It was one good day’s journey to Miss Elder Simmons’es, she that was Serepta Smith, and the top buggy assisted by the old mare bore us on nobly. The colt’s demeanor was like a horse’s for morality and sobriety, and as the shades of night was a descendin’ down, we drew near the place where we wanted to be. They lived about a quarter of a mile from the village of Shackville, and as we drew near the dwellin’—a smallish kind of a house, but comfortable lookin’—we see considerable of a procession a settin’ towards the house.
And says I to my companion, “I am afraid there is trouble ahead, Josiah.”
AN UNSOLVED MYSTERY.
He said he guessed not; he had heard there was a convention at Elder Simmons’es church in Shackville, and he guessed these was delegates, a goin’ to the minister’s to stay. Says he, “You know they can lodge there without payin’ for their lodge.”
And come to look at ’em again they was peaceable lookin’ men, and most all of ’em had a satchel-bag in their hands. But how all of ’em was a goin’ to stay all night in that house, was one of the mysteries to me, unless they had poles for ’em to roost on, or hung ’em up over nails on the wall, such a sight on ’em.
And I spoke up to Josiah, and says I, “Our room will be better than our company here, Josiah Allen; less go back to Shackville and stay all night.”
“Wall,” says he, “bime-by; we’ll go in and tell Serepta we’ve come.”
Says I, “I guess it wont be much of a treat to her to tell her anybody else has come, if she has got to take care of this drove of men,” says I, “less go back to Shackville, and stay to the tarven.”
“Wall,” says he, “bime-by; but we’ll go in and tell Serepta we’ve come.”