“Now I've let out another promised secret. Can you see 'Zeke's house ahead?”
“Yes, how inviting the old place looks. I'm glad Hiram Maxwell has it, for we can sit in the old parlour and sing duets as we used to.”
“Now we're going up Obed's Hill,” said Quincy. “Deacon Mason's house looks as neat as ever.”
“Do you remember when Huldah Mason broke her arm, Quincy?”
“Do not remind me of that, Alice. I was never in love with her, but no one could help liking her. There's the grocery store in which I am a silent partner”—he paused a moment—“and here we are at the Hawkins House.”
As Ellis Smith reined up, the front door was opened and Mrs. Hawkins came out to meet her guests. “I got your letter, an' I know'd it was you. How be ye both? Seems like old times. Come right in the parlour. I've got the curtains down so as to keep it cool,” and the delighted woman led the way into the house. In the hallway, she screamed, “Jonas! Jonas! Hurry up and pick those chickens. Guv'nor Sawyer and Alice are here.”
CHAPTER IV. — THE HAWKINS HOUSE
The converting of Mrs. Hawkins' boarding house into a hotel had been due to two causes: First, the thrift and economy of the lady herself, which had enabled her to put by a good sum in the bank. This she expended in building an ell with extra sleeping rooms, painting the structure cream colour with brown trimmings, and replacing old furniture with that of modern make. This latter, she confessed within a year, was a great mistake, for the new chairs became rickety, the castors would not hold in the bed posts, the bureau drawers became unmanageable, and the rooms, as she expressed it, had a “second-hand” appearance. Then it was that the old mahogany furniture, that had been relegated to the attic, was brought down, furbished up, and restored to its original place. When Quincy entered the room which he had formerly occupied, it did not seem possible that five years had elapsed.