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.
