“Say, Hiram,” called out Strout in a loud voice, “bring in them two chairs—everything's occupied out here 'cept the counter.”
As the proprietors took their seats, the store door was opened again, this time admitting Mr. Abner Stiles. His teeth were chattering, and he stamped his feet upon the floor, and beat his hands against his shoulders in old-fashioned country style.
“Moses Williams!” he cried. “I kinder think the North Pole must have slid down an' come to stop in this 'ere town. I say, Strout, if that organ of yourn was pumped to-night you'd have to play 'From Greenland's Icy Mountains,' or some sech tune.”
“Where have you been?” asked Mr. Strout.
“Hain't been nowhere. Jes' came from the Pettingill house. Young Master Sawyer wants some brown sugar to make some candy. Give me five pounds.”
“So it's Master Sawyer, is it?” said Strout as he weighed the saccharine substance. “I thought it was Mister before a man was a Master.”
“I ain't a talkin' about men—he's only a boy, and a mighty smart boy too.”
“I'm tired hearing about him,” said Strout. “Can't you give us something new?”
“Yes, I kin,” said Abner. “Boys, I've got something funny to tell you. I went to Cottonton this afternoon and I'd jest got back when they sent me for the sugar.”
“What ye doin' over there?” asked Benoni.