“He don't mind me no more'n a woodchuck would,” said Abner—then his eyes fell on Quincy, who rose to greet him.
“Why, if it ain't”—but words failed him as Quincy gave his hand a hearty grasp.
“This is the first time I ever shook hands with a guv'nor,” said Abner. “I didn't know you was going to shake hands all round the night of the show an' I went home.” He looked at his right hand, rubbed it softly with his left, and then remarked: “I sha'n't wash that hand for a couple o' days if I can help it.”
His hearers laughed, for his words were accentuated by the old-time grin that had pleased Obadiah Strout on some occasions, but on others had raised his ire to an explosive point.
“Are father and mother at home?” asked Huldah.
“Yes, both on 'em. Susie Barker's been helpin' her to-day, and the Dekin's wife thinks o' keepin' her reg'lar.”
“I'll have them come to supper,” said Huldah. “Abner, hitch up the black mare into the low phaeton and bring them up here. Don't tell them who's here, but tell them that I say they must come.”
“Well, I declare!” All looked up and saw Ezekiel standing in the doorway. He wore overalls and thick boots, his sleeves were rolled up, showing his brawny arms with muscles like whip-cords. His face was brown, but his beard was neatly trimmed, and his eyes bright. He was a picture of robust, healthy manhood, and showed what he was,—a hard-working, independent New England farmer. Alice sprang into his arms and received a resounding smack. One hand grasped Quincy's while the other encircled his dainty wife's waist, and he drew her towards him.
“You have a fine farm,” said Quincy.
“About as good as they make them,” 'Zeke replied. “I've a good market for all I can raise. Strout and Maxwell buy a great deal of garden truck, and I sell considerable to Mrs. Hawkins direct. What I have left we eat or give away.”