THE SURPRISE PARTY.
After Alice had taken her place on the back seat in the double sleigh, Quincy started to take his place on the front seat, beside 'Zekiel, but the latter motioned him to sit beside Alice, and Quincy did so without needing any urging.
As 'Zekiel took up the reins, Quincy leaned forward and touched him on the shoulder.
"I've just thought," said he, "that I've made a big blunder and I can't see how I can repair it."
"What's the matter?" asked 'Zekiel; and Alice turned an inquiring face towards Quincy.
"The fact is," Quincy continued, "I ordered some ice cream and cake sent down from the city for the show to-night, but I forgot, I am ashamed to say, to make arrangements to have it sent up to Deacon Mason's. It will be directed to him, but the station agent won't be likely to send it up before to-morrow."
"What time is it?" asked 'Zekiel.
Quincy looked at his watch and replied, "It is just half-past four."
"Why do we go so early?" inquired Alice, "they will not have tea till six."
"Oh," said 'Zekiel, "I intended to give you a sleigh ride first anyway. Now with this pair of trotters I am going to take you over to Eastborough Centre and have you back at Deacon Mason's barn door in just one hour and with appetites that it will take two suppers to satisfy."
With this 'Zekiel whipped up his horses and they dashed off towards the town. A short distance beyond Uncle Ike's chicken coop they met Abner Stiles driving home from the Centre. He nodded to 'Zekiel, but Quincy did not notice him, being engaged in conversation with Alice at the time. They reached the station, and Quincy gave orders to have the material sent up, so that it would arrive at about half-past nine. 'Zekiel more than kept his promise, for they reached Deacon Mason's barn at exactly twenty-nine minutes past five. Hiram was on hand to put up the horses, and told Quincy in a whisper that some of the boys thought it was mighty mean not to invite the Pettengill folks and their boarder.
The sharp air had whetted the appetites of the travellers during their six-mile ride, and they did full justice to the nicely-cooked food that the Deacon's wife placed before them. Supper was over at quarter before seven, and in half an hour the dishes were washed and put away and the quartette of young folks adjourned to the parlor.
Quincy took his seat at the piano and began playing a popular air.
"Oh, let us sing something," cried Huldy. "You know I have been taking lessons from Professor Strout, and he says I have improved greatly. If he says it you know it must be so; and, did you know Alice, that 'Zekiel has a fine baritone voice?"
"We used to sing a good deal together," said Alice, "but I was no judge of voices then."
"Well, 'Zeke don't know a note of music," continued Huldy, "but he has a quick ear and he seems to know naturally just how to use his voice."
"Oh, nonsense," said 'Zekiel, "I don't know how to sing, I only hum a little. Sing us something, Mr. Sawyer," said he.
Quincy sang a song very popular at the time, entitled "The Jockey Hat and Feather." All four joined in the chorus, and at the close the room rang with laughter. Quincy then struck up another popular air, "Pop Goes the Weasel," and this was sung by the four with great gusto. Then he looked over the music on the top of the piano, which was a Bourne & Leavitt square, and found a copy of the cantata entitled, "The Haymakers," and for half an hour the solos and choruses rang through the house and out upon the evening air.
Mrs. Mason looked in the door and said, "I wouldn't sing any more now, it is nearly eight o'clock."
And thus admonished they began talking of Tilly James's engagement to Sam Hill and the sale of the grocery store, which was to come off the next day.
"I wonder who will buy it?" asked Huldy.
"Well, I hear Strout has got some backers," said 'Zekiel, "but I don't see what good it will be to him unless he is appointed postmaster. They say he has written to Washington and applied for the position."
Quincy pricked up his ears at this. He had almost forgotten this chance to put another spoke in Mr. Strout's wheel. He made a mental memorandum to send telegrams to two Massachusetts congressmen with whom he was well acquainted to hold up Strout's appointment at all hazards until they heard from him again.
A little after seven o'clock the advance guard of the surprise party arrived at Hill's grocery, which was the appointed rendezvous. Abner Stiles drew Strout to one side and said, "I saw the Pettengill folks and that city feller in 'Zeke's double sleigh going over to the Centre at about five o'clock."
"So much the better," said Strout.
"Do you know where they've gone?" inquired Stiles.
"No, but I guess I can find out," Strout replied.
He had spied Mandy Skinner among a crowd of girls on the platform. He called her and she came to him.
"Did Mr. Pettengill and his sister take tea at home to-night?"
"No," said Mandy. "I told them I was going away to-night, and Mr. Pettengill said they were going away too. And Cobb's twins told me at dinner time that they wouldn't be home to supper; and as I didn't wish to eat too much, considering what was coming later, I didn't get no supper at all. I left Crowley to look out for Uncle Ike, who is always satisfied if he gets toast and tea."
"Don't you know where they've gone?" inquired Strout.
"Over to the hotel, I guess," said Mandy. "I heard Mr. Sawyer tell Miss Alice that they had good oysters over there, and she said as how she was dying to get some raw oysters."
"Things couldn't have worked better," remarked Strout, as he rejoined Abner, who was smoking a cheap cigar. "The Pettengill crowd has gone over to the hotel to supper. You ought not to smoke, Abner, if you are going to kiss the girls to-night," said Strout.
"I guess I sha'n't do much kissin'," replied Abner, "except what I give my fiddle with the bow, and that fiddle of mine is used to smoke."
Strout looked around and saw that the whole party had assembled. There were about fifty in all, very nearly equally divided as regarded numbers into fellows and girls.
"Now I am going ahead," said Strout, "to interview the old lady, before we jump in on them. The rest of you just follow Abner and wait at the top of the hill, just round the corner, so that they can't see you from the house. I have arranged with Hiram to blow his bugle when everything is ready, and when you hear it you just rush down hill laughing and screaming and yelling like wild Injuns. Come in the back door, right into the big kitchen, and when Miss Huldy comes into the room you just wait till I deliver my speech."
"Samanthy Green," As She Appears In The Play.
Strout started off, and the party followed Abner to the appointed waiting place.
Strout knocked lightly at the kitchen door, and it was opened by Mrs. Mason.
"Is the Deacon at home?" inquired he, endeavoring to disguise his voice.
"No," said Mrs. Mason, "he has gone to Eastborough Centre on some business, but told me he would be back about half past nine."
"Is Hiram here?" asked Strout.
"He's out in the kitchen polishing up his bugle," said Mrs. Mason. "But come in a minute, Mr. Strout, I have got something to fell you."
Strout stepped in and quietly closed the door.
"What's the matter, Mrs. Mason? I hope Huldy isn't sick."
"No," said she, "it's unfortunate it has happened as it has, but it couldn't be avoided. You see she invited some company to tea, and I supposed that they would have gone home long 'fore this. You see, Huldy don't suspect nothing, and she has asked them to spend the evening, and I don't see how in the world I am going to get rid of them."
"Don't do it," said Strout. "Extend to them an invitation in my name to remain and enjoy the evening's festivities with us. No doubt Miss Huldy will be pleased to have them stay."
"I know she will," said Mrs. Mason, "and I'll give them your invite as soon as you're ready."
"Well, Mrs. Mason," said Strout, "just tell Hiram I am ready to have him blow that bugle, and when you hear it you can just tell your daughter and her friends what's up."
Hiram soon joined Strout outside the kitchen door. The latter went out in the road and looked up the hill to see if his party was all ready. Abner waved his hand, and Strout rushed back to Hiram and cried, "Give it to 'em now, Hiram, and do your darnedest!"
Huldy and her friends were engaged in earnest conversation, when a loud blast burst upon the air, followed by a succession of piercing notes from Hiram's old cracked bugle.
Huldy jumped to her feet and exclaimed, "What does Hiram want to blow that horrid old bugle at this time of night for? I will tell ma to stop him."
She started towards the parlor door, when the whole party heard shouts of laughter, screams from female voices, and yells from male ones that would have done credit to a band of wild Comanches.
All stood still and listened. Again the laughter, screams, and yells were heard. This time they seemed right under the parlor window.
A look of surprise and almost terror passed over Alice's face, and turning to Quincy unthinkingly she said in a low whisper, "What was that, Quincy? What does it mean?"
Quincy's heart jumped as his Christian name fell from the girl's lips. He put his left hand over his heart (her picture was in the pocket just beneath it) and said as naturally as he could, although with a little tremor in his voice, "It's all right, Alice, that's Mr. Strout's idea of a surprise party."
"A surprise party!" cried Huldy, "who for? Me?"
At this moment Mrs. Mason opened the door and entered the room.
"Huldy," said she, "Professor Strout wishes me to tell you that he and his friends have come to give you a surprise party, and he wished me to invite you," turning to the others, "as Huldy's friends to remain and enjoy the festivities of the evening."
Then the poor old lady, who had been under a nervous strain for the past ten days, and who had come nearer telling untruths than she ever had before in her life, began to laugh, and then to cry, and finally sank into a chair, overcome for the moment.
"I wish Abraham was here," said she, "I guess I'm getting a little bit nervous."
Let us return to the great kitchen, which the members of the surprise party now had in their possession. A dozen of the men produced lanterns, which they lighted, and which were soon hung upon the walls of the kitchen, one of the number having brought a hammer and some nails.
It was a pound party, and two young men fetched in a basket containing the goodies which had been brought for the supper. Strout had made arrangements to have the hot coffee made at the grocery store, and it was to be brought down at half-past nine.
He arranged his party so that all could get a good view of the door through which Huldy must come. He stepped forward within ten feet of the door and stood expectantly. Why this delay? Strout looked around at the party. There were Tilly James and Sam Hill; Cobb's twins, and each brought a pretty girl; Robert Wood, Benjamin Bates, and Arthur Scates were equally well supplied; Lindy Putnam, after much solicitation, had consented to come with Emmanuel Howe, the clergyman's son, and he was in the seventh heaven of delight; Mandy stood beside Hiram and his bugle, and Samantha Green had Farmer Tompkins's son George for escort. It was a real old-fashioned, democratic party. Clergymen's sons, farmers' sons, girls that worked out, chore boys, farm hands, and an heiress to a hundred thousand dollars, met on a plane of perfect equality without a thought of caste, and to these were soon to be added more farmers' sons and daughters and the only son of a millionaire.
"Just give them a call," said Strout, turning to Hiram, and the latter gave a blast on his bugle, which sent fingers to the ears of his listeners. The handle of the door turned and opened and Huldy entered, her mother leaning upon her arm.
They were greeted by hand clapping and cries of "Good evening" from the party, and all eyes were fixed upon Strout, who stood as if petrified and gazed at the three figures that came through the open door and stood behind Huldy and her mother. Hamlet following the fleeting apparition on the battlements of the castle at Elsinore, Macbeth viewing Banquo at his feast, or Richard the Third gazing on the ghostly panorama of the murdered kings and princes, could not have felt weaker at heart than did Professor Strout when he saw the new-comers and realized that they were there by his express invitation.
The members of the surprise party thought Strout had forgotten his speech, and cries of "Speech!" "Speech!" "Give us the speech!" fell upon his ear, but no words fell from his lips. It was a cruel blow, but no crueler than the unfounded stories that he had started and circulated about the town for the past three months. Those who had thought it was mean not to invite the Pettengills and Mr. Sawyer enjoyed his discomfiture and were the loudest in calling for a speech.
The situation became somewhat strained, and Huldy looked up to Quincy with an expression that seemed to say, How are we going to get out of this?
Quite a number of the party saw this look and immediately began calling out, "Mr. Sawyer, give us a speech!" "A speech from Mr. Sawyer!"
Huldy smiled and nodded to Quincy, and then there were loud cries of "Speech! Speech!" and clapping of hands.
Abner Stiles got up and gave his chair to Professor Strout, who sank into it, saying as he did so, "I guess it was the heat."
Quincy stepped forward and bowing to Huldy and then to Mrs. Mason, addressed the party in a low but clearly distinct voice.
"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.
"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.