"O, nonsense now—yes, you do—liv'd neighbor to him in Puddleford these ten years or more. But if there's any doubt about it, I'll just introduce you. Squire Longbow," continued Ike, rising and pointing to Mrs. Bird—"Mrs. Bird—Mrs. Bird, Squire Longbow. And here's Mrs. Beagle and Mrs. Swipes—all of Puddleford—maybe you don't know 'em—all old residenters—come in when the country was new, and have cut their own fodder ever since."
The Squire rose, bowed, and said—he "know'd 'em all, and was glad to meet 'em looking so fust rate."
"Now," said Ike, "I've introduced you, enjoy yourselves."
This movement of Ike's broke the ice. The clique relaxed their brows, and conversation grew more general.
"Is Lavinny at school this winter?" inquired Mrs. Beagles of the Squire.
"Yes, marm, she is—studying 'stronomy—got inter the fix'd stars last week—and will be onter Capercorn, byme-by."
"Bless my soul!" exclaimed Aunt Sonora, her knitting-needles rattling with surprise, "how did she get out—got into the stars?"
"Yes, marm," continued the Squire, "she larned herself inter 'em—and she knows all 'bout 'em—what they're there for—and who put 'em there—jest as much as though she'd lived six months on the spot. And then, Mrs. Beagle, she's up to her eyes in hist'ry. She talks 'bout the Cæsars and 'Gustuses jest as though she'd allers know'd 'em. Tells all about how Christopher Columbus came over with the Puritans and settled onter Plymouth rock, 'cause Richard Third, king-er Spain, got mad at 'em, 'cause they would kiss the Pope's toe."
"Dear me suz, I wanter know," exclaimed Mrs. Brown again.
"And then she's at the head in the gography class—she's draw'd a map of the Cannibal Islands—and on one on 'em, Capt'n Cook lies with his head off, crying for marcy—and she says, down onter the squator it don't never snow, nor nothin', and it's hotter than blue-blazes, in the winter—and when it thunders and litenins, it tears everything inter pieces—she's goin' ahead wonderfully, Mrs. Beagle."