There were forty-seven different kinds of cake, all "named varieties," as the flower catalogues say. Every housewife in the village had sent her "specialty," from Miss Wax's famous harlequin round down to the Irish christening loaf of good old Mrs. Flanagan, the laundress, who was helping Diploma Crotty wash cups and plates in the kitchen. Mrs. Flanagan refused to come in, spite of Mr. Homer's urgent invitation.
"I thank ye, dear!" she said. "I thank ye kindly, but I'll not come in among the Quality. I wish ye well, Mr. Homer. May no dog ever bite ye but mine, and I'll kape a cat!"
Through the crowd, here and there, moved Mr. Homer and Mr. Pindar, bowing and smiling, waving and flapping, happiest of all the happy throng. Under the genial sun of cheer and encouragement that had been shining on him during the last two weeks, since the Procession had been given up, Mr. Pindar had grown less and less abrupt and jerky, and more and more like his brother; and the village readily accorded him a share of the benevolent affection with which they regarded Mr. Homer.
"I always said there warn't a mite of harm in Home," said Seth Weaver, "and I begin to think there ain't none in Pindar, either. They come out the same nest, and I expect they're the same settin' of aigs, if they be speckled different. Hatched out kinder queer chicks, old Mis' Hollopeter did, but, take 'em all round, I dunno but they're full as good as barn-door fowls, and they certingly do better when it comes to crowin'."
"That's right!" said Salem Rock.
And when at last it was over, and, with hand-shakings and congratulations, the tide of visitors had flowed out through the door and down the garden path, the two brothers stood and looked at each other with happy eyes.
"It has been a great occasion, Brother Pindar!" said Mr. Homer.
"It has!" said Mr. Pindar, fervently. "Flourish of trumpets. Enter Herald proclaiming victory. It has been a Dramatic Moment, sir."
"It has been the happiest occasion of my life!" Mr. Homer went on. "I wish Mother could have been present, Pindar; it would have been a gratification to her;—a—an oblectation;—a—a—but where are you going, my dear brother?"
Mr. Pindar, before replying, cast a glance toward the garden gate, through which at that moment a tall, slender figure was passing slowly, almost lingeringly; then he met his brother's eye hardily.