“Come, come, father!” said Aunt Lyddy, “do give poor Ephraim a little peace. Why don't you just say you thought they were oysters, and done with it?”
“Say I thought they was?” he replied, innocently. “I knew well enough they was—that is—knew? No, I did n't know, but—”
Aunt Lyddy, with an air of mock resignation, gave up, while Joshua endeavored to fix, to a hair, the exact extent of his knowledge.
Eph smiled; but he remembered what would have made him pardon, a thousand times over, the old man's garrulousness. He remembered who alone had never failed, once a year, to visit a certain prisoner, at the cost of a long and tiresome journey, and who had written to that homesick prisoner kind and cheering letters, and had sent him baskets of simple dainties for holidays.
Susan bustled about, and made a fire of crackling sticks, and began to roast the oysters in a way that made a most savory smell. She set the table, and then sat down at the melodeon, while she was waiting, and sang a hymn; for she was of a musical turn, and was one of the choir. Then she jumped up and took out the steaming oysters, and they all sat down.
“Well, well, well!” said her father; “these be good! I did n't s'pose you hed any very good oysters in your bed, Ephraim. But there, now—I don't s'pose I ought to have said that; that was n't very polite; but what I meant was, I did n't s'pose you hed any that was real good—though I don' know but I 've said about the same thing, now. Well, any way, these be splendid; they 're full as good as those co-hogs we had t'other night.”
“Quahaugs!” said Susan. “The idea of comparing these oysters with quahaugs!”
“Well, well! that's so!” said her father. “I did n't say right, did I, when I said that! Of course, there ain't no comparison—that is—no comparison? Why, of course, they is a comparison between everything,—but then, cohogs don't really compare with oysters! That's true!”
And then he paused to eat a few.
He was silent so long at this occupation that they all laughed.