But nevertheless, as her business was to stew the goose and ask no questions, at it she went, and pretty soon the tailor’s treasure was simmering among onions, and carrots, and cabbages, and turnips, and spices, all as nice as need be. After breakfast, Aunt Nabby had gone abroad to ask in the neighbours, and when she came home, she went of course directly into the kitchen to see how the goose came on.
“Is it tender, Susanna?” said she.
Susanna smiled so sweetly, that the old house-clock in the corner next the cupboard stopped and held up its hand. “Oh, Ma’am,” replied Susanna, “it’s so tender, that I guess it won’t be the more tender arter being biled.”
“And fat?”
“Oh, bless you! it’s so broad across the back.”
My Aunt’s mouth watered so, that she was forced to look at Susanna, to correct the agreeable impression.
Well, noon came and the neighbours began to drop in. First came the parson, who being a man of vast punctuality, took out his watch as soon as he came in, and for the purpose of seeing how it chimed, as he said, with the old clock, walked into the kitchen, bade Miss Susanna good day, hoped she continued well in body, and snuffed up the sweet flavours of the preparing sacrifice with expanded nostrils. Next to the Minister came the Squire, he opened the front door, and seeing no one but me.
“Pollijah,” he said, “when ’ill that are goose be done? ’cause I’m everlastin’ busy, settlin’ that hay-mow case, and I’d like to know—”
“Ready now, Squire,” answered the Parson, opening the kitchen-door; “and I guess it’s an uncommon fine one too, so walk in and let’s have a chat.”
The Squire entered, and he and the Minister had a considerable spell of conversation about the hay-mow case. The case was this: Abijah Biggs got leave to carry his hay across Widow Stokes’s field to the road; well, this hay-mow had dropped off the poles, and Widow Stokes claimed it as a waif and stray.