“Every one of you get your places an’ set round in a circle. It’s Danny’s and my turn now, and—Come on, Daniel!” Alfaretta vanished in the harness room.
Danny followed, rather sheepishly, for despite his love of fun he didn’t enjoy being forced into prominence; and from this odd retreat the pair presently emerged with great pans of snowy popped-corn, balanced on their heads by the aid of one hand, while in the other they carried each a basket of the biggest apples even Melvin had ever seen; yet the wonder of the Nova Scotian apples had been one of his proudest boasts.
“Jump up, Jim, in your ‘Uncle Sam’ clothes and fetch the jugs out. Fresh sweet cider, made to farmer Smith’s this very day! There’s nuts in there all cracked, for some of you other fellows to bring and tumblers and plates ’t Aunt Malinda let us take. We’ve had ice-cream and plum-puddin’ and every kind of a thing under the sun and now we’re going to have just plain up-mounting stuff, and you’ll say it’s prime! Danny and me done this. We planned it that night Monty got stuck—Oh! my soul, I forgot!”
“Never mind. I don’t care,” said Monty; and, maybe to prevent another doing so, promptly related for Mrs. Calvert’s benefit the tale of his misadventure. Indeed, he told it in such a funny way that it was plain he was no longer sensitive about it; and he finished with the remark that:
“If Deerhurst folks don’t stop feeding me so much I may even get stuck in that big door!”
The quiet sitting and talking after so much hilarity was pleasant to all and tended to a more thoughtful mood; and finally clapping her hands to insure attention Molly Breckenridge demanded:
“A story, a story! A composite story! Please begin, Mrs. Calvert: ‘Once upon a time——’ Then let Helena, my Lady of the Crinoline take it up and add a little, then the next one to her, and the next—and so on all around the ring. The most fun is to each say something that will fit—yet won’t make sense—with what went just before. Please!”
“Very well: ‘Once upon a time and very good times they was, there was a Mouse and a Grouse and a Little Red Hen and they all lived in the one house together. So wan day, as she was swapin’ the floor, they met a grain o’ cor-run.’ ‘Now, who’ll take that to the mill?’ ‘I won’t,’ says the Mouse. ‘Nayther will I!’ say the Grouse. ‘Then I’ll aven have to do it mesel,’ says the Little Red—Next!”
Irish Norah was in ecstasies of laughter over her mistress’s imitation of her own brogue, and all the company was smiling, as Helena’s serious voice took up the tale: