what I thought

you thought, but I was a-thinkin' about somethin' that I thought

myself."

Huldy looked up inquiringly.

"What would you say," asked the Professor, "if I told you that I thought

of gettin' married?"

"Well," replied Huldy, "I think my first question would be, 'have you

asked her?'"

"No, I haven't yet," said the Professor.

"Well, then, my advice to you," continued Huldy, "is don't delay; if you

do perhaps some other fellow may ask her first, and she may consent, not

knowing that you think so much of her."

"Well, I've thought of that," said the Professor. "I guess you're right.

What would you say," continued he, "if I told you that I had asked her?"

"Well, I should say," answered Huldy, "that you told me only a minute or

two ago that you hadn't."

"Well, I hadn't then," said the Professor.

"I don't really see how you have had any chance to ask her, as you say

you have," remarked Huldy, "in the short time that has passed since you

said you hadn't. I am not very quick at seeing a joke, Professor, but

p'raps I can understand what you mean, if you will tell me when you

asked her, and where you asked her to marry you."

"Just now! Right here!" cried the Professor; and before Huldy could

interpose he had arisen from his chair and had fallen on his knees

before her.

Huldy looked at him with a startled expression, then as the whole matter

dawned upon her she burst into a loud laugh. The Professor looked up

with a grieved expression on his face. Huldy became grave instantly.

"I wasn't laughing at you, Professor. I'm sure I'm grateful for your

esteem and friendship, but it never entered my head till this moment

that you had any idea of asking me to be your wife. What made you think

such a thing possible?"

The Professor was quite portly, and it was with some little difficulty

that he regained his feet, and his face was rather red with the exertion

when he had succeeded.

"Well, you see," said he, "I never thought much about it till that city

feller came down here to board; then the whole town knew that you and

'Zeke Pettengill had had a fallin' out, and then by and by that city

feller who was boardin' with your folks went away, and I kinder thought

that as you didn't have any steady feller--"

Huldy broke in,--"You thought I was in the market again and that your

chances were as good as those of any one else?"

"Yes, that's jest it," said the Professor. "You put it jest as I would

have said it, if you hadn't said it fust."

"Well, really, Professor, I can't understand what gave you and the whole

town the idea that there was any falling out between Mr. Pettengill and

myself. We have grown up together, we have always loved each other very

much, and we have been engaged to be married--"

"Since when?" broke in the Professor, excitedly.

"Since the day before I last engaged you to give me music lessons,"

replied Huldy.

What the Professor would have said in reply to this will never be known;

for at that moment Mrs. Mason opened the door, and looking in, said,

"The Deacon's come."

Strout grasped his hat, and with a hurried bow and "Good morning" to

Huldy, left the room, closing the door behind him. It must be said for

the Professor that he bore defeat with great equanimity, and when he

reached the great kitchen and shook hands with Deacon Mason, who had

just come in from the barn, the casual observer would have noticed

nothing peculiar in his expression.

"Waal, Deacon," said he in a low tone, "did you git the money?"

"Oh, I've 'ranged 'bout the money," said the Deacon; "but I had a talk

with my lawyer, and he said it wasn't good bizness for me to pay over

the five hundred dollars till the store was actually knocked down to

you. Here's that note of yourn that the town clerk endorsed las' night.

Neow, when the auctioneer says the store is yourn I'll give yer the five

hundred dollars and take the note. I'll be up to the auction by

half-past two, so you needn't worry, it'll be jest the same as though

yer had the money in yer hand."

Strout looked a little disturbed; but thinking the matter over quickly,

he decided that he had nothing to gain by arguing the question with the

Deacon; so saying, "Be sure and be on hand, Deacon, for it's a sure

thing my gettin' that store, if I have the cash to pay down," he left

the house.

He went up the hill and turned the corner on the way back to his

boarding house. When he got out of sight of the Deacon's house he

stopped, clenched his hands, shut his teeth firmly together and stamped

his foot on the ground; then he ejaculated in a savage whisper, "Women

are wussern catamounts; you know which way a catamount's goin' to jump.

I wonder whether she was honest about that, or whether she's been

foolin' me all this time; she'll be a sorry girl when I git that store

and 'lected tax collector, and git app'inted postmaster. I've got three

tricks left, ef I have lost two. I wonder who it was put that idea into

the Deacon's head not ter let me have thet money till the sale was over.

I bet a dollar it wuz thet city feller. Abner says thet he met Appleby

on his way back to Montrose, and he told him thet he saw thet city

feller and the Deacon drive off tergether from front o' the bank. Oh!

nonsense, what would the son of a millionaire want of a grocery store in

a little country town like this?" and he went into his boarding house to

dinner.

A few moments after two o'clock Strout could restrain his impatience no

longer, and leaving his boarding house he walked over to the grocery

store. Quite a number of the Mason's Corner people were gathered in the

Square, for to them an auction sale was as good as a show. Quincy had

not arrived, and the Professor tried to quiet his nerves by walking up

and down the platform and smoking a cigar. The crowd gradually

increased, quite a number coming in teams from Montrose and from

Eastborough Centre. One of the teams from Montrose brought the

auctioneer, Mr. Beers, with whom Strout was acquainted. He gave the

auctioneer a cigar, and they walked up and down the platform smoking and

talking about everything else but the auction sale. It was a matter of

professional dignity with Mr. Barnabas Beers, auctioneer, not to be on

too friendly terms with bidders before an auction. He had found that it

had detracted from his importance and had lowered bids, if he allowed

would be purchasers to converse with him concerning the articles to be

sold. It was their business, he maintained in a heated argument one

evening in the hotel at Montrose, to find out by personal inspection the

condition and value of what was to be sold, and it was his business, he

said, to know as little about it as possible, for the less he knew the

less it would interfere with his descriptive powers when, hammer in

hand, he took his position on the bench. Having established a

professional standing, Barnabas Beers was not a man to step down, and

though the Professor, after a while, endeavored to extract some

information from the auctioneer as to whether there was likely to be

many bidders, he finally gave it up in despair, for he found Mr. Beers

as uncommunicative as a hitching post, as he afterwards told Abner

Stiles.

About half-past two Deacon Mason drove into the Square, and the

Professor went to meet him, and shook hands with him. In a short time

his other backers, who had agreed to endorse his notes to the amount of

two thousand dollars, arrived upon the scene, and he took occasion to

welcome them in a manner that could not escape the attention of the

crowd. It was now ten minutes of three, and the auctioneer stepped upon

the temporary platform that had been erected for him, and bringing his

hammer down upon the head of a barrel that had been placed in front of

him, he read, in a loud voice, which reached every portion of the

Square, the printed notice that for several weeks had hung upon the

fences, sheds, and trees of Mason's Corner, Eastborough Centre, West

Eastborough, and Montrose.

It was now three o'clock, for that hour was rung out by the bell on the

Rev. Caleb Howe's church. The auctioneer prefaced his inquiry for bids

by the usual grandiloquence in use by members of that fraternity,

closing his oration with that often-heard remark, "How much am I

offered?"

The Professor, who was standing by the side of Deacon Mason's team,

called out in a loud voice, "Fifteen hundred!"

"Well, I'll take that just for a starter," said the auctioneer, "but of

course no sane man not fitted to be the inmate of an idiotic asylum

thinks that this fine piece of ground, this long-built and

long-established grocery store, filled to overflowing with all the

necessities and delicacies of the season, a store which has been in

successful operation for nearly forty years, and of which the good will

is worth a good deal more than the sum just bid, will be sold for any

such preposterous figure! Gentlemen, I am listening."

Suddenly a voice from the rear of the crowd called out, "T-o-o-t-o to

to-oo-two thousand!"

As if by magic, every head was turned, for the majority of those in the

crowd recognized the voice at once. There was but one man in Mason's

Corner who stammered, and that man was Hiram Maxwell.

They turned, and all saw seated in the Pettengill team Hiram Maxwell,

and beside him sat Mr. Sawyer from Boston.

"Oh, that's more like it," said the auctioneer. "Competition is the life

of trade, and is particularly pleasing to an auctioneer. The first

gentleman who bid now sees that there is another gentleman who has a

better knowledge of the value of this fine property than he has evinced

up to the present moment. There is still an opportunity for him to see

the error of his ways, and put himself on record as being an observing

and intelligent person."

All eyes were turned upon Strout at these words from the auctioneer; his

face reddened, and he called out, "Twenty-five hundred!"

"Still better," cried the auctioneer; "the gentleman, as I supposed, has

shown that he is a person of discernment; he did not imagine that I was

engaged simply to make a present of this fine establishment to any one

who would offer any sum that suited his convenience for it. He knew as

well as I did that there would be a sharp contest to secure this fine

property. Now, gentlemen, I am offered twenty-five hundred, twenty-five

hundred I am offered, twenty-five hundred--"

Again a voice was heard from the team on the outer limits of the crowd,

"Twenty-five fifty!"

The crowd again turned their gaze upon Strout; the Professor was not an

extravagant man, and he had saved a little money. He had in his pocket

at the time a little over a hundred dollars; he would not put it in the

bank, for, he argued, if he did everybody in town would know how much

money he had; so he called out, "Twenty-six hundred!"

"Ah, gentlemen," continued the auctioneer, "let me thank you for the

keen appreciation that you show of a good thing. When I looked this

property over I said to myself, the bidders will tumble over themselves

to secure this fine property'; and I have not been disappointed."

Again the faces of the crowd were turned towards the team in which sat

Quincy and Hiram. Hiram stood up in the team, and masking a horn with

his hands, shouted at the top of his voice, for the time overcoming his

propensity to stammer, "Twenty-seven hundred!"

"Better! still better!" cried the auctioneer; "we are now approaching

the figure that I had placed on this property, and my judgment is

usually correct. I am offered twenty-seven hundred, twenty-seven

hundred; who will go one hundred better?"

At this moment Abner Stiles, who had been watching the proceedings with

eyes distended and mouth wide open, went up to Strout and whispered

something in his ear. Strout's face brightened, he grasped Abner's hand

and shook it warmly, then turning towards the auctioneer cried out,

"Twenty-eight hundred!"

By this time the crowd was getting excited. To them it was a battle

royal; nothing of the kind had ever been seen at Mason's Corner before.

A great many in the crowd were friends of Strout's, and admired his

pluck in standing out so well. They had seen at a glance that Abner

Stiles had offered to help Strout.

Again the auctioneer called out in his parrot-like tone, "Twenty-eight

hundred! I am offered twenty-eight hundred!"

And again Hiram put his hands to his mouth, and his voice was heard over

the Square as he said, "Three thousand!"

"Now, gentlemen," continued the auctioneer, "I am proud to be with you.

When it is my misfortune to stand up before a company, the members of

which have no appreciation of the value of the property to be sold, I

often wish myself at home; but, as I said before, on this occasion I am

proud to be with you, for a sum approximating to the true value of the

property offered for sale has been bidden. I am offered three

thousand--three thousand--three thousand--going at three thousand! Did I

hear a bid? No, it must have been the wind whistling through the trees."

At this sally a laugh came up from the crowd. "Going at three

thousand--going--going--going--gone at three thousand to--"

"Mr. Hiram Maxwell!" came from the score of voices.

"Gone at three thousand to Mr. Hiram Maxwell!" said the auctioneer, as

he brought down his hammer heavily upon the barrel head with such force

that it fell in, and, losing his hold upon the hammer, that dropped in

also. This slight accident caused a great laugh among the crowd.

The auctioneer continued, "According to the terms of the sale, five

hundred dollars in cash must be paid down to bind the bargain, and the

balance must be paid within three days in endorsed notes satisfactory to

the present owner."

Quincy and Hiram alighted from the Pettengill team and advanced towards

the auctioneer. Reaching the platform, Quincy took from his pocket a

large wallet and passed a pile of bills to the auctioneer.

"Make out a receipt, please," he said to Mr. Beers, "in the name of Mr.

Hiram Maxwell; the notes will be made out by him and endorsed by me. If

you will give a discount of six per cent, Mr. Maxwell will pay the

entire sum in cash within ten days; whichever proposition is accepted

by Mr. Hill will be satisfactory to Mr. Maxwell."

The show was over and the company began to disperse. Deacon Mason nodded

to Strout and turned his horse's head homeward. While Quincy and Hiram

were settling their business matters with the auctioneer, everybody had

left the Square with the exception of a few loungers about the platform

of the grocery store, and Strout and Abner, who stood near the big tree

in the centre of the Square, talking earnestly to each other.

The auctioneer, together with Quincy and Hiram, entered the store to

talk over business matters with Mr. Hill and his son. Mr. Hill argued

that Mr. Sawyer was good for any sum, and he would just as soon have the

notes; in fact, he would prefer to have them, rather than make any

discount.

This matter being adjusted, Mr. Hill treated the party to some of his

best cigars, which he kept under the counter in a private box, and when

Quincy and Hiram came out and took their seats in the team, they looked

about the Square and found that the Professor and his best friend were

not in sight.

The next morning at about nine o'clock, Abbott Smith arrived at

Pettengill's, having with him Mr. Wallace Stackpole. Quincy was ready

for the trip, and they started immediately for Eastborough Centre. On

the way Quincy had plenty of time for conversation with Mr. Stackpole.

The latter gave a true account of the cause that had led to his losing

his election as tax collector at the town meeting a year before. He had

been taken sick on the train while coming from Boston, and a kind

passenger had given him a drink of brandy. He acknowledged that he took

too much, and that he really was unable to walk when he reached the

station at Eastborough Centre; but he said that he was not a drinking

man, and would not have taken the brandy if he had not been sick. They

reached Eastborough Centre in due season, but made no stop, continuing

on to West Eastborough to the home of Abbott Smith's father.

Here Quincy was introduced to 'Bias Smith, and found that what had been

said about him was not overstated. He was a tall, heavily-built man,

with a hard, rugged face, but with a pleasant and powerful countenance,

and, in the course of conversation, ran the whole gamut of oratorical

expression. He was what New England country towns have so often

produced--a natural-born orator. In addition he was an up-to-date man.

He was well read in history, and kept a close eye on current political

events, including not only local matters, but State and National affairs

as well.

Quincy gave him Strout's war record that he had obtained from the

Adjutant-General's office, and it was read over and compared with that

of Wallace Stackpole, which was also in 'Bias Smith's possession. Mr.

Stackpole had obtained from the town clerk a statement of taxes due and

collected for the past twenty years, and this was also delivered to Mr.

Smith. Quincy confided to Mr. Smith several matters that he wished

attended to in town meeting, and the latter agreed to present them, as

requested.

It was finally settled that 'Bias Smith and Mr. Stackpole should come

over to Mason's Corner the following Saturday and see if Deacon Mason

would agree to act as moderator at the annual town meeting on the

following Monday, the warrants for same having already been posted.

When Quincy reached home he found Hiram waiting for him. They went in to

Jacob's Parlor and took their accustomed seats.

"Any news?" asked Quincy.

"Not a word," said Hiram, "neither Strout or Abner have been seen on the

street sence the sale wuz over, but Strout has got hold of it in some

way that Huldy's engaged to 'Zeke Pettengill, and it's all over town."

At that moment Ezekiel opened the door and stepped into the shed. There

was a roguish twinkle in his eye and a smile about his lips as he

advanced towards Quincy.

"Waal, the cat's out o' the bag," said he to Quincy.

"Yes, Hiram was just telling me that Strout got hold of it in some way."

"Yaas," said Ezekiel, "he got hold of it in the most direct way that he

possibly could."

"How's that," asked Quincy, "did Miss Mason tell him?"

"Yaas," said Ezekiel, "he seemed to want a satisfactory reason why she

couldn't marry him, and it sorter seemed to her that the best reason

that she could give him was that she was engaged to marry me."

Hiram nearly lost his seat on the chopping block while expressing his

delight, and on Quincy's face there was a look of quiet satisfaction

that indicated that he was quite well satisfied with the present

condition of affairs.

"By the way, Hiram," said Quincy, "I believe you told me once that Mrs.

Hawkins, who keeps the house where the Professor boards, is Mandy

Skinner's mother."

"Yaas," said Hiram, "Mandy's father died and her mother married Jonas

Hawkins. He wasn't much account afore he was married, but I understand

that he has turned out to be a rale handy man 'round the boardin' house.

Mrs. Hawkins's a mighty smart woman, and she knew just what kind of a

man she wanted."

"Well," said Quincy, "I want you to tell Mandy to see her mother as soon

as she can, and engage the best room that she has left in the house for

a gentleman that I expect down here from Boston next Monday night.

Here's ten dollars, and have Mandy tell her that this is her week's pay

in advance for room and board, counting from to-day."

"Waal, I don't believe she'll take it," said Hiram; "she's a mighty

smart woman and mighty clus in money matters, but she's no skin, and I

don't believe she'll take ten dollars for one week's board and room."

"Well, if she won't take it," remarked Quincy, "Mandy may have the

balance of it for her trouble. The man wants the room, and he is able to

pay for it."

Then Quincy and Ezekiel went into the house for supper.

The next morning Quincy found that Uncle Ike had not forgotten his

promise, for he was on hand promptly, dressed for a trip to Eastborough

Centre. This time they took the carryall and two horses, and Uncle Ike

sat on the front seat with Quincy.

They reached Eastborough Centre and found Dr. Tillotson awaiting them.

The return home was quickly made and Uncle Ike took the doctor to the

parlor. Then he went to Alice's room, and Quincy heard them descend the

stairs. The conversation lasted for a full hour, and Quincy sat in his

room thinking and hoping for the best. Suddenly he was startled from his

reveries by a rap upon the door, and Uncle Ike said the doctor was

ready. Quincy drove him back to Eastborough Centre, and on the way the

doctor gave him his diagnosis of the case and his proposed treatment. He

said it would not be necessary for him to see her again for three weeks,

or until the medicine that he had left for her was gone. He would come

down again at a day's notice from Quincy.

On his return Mandy told him that Miss Alice was in the parlor and would

like to see him. As he entered the room she recognized his footstep, and

starting to her feet turned towards him. He advanced to meet her and

took both her hands in his.

"How can I thank you, my good friend," said she, "for the interest that

you have taken in me, and how can I repay you for the money that you

have spent?"

Quincy was at first disposed to deny his connection with the matter, but

thinking that Uncle Ike must have told of it, he said, "I don't think it

was quite fair for Uncle Ike, after promising to keep silent!"

"It was not Uncle Ike's fault," broke in Alice; "it was nobody's fault.

Nobody had told the doctor that there was any secret about it, and so he

spoke freely of your visit to the city, and of what you had said, and of

the arrangements that you had made to have the treatment continued as

long as it produced satisfactory results. But," continued Alice, "how

can I ever pay you this great sum of money that it will cost for my

treatment?"

"Do not worry about that, Alice," said he, using her Christian name for

the second time, "the money is nothing. I have more than I know what to

do with, and it is a pleasure for me to use it in this way, if it will

be of any benefit to you. You can repay me at any time. You will get

money from your poems and your stories in due time, and I shall not have

to suffer if I have to wait a long time for it. God knows, Alice," and

her name fell from his lips as though he had always called her by that

name, "that if half, or even the whole of my fortune would give you back

your sight, I would give it to you willingly. Do you believe me?" And he

took her hands again in his.

"I believe you," she said simply.

At that moment Mandy appeared at the door with the familiar cry,

"Supper's ready," and Quincy led Alice to her old place at the table and

took his seat at her side.

[Illustration: Quincy makes a speech (Act III.)]

CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE TOWN MEETING.

The next day was Friday. After breakfast Quincy went to his room and

looked over the memorandum pad upon which he had taken pleasure in

jotting down the various items of his campaign against the

singing-master. As he looked at the pad he checked off the items that he

had attended to, but suddenly started back with an expression of

disgust.

"Confound it," said he, "I neglected to telegraph to those congressmen

when I was at Eastborough Centre last Tuesday. I hope I'm not too late."

He reflected for a moment, then said to himself, "No, it's all right;

this is the long session, and my friends will be in Washington."

He immediately wrote two letters to his Congressional friends, stating

that he had good reasons for having the appointment of Obadiah Strout as

postmaster at Mason's Corner, Mass., held up for a week.

"At the end of that time," he wrote, "I will either withdraw my

objections or present them in detail, accompanied by affidavits in

opposition to the appointment."

Having finished the letters, he went downstairs to the kitchen, and, as

usual, found Hiram engaged in conversation with Mandy.

"You are just the man I want," said he to Hiram; "I would like to have

you take these letters to the Mason's Corner post office and mail them

at once. You can tell Mr. Hill that the papers relating to the store are

nearly ready, and if he and his son will come here this afternoon we

will execute them. I would like to have you and Mr. Pettengill on hand

as witnesses."

Hiram started off on his mission, and Quincy returned to his room and

busied himself with the preparation of the documents for the transfer of

the grocery store, and the making out of the necessary notes to cover

the twenty-five hundred dollars due for the same.

He had not seen Alice at breakfast, nor did she appear at the dinner

table. He had followed the rule since she came to the house not to make

any open inquiries about her health, but from words dropped by Ezekiel

and Uncle Ike, he had kept fairly well informed as to the result of her

treatment. At dinner Ezekiel remarked that his sister had commenced to

take her new medicine, and that he reckoned it must be purty powerful,

for she had said that she didn't wish anything to eat, and didn't want

anything sent to her room.

Quincy politely expressed his regrets at her indisposition and trusted

that she would soon be able to join them again at meal time.

About three o'clock in the afternoon, Samuel Hill and his father

arrived, and Hiram, remembering Quincy's instructions, had found Ezekiel

Pettengill, and all came to the room together. It took a comparatively

short time to sign, seal, and deliver the documents and papers. It was

arranged that Samuel Hill and his father should take charge of the

grocery store and carry on the business until a week from the following

Monday; as Quincy told young Hill that he had some business to attend to

the early part of the following week that would prevent his giving any

attention to the store until the latter part of the week.

Quincy treated his principals and witnesses to cigars, and an

interchange of ideas was made in relation to the result of the auction

sale.

"How does Strout take it?" inquired Quincy.

"I don't know," spoke up Hiram. "He acts as though he thought I was

pizen. Every time he sees me he crosses over on t'other side of the

street, if we happen to be comin' towards each other."

"Well, I imagine," said Quincy, "that your usefulness to him has

departed in some respects, but it's just as well."

"Well," said young Hill, "I can tell you what he said the other night in

the grocery store. There was a crowd of his friends there, and he

remarked that you," turning to Quincy, "might own Hill's grocery store,

but that wasn't the whole earth. He said that he had no doubt that he

would be elected unanimously as tax collector, and he was sure of his

appointment as postmaster, and if he got it he should start another

grocery store on his own hook and make it lively for you."

"Well," said Quincy with a laugh, "competition is the life of trade, and

I sha'n't object if he does go into the business; but if he does, I will

guarantee to undersell him on every article, and I will put on a couple

of teams and hire a couple of men, and we'll scour Eastborough and

Mason's Corner and Montrose for orders in the morning, and then we'll

deliver all the goods by team in the afternoon in regular Boston style.

I never knew just exactly what I was cut out for. I know I don't like

studying law, and it may be, after all, that it's my destiny to become a

grocery-man."

Quincy took Ezekiel by the arm, led him to the window, and whispered

something to him.

Ezekiel laughed, then turned red in the face, then finally said in an

undertone, "Waal, I dunno, seems kinder early, but I dunno but it jest

as well might be then as any other time. I hain't got nuthin' ter do

this afternoon, so I think I'll take a walk up there to see how the land

lays."

He said, "Good afternoon" to the others and left the room.

Quincy then took Samuel Hill by the arm in the same manner as he had

done to Ezekiel, led him to the window, and said something to him which

wrought a similar effect to that produced upon Ezekiel.

Samuel thought for a moment and then said, "That ain't a bad idea; I'm

satisfied if the other party is. I'm going to drive over this afternoon

and tell the old gentleman that matters are all fixed up, and I'll find

out if there's any objection to the plan. Guess I'll go now, as I've got

to git back to-night."

So he said "Good afternoon," and, accompanied by his father, took his

departure.

"Sit down, Hiram," said Quincy, "I want to have a talk with you. Have

you settled up that little matter with Mandy?"

"No," said Hiram, "not yet; I've ben tryin' to muster up courage, but I

haven't ben able to up to the present moment."

"I should think," remarked Quincy, "that a man who had carried his

captain off the field with a shower of bullets raining about him, or who

had pushed forward with his country's flag in the face of a similar

storm of bullets, ought not to be afraid to ask a young girl to marry

him."

"Waal, do yer know," said Hiram, "I'm more afraid o' Mandy than I would

be of the whole army."

"Well," said Quincy, "I don't see any other way for you except to walk

up like a man and meet your fate. Of course if I could do it for you I'd

be willing to oblige you."

"No, thank yer," said Hiram, "I kinder reckon thet little matter had

better be settled between the two principals in the case without callin'

in a lawyer."

Quincy leaned over and whispered something to him.

"By crickey!" said Hiram, "what put thet idea inter yer head?"

"Oh," said Quincy, "since I've had to spend so much time plotting

against my enemies, I've got into the habit of thinking out little

surprises for my friends."

"Waal, I swan!" cried Hiram, "that would be the biggest thing ever

happened in Mason's Corner. Well, I rather think I shall be able to tend

to that matter now, at once. One, two, three," said Hiram, "just think

of it; well, that's the biggest lark that I've ever ben connected with;

beats buying the grocery store all holler."

"Well," continued Quincy, "you three gentlemen understand it now, and if

matters can be arranged I will do my part, and I promise you all a grand

send-off; but not a word of it must be breathed to outside parties,

remember. It won't amount to anything unless its' a big surprise."

"All right," said Hiram, "I kinder reckon Sawyer's surprise party will

be a bigger one than Strout's was."

"Oh," continued Hiram, "I 'most forgot. Mandy was up ter see her mother

abeout thet room for thet man that's comin' down from Boston Monday

night, and Mis' Hawkins says the price of the room is three dollars per

week and the board fifty cents a day. Mandy paid for the room for a

week, and Mis' Hawkins says after she takes out what the board comes to

she'll give the balance back ter Mandy."

"That's all right," said Quincy, "I've heard from the man in Boston, and

he'll surely occupy the room next Monday night. Mandy can tell her

mother to have it all ready."

Next morning about ten o'clock, Abbott Smith drove over from Eastborough

Centre, accompanied by his father and Wallace Stackpole. Quincy took his

place beside Mr. Stackpole on the rear seat of the carryall, and Abbott

drove off as though he intended to return to Eastborough Centre, but

when he reached the crossroad he went through, then turning back towards

Mason's Corner, drove on until he reached Deacon Mason's barn, following

the same plan that Ezekiel had on the night of the surprise party.

They found the Deacon at home, and all adjourned to the parlor, where

'Bias Smith stated his business, which was to ask the Deacon to act as

Moderator at the town meeting on the following Monday. The Deacon

objected at first, but finally consented, after Mr. Smith had explained

several matters to him.

"Yer know," said the Deacon, "my fellow citizens have tried on several

occasions to have me run for selectman, but I reckoned thet I wuz too

old to be out so late nights and have to drive home from Eastborough at

ten or 'leven o'clock at night. Besides I've worked hard in my day, and

there's no place I like so well as my own home. I'm alwus sorry to go

away in the mornin' and alwus glad ter git home at night, and although I

consider that every citizen ought ter do everything he can for the

public good, I reckon thet there's a good many more anxious than I am to

serve the town, and I'm not so consated but thet I think they know how

ter do it better'n I could. But as that Moderator work comes in the

daytime, as I stand ready to do all I can for my young friend here,"

turning towards Quincy, "I'll be on hand Monday mornin' and do the best

I can to serve public and private interests at the same time."

Wallace Stackpole, while the others were talking, had taken a couple of

newspapers from his pocket, and as Deacon Mason finished, he looked up

and said, "There's an item here in the 'Eastborough Express,' Deacon,

that I imagine you'll be interested in. I'll read it to you: 'We are

informed on the best authority that Miss Huldy Mason, only daughter of

Deacon Abraham Mason of Mason's Corner, is engaged to Mr. Ezekiel

Pettengill. The day of the marriage has not been fixed, but our readers

will be informed in due season.'"

"I'm afraid, Deacon," said Quincy, "that's all my fault. I met young

Chisholm last Tuesday when I was over to the Centre, and he told me

something that actually obliged me to confide in him the fact that I

knew that your daughter was not likely to become Mrs. Obadiah Strout,

but he promised me on his word of honor that he would not put it in the

paper unless he got the same information from some other source."

The Deacon haw-hawed in good old-fashioned country style.

"Waal," said he, "young Chisholm tackled me, and said he heard a rumor

abeout Huldy and Strout, and, as you say, Mr. Sawyer, he kinder 'bliged

me to set him right. But he made me a promise, as he did you, thet he

wouldn't say anythin' abeout it unless some other feller told him the

same thing."

"That young man is sure to get ahead in the world; he buncoed us both,

Deacon," said Quincy.

"Waal, I dunno as I know just what you mean by buncoed," said the

Deacon, "but I kinder think he got the best of both on us on thet

point."

As they took their places again in the carryall, Quincy said to Mr.

Smith, "If you can drive to Mr. Pettengill's house and wait a few

minutes, I think I'll go over to Eastborough Centre with you. I'm going

to Boston this afternoon, and shall not be back again until Monday

night."

This they consented to do, and after Quincy had obtained certain papers

and had packed his travelling bag, he left word with Mandy that he would

not be back to the house until Tuesday of the following week, and it

might be Wednesday, as he was going to Boston to see his parents.

When they reached Eastborough Centre, Quincy went at once to the post

office; there he found a short letter from Leopold Ernst. It read as

follows:

"Dear Q:--

"Come up and see me as soon as you can; I shall be at home all day

Sunday. Am ready to report on the stories, but have more to say than I

have time to write.

Invariably thine,

LEOPOLD ERNST."

Quincy then crossed the Square and entered the office of the

"Eastborough Express." Sylvester flushed a little as Quincy came in, but

the latter reassured him by extending his hand and shaking it heartily.

"Is the editor in?" asked Quincy.

"No," replied Sylvester, "he never shows up on Saturdays."

"Who is going to report the town meeting?" continued Quincy.

"I am," answered Sylvester. "The editor will be on hand, but he told me

yesterday that he should depend on me to write the meeting up, because

he had a little political work to attend to that would take all his

time. He told me he was going over to see 'Bias Smith on Sunday, so I

imagine that Mr. Smith and he are interested on the same side."

"Well, Mr. Chisholm," said Quincy, "you managed that little matter about

Miss Mason's engagement so neatly that I have something for you to do

for me. I'm going to Boston this afternoon, and shall not be back until

half-past seven Monday night. I'm going over to see Mr. Parsons when I

leave here, and shall arrange with him to supply all our boys with all

they want to eat and drink next Monday."

"Well, the boys, as you call them, will be pretty apt to be hungry and

thirsty next Monday," laughed Sylvester.

"That's all right," said Quincy, "I'll stand the bills."

"How's Parsons going to know which are our boys?" continued Chisholm.

"They ought to have some kind of badge or some kind of a password, or

your enemies, as well as your friends, will be eating up your

provisions."

"That's what I want you to attend to," added Quincy. "I'll arrange with

Parsons that if anybody gives him the letters B D on the quiet, he is to

consider that they are on our side, and mustn't take any money from

them, but chalk it up on my score. Now, I depend upon you, Mr. Chisholm,

to give the password to the faithful, and to pay you for your time and

trouble just take this."

And he passed a twenty-dollar bill to Sylvester. The latter drew back.

"No, Mr. Sawyer," said he, "I cannot take any money for that service.

This work is to be done, for I understand the whole business, to defeat

the man who, I think, has treated my sister in a very mean manner, and

I'm willing to work all day and all night without any pay to knock that

fellow out. Let's put it that way,--I'm working against him, and not for

you; and, looking at it that way, of course, there's no reason why you

should pay me anything."

"All right," rejoined Quincy, "I should have no feeling if you took the

money, but I can appreciate your sentiments, and will have no feeling

because you do not take it. One of these days I may be able to do as

great a service for you, as you are willing to do for me between now and

next Monday."

They shook hands and parted, and Quincy made his way to the Eagle Hotel,

of which Mr. Seth Parsons was the proprietor. Mr. Parsons greeted him

heartily and invited him into his private room. Here Quincy told the

arrangement that he had made with young Chisholm, and gave him the

password.

"Don't stint them," said Quincy, "let them have a good time; but don't

let anybody know who pays for it. I shall be down on the half-past seven

express, Monday night, and I would like to have a nice little dinner for

eight or nine people ready in your private dining-room at eight o'clock.

Mr. Tobias Smith knows who my guests are to be, and if I am delayed from

any cause, he will tell you who are entitled to go in and eat the

dinner."

The next train to Boston was due in ten minutes, and shaking hands with

the hotel proprietor, he made his way quickly to the station. As he

reached the platform he noticed that Abner Stiles was just driving away;

the thought flashed through his mind that somebody from Mason's Corner

was going to the city; but that was no uncommon event, and the thought

passed from him.

He entered the car, and, to his surprise, found that it was filled;

every seat in sight was taken. He walked forward and espied a seat near

the farther end of the car. He noticed that a lady sat near the window;

when he reached it he raised his hat, and leaning forward, said

politely, "Is this seat taken?"

"No, sir," replied a pleasant, but somewhat sad voice, and he sank into

the seat without further thought as to its other occupant.

When they reached the first station beyond Eastborough Centre he glanced

out of the window, and as he did so, noticed that his companion was Miss

Lindy Putnam.

"Why, Miss Putnam," cried he, turning towards her, "how could I be so

ungallant as not to recognize you?"

"Well," replied Lindy, "perhaps it's just as well that you didn't; my

thoughts were not very pleasant, and I should not have been a very

entertaining companion."

"More trouble at home?" he inquired in a low voice.

"Yes," answered Lindy, in a choked voice, "since Mr. Putnam died it has

been worse than ever. While he lived she had him to talk to; but now she

insists on talking to me, and sends for me several times a day,

ostensibly to do something for her, but really simply to get me in the

room so she can talk over the old, old story, and say spiteful and

hateful things to me. May Heaven pardon me for saying so, Mr. Sawyer,

but I am thankful that it's nearly at an end."

"Why, what do you mean," asked Quincy, "is she worse?"

"Yes," said Lindy, "she is failing very rapidly physically, but her

voice and mental powers are as strong as ever; in fact, I think she is

more acute in her mind and sharper in her words than she has ever been

before. Dr. Budd ordered some medicine that I could not get at the

Centre, and so there was no way for me except to go to the city for it.

Let me tell you now, Mr. Sawyer, something that I should have been

obliged to write to you, if I had not seen you. I shall stay with Mrs.

Putnam until she dies, for I promised Jones that I would, and I could

never break any promise that I made to him; but the very moment that

she's dead I shall leave the house and the town forever!"

"Shall you not stay to the funeral?" said Quincy; "what will the

townspeople say?"

"I don't care what they say," rejoined Lindy, in a sharp tone; "she is

not my mother, and I will not stay to the funeral and hypocritically

mourn over her, when in my secret heart I shall be glad she is dead."

"Those are harsh words," said Quincy.

"Not one-tenth nor one-hundredth as harsh and unfeeling as those she has

used to me," said Lindy. "No, my mind is made up; my trunks are all

packed, and she will not be able to lock me in my room this time. I

shall leave town by the first train after her death, and Eastborough

will never see me nor hear from me again."

"But how about your friends," asked Quincy, "supposing that I should

find out something that would be of interest to you; supposing that I

should get some information that might lead to the discovery of your

real parents, how could I find you?"

"Well," replied Lindy, "if you will give me your promise that you will

not disclose to any one what I am going to say, I will tell you how to

find me."

"You have my word," replied Quincy.

"Well," answered Lindy, "I'm going to New York! I would tell you where,

but I don't know. But if you wish to find me at any time advertise in

the Personal Column of the 'New York Herald'; address it to Linda, and

sign it Eastborough," said she, after a moment's thought. "I shall drop

the name of Putnam when I arrive in New York, but what name I shall take

I have not yet decided upon; it will depend upon circumstances. But I

shall have the 'New York Herald' every day, and if you advertise for me

I shall be sure to see it."

She then relapsed into silence, and Quincy forbore to speak any more, as

he saw she was busy with her own thoughts. They soon reached the city

and parted at the door of the station. She gave him her hand, and as he

held it in his for a moment, he said, "Good-by, Miss Linda." She thanked

him for not saying "Miss Putnam" with a glance of her eyes. "I may not

see you again, but you may depend upon me. If I hear of anything that

will help you in your search for your parents, my time shall be given to

the matter, and I will communicate with you at the earliest moment.

Good-by."

He raised his hat and they parted.

Town Meeting Day proved to be a bright and pleasant one. At nine o'clock

the Town Hall was filled with the citizens of Eastborough. They had come

from the Centre, they had come from West Eastborough and from Mason's

Corner. There were very nearly four hundred gathered upon the floor, the

majority of them being horny-handed sons of toil, or, more properly

speaking, independent New England farmers.

When Jeremiah Spinney, the oldest man in town, who had reached the age

of ninety-two, and who declared that he hadn't "missed a town meetin'

for seventy year," called the meeting to order, a hush fell upon the

assemblage. In a cracked, but still distinct voice, he called for a

nomination for Moderator of the meeting. Abraham Mason's name, of

Mason's Corner, was the only one presented. The choice was by

acclamation; for it was acknowledged on all sides that Deacon Mason was

as square a man as there was in town.

The newly-elected Moderator took the chair and called upon the clerk to

read the warrant for the meeting. This was soon done, and the

transaction of the town's business begun in earnest. It will be, of

course, impossible and unnecessary to give a complete and connected

account of all that took place in town meeting on that day. For such an

account the trader is referred to the columns of the "Eastborough

Express," for it was afterwards acknowledged on all sides that the

account of the meeting written by Mr. Sylvester Chisholm was the most

graphic and comprehensive that had ever appeared in that paper. We have

to do only with those items in the warrant that related directly or

indirectly to those residents of the town with whom we are interested.

When the question of appropriating a certain sum for the support of the

town Almshouse was reached, Obadiah Strout sprang to his feet and called

out, "Mister Moderator," in a loud voice. He was recognized, and

addressed the chair as follows:

"Mister Moderator, before a vote is taken on the questions of

appropriatin' for the support of the town poor, I wish to call the

attention of my fellow-citizens to a matter that has come to my

knowledge durin' the past year. A short time ago a man who had been a

town charge for more than three years, and whose funeral expenses were

paid by the town, was discovered by me to be the only brother of a man

livin' in Boston, who is said to be worth a million dollars. A very

strange circumstance was that the son of this wealthy man, and a nephew

of this town pauper, has been livin' in this town for several months,

and spendin' his money in every way that he could think of to attract

attention, but it never occurred to him that he could have used his

money to better advantage if he had taken some of it and paid it to the

town for takin' care of his uncle. These facts are well known to many of

us here, and I move that a ballot--"

Tobias Smith had been fidgeting uneasily in his seat while Strout was

speaking, and when he mentioned the word "ballot," he could restrain

himself no longer, but jumped to Bids feet and called out in his

stentorian voice, "Mister Moderator, I rise to a question of privilege."

"I have the floor," shouted Strout, "and I wish to finish my remarks.

This is only an attempt of the opposition to shut me off. I demand to be

heard!"

"Mister Moderator," screamed Abner Stiles, "I move that Mr. Strout be

allowed to continue without further interruption."

The Moderator brought his gavel down on the table and called out,

"Order, order." Then turning to Tobias, he said, "Mr. Smith, state your

question of privilege."

Strout sank into his seat, his face livid with passion; turning to

Stiles, he said, "This is all cooked up between 'em. You know you told

me you saw Smith and Stackpole and that city chap drivin' away from the

Deacon's house last Saturday mornin'."

Stiles nodded his head and said, "I guess you're right."

Mr. Smith continued, "My question of privilege, Mister Moderator, is

this: I desire to present it now, because when I've stated it, my fellow

citizen," turning to Strout, "will find that it's unnecessary to make

any motion in relation to the matter to which he has referred. I hold in

my hand a letter from Mr. Quincy Adams Sawyer, whose father is the Hon.

Nathaniel Sawyer of Boston, and whose uncle was Mr. James Sawyer, who

died in the Eastborough Poorhouse several weeks ago. By conference with

Mr. Waters, who is in charge of the Poorhouse, and with the Town

Treasurer, he ascertained that the total expense to which the town of

Eastborough has been put for the care of his uncle was four hundred and

sixty-eight dollars and seventy-two cents. I hold his check for that

sum, drawn to the order of the Town Treasurer, and certified to be good

by the cashier of the Eastborough National Bank. He has requested me to

offer this check to the town, and that a receipt for the same be given

by the Town Treasurer."

Strout jumped to his feet.

"Mister Moderator, I am glad to learn," cried he, "that this son of a

millionaire has had his heart touched and his conscience pricked by the

kindness shown by the town of Eastborough to his uncle, and I move the

check be accepted and a receipt given by the Town Treasurer, as

requested."

"Second the motion!" called out Abner Stiles.

"Before puttin' the question," said the Moderator slowly, "I want to say

a few words on this matter, and as it may be thought not just proper for

me to speak from the chair, I will call upon the Rev. Caleb Howe to take

the same durin' my remarks."

The well-known clergyman at Mason's Corner came forward, ascended the

platform, took the chair, and recognized Deacon Mason's claim to be

heard.

"I have heerd the motion to accept this check, an' I desire ter say thet

I am teetotally opposed to the town's takin' this money. If the

Honorable Nathaniel Sawyer, who's the dead man's brother, or Mr. Quincy

Adams Sawyer, who's his nephew, had known that he wuz a pauper, they

would 'er relieved the town of any further charge. We hev no legal claim

agin either of these two gentlemen. Our claim is agin ther town of

Amesbury, in which Mr. James Sawyer was a citizen and a taxpayer. If Mr.

Quincy Adams Sawyer wishes to pay ther town of Amesbury after ther town

of Amesbury has paid us, thet's his affair and none o' our business, but

we've no legal right to accept a dollar from him, when our legal claim

is agin the town in which he hed a settlement, and I hope this motion

will not prevail."

As Deacon Mason regained the platform loud cries of "Vote! Vote! Vote!"

came from all parts of the hall.

Tellers were appointed, and in a few moments the result of the vote was

announced. In favor of Mr. Strout's motion to accept the check,

eighty-five. Opposed, two hundred and eighty. And it was not a vote.

"We will now proceed," said the Moderator, as he resumed the chair, "to

consider the question of appropriating money for the support of the

Poor-farm."

The next matter on the warrant of general interest was the appropriation

of a small sum of money to purchase some reference books for the town

library, which consisted of but a few hundred volumes stowed away in a

badly-lighted and poorly-ventilated room on the upper floor of the Town

Hall.

This question brought to his feet Zachariah Butterfield, who was looked

upon as the watchdog of the town treasury. He had not supported Strout

on the question of accepting the check, because he knew the position

taken by the Moderator was legally correct, and he was very careful in

opposing appropriations to attack only those where, as it seemed to him,

he had a good show of carrying his point. He had been successful so

often, that with him success was a duty, for he had a reputation to

maintain.

"Mister Moderator," he said, "I'm agin appropriatin' any more money for

this 'ere town lib'ry. We hev got plenty of schoolbooks in our schools;

we hev got plenty of books and newspapers in our houses, and it's my

opinion thet those people who spend their time crawlin' up three flights

er stairs and readin' those books had better be tillin' ther soil,

poundin' on ther anvil, or catchin fish. Neow, I wuz talkin' with Miss

Burpee, the librari'n, and she sez they want a new Wooster's

Dictshuneery, 'cause ther old one iz all worn eout. Neow, I looked

through the old one, and I couldn't see but what it's jest as good as

ever; there may be a few pages missin', but what's thet amount ter when

there's more'n a couple of thousan' on 'em left?"

Mr. Tobias Smith was again fidgeting in his seat. He evidently had

something to say and was anxious to say it.

Mr. Butterfield continued: "Neow, to settle this question onct fer all,

I make ther motion that this 'ere lib'ry be closed up and the librari'n

discharged; she gits a dollar a week, and ther town ken use that

fifty-two dollars a year, in my opinion, to better advantege."

"Mister Moderator," came again from Mr. Tobias Smith, "I rise to a

question of privilege--"

Mr. Butterfield kept on talking: "Mister Moderator, this is not a

question of privilege; this is a question of expenditure of money for a

needless purpose. Yes, Mister Moderator, for a needless purpose."

Mr. Butterfield had evidently lost the thread of his discourse, and Mr.

Smith, taking advantage of his temporary indecision, said, "I agree with

the gentleman who has just spoken; I am in favor of closing up this

musty, dusty old room, and saving the further expenditure of money upon

it."

Mr. Butterfield, hearing these words, and not having sufficiently

collected his thoughts to say anything himself, nodded approvingly and

sank into his seat.

Mr. Smith continued, "I have a proposition to submit in relation to the

town library. I hold in my hand a letter from Mr. Quincy Adams Sawyer,

whose name has been previously mentioned--"

Mr. Strout jumped to his feet.

"Mister Moderator, I rise to a question of privilege."

"I second the motion!" cried Abner Stiles.

"State your question of privilege, Mr. Strout," said the Moderator.

"I wish to inquire," answered Strout, "if the time of this town meetin'

is to be devoted to the legitimate business of the town, or is it to be

fooled away in hearin' letters read from a person who is not a citizen

of the town, and who is not entitled to be heard in this town meetin'?"

"Mister Moderator," said Mr. Smith, "I am a citizen of this town, and

I'm entitled to be heard in this meeting, and the matter that I'm about

to bring to the attention of this meeting is a most important one and

affects the interests of the town materially. I consider that I have a

right to read this letter or any other letter that relates to the

question before the meeting, which is, 'Shall money be appropriated to

buy books for what is called the town library?' I say NO; and my reason

for this is contained in this letter, which I propose to read."

"Go on, Mr. Smith," said the Moderator.

"Well," continued Mr. Smith, "Mr. Quincy Adams Sawyer, in this letter,

offers to the town of Eastborough the sum of five thousand dollars, to

be used either for purchasing books and paying the expenses of a library

to be located in the Town Hall; or a portion of the money may be used to

build a suitable building, and the balance for the equipment and support

of the library."

Mr. Butterfield was on his feet again.