Uncle Walter and his wife came over at an early hour; Thomas Teezle and his wife, and their bouncing, cherry-lipped daughter, Rebecca Ann, were present, confessing to none for a lack of pleasure. Mr. Wilson and his wife were on hand, with kindly word and cheerful face, and tarried to share the latest social sweet; and the son and daughter of a new family, Lot and Nancy Nimblet, came with them, and expressed much delight with a feast so rural and agreeable.
A new carpet of straw was spread on the shanty floor, and the neatness of the ground before it, and around the little opening, gave evidence of the neatness and interest of Julia Fabens. All declared it a pleasant afternoon, and just in the nick of time for a sugar party. Uncle Walter was called on for a story, and he gave one of his best, with a witch of a tongue, that fairly reversed the wheels of time, and trundled them back to the wild, wild forest again, and tumbled them out amid screaming panthers, and howling wolves. Mr. and Mrs. Flaxman sang a merry song, in a merry nasal tune. Aunt Polly Waldron had to tell of the tory that fired her barn and ripped up her feather bed; and how he whooped and keeled when she dropped him, and how many tories and Indians ran away. Then, Mr. Waldron told a story, and Major Fabens followed.
Fabens the younger, and his sensible wife, contributed their share to interest the party, and though they were unusually cheerful and social, there was an elevated tone of sobriety in all they uttered, which had its happy and refining influence on every heart.
Early in the afternoon, a kettle of sugar was set before them, and little banks of the clearest crystal snow were placed around for coolers, and then with wooden spoons, and grateful appetites, the feast was enjoyed. As the sugar but increased their relish for the evening refreshment, they partook of that when served, with a still better zest, and many kind expressions and feelings, and many jets of wit and glee, were interchanged at the meal. A pleasant plant grew in the marshes of that country, called evan-root, which, when boiled in sap, and tempered with cream, made a delicious beverage, tasting like coffee; and their nice broiled venison, and Indian bread, washed down with flowing cups of that favorite drink, was a banquet worthy of a president.
"A president should go hungry," said Uncle Walter, "if his dainty palate didn't relish a supper like this."
"A president should relish any food that is fit for his humblest fellow-citizens," answered Fabens. "And a president worthy of his station, would honor our rude occupation as much as his own, and share with pleasure the humblest wholesome meal. What is a president after all, but the servant we employ to look after our affairs, to be respected according to his competence and faithfulness, and the amount of service he does? And nothing, I am sure, can be found in the grandest entertainment to exhibit refinement, and call forth honor, so well as the heart with which it is given and enjoyed."
"I guess Troffater would kindy like to be here," said Colwell. "I seen him when I was comin', and he looked sour, and said he wasn't invited. Did ye mean to make a bridge o' his nose?"
"I would do Troffater a kindness as soon as anybody," answered Fabens; "but his shocking levity, I have often told him, displeases us, and his company was not desired. He is old enough to speak with cleaner lips. If I could hope to improve him any, I would invite and visit him often. We do mean to visit his family, and ask them to our house."
"He's havin' the sulks the natteral way," said Colwell.
"He's mad as a March hare, and says, he axes no odds o' Mat Fabens," added Teezle.