"Just so," said I. Here was a rap, and Ike Turtle, Mr. and Mrs. Bates, and many others, entered.
We had a house full nearly. The elements, as I have said, were not harmonious. The Birds, and Swipes, and Beagles, and their friends were huddled together by themselves in one part of the room, and Longbow and his friends in another. You might hear whispers and suppressed laughs, and Ohs! and Ahs! from the circle of Mrs. Bird, and side-looks and other manifestations of uneasiness.
Ike Turtle, whose knowledge of human nature was equal to his humor, after eying the group a while, concluded to break into and scatter it, if possible. So turning around—"Mrs. Bird, you look un-comonly well, to-day," he said.
"Think I do," replied Mrs. Bird, pettishly.
"Why, you look as fresh as a new-blown rose."
Mrs. Bird held down her head, and actually appeared confused. Soon she gathered courage to speak. "Why, Mr. Turtle, how can you think so? I'm an old woman."
"Not so old, arter all," said Ike; "you've taken good care of your sperits and complexion."
"Why, Mrs. Bird don't use sperits!" exclaimed Mrs. Brown, looking down over her spectacles, at Ike, with horror.
"Not them kind," said Ike—"but her nat'ral sperits, I mean. Now," continued Ike, "here's Squire Longbow, past fifty, hearty as a buck, full-er fire, and can kick up his heels as high as his head—all owin' to his sperits. Don't you think so, Mrs. Bird?"
Mrs. Bird said she didn't know much about Squire Longbow.