Accordingly, some half a dozen hands were soon occupied in raising Romeo into the farmer’s wagon.
Meanwhile, the pedler rolled up the bills, and safely deposited them in his pocket-book, which, on returning to its usual place, he said, “One hundred dollars! one hundred dollars for a clock!—a clock sold to Mr. M., of ——! One hundred dollars—that will do!”
No time was now lost by the pedler in re-hitching his horses, which done, he left for head-quarters, there to tell and exult over the success of his experiment in selling a clock. The multitude, which had been some time thinning, now left the Court House and its precincts to their solitude.
Our story summons us once more, but briefly, to the farm-house of Mr. M.
At about half past seven that same evening, the farmer having returned, was quietly seated with his wife at the supper-table. He seemed, though wearied, in excellent spirits. Several circumstances had occurred during the day to put him in good humor. And for some reason his wife looked, he thought, more than ordinarily interesting; she was dressed with more taste. The room was neat and tidy; the light shone more brilliantly, and the table had a better bill of fare; in short, Mrs. M. had exerted herself to give her husband as kind and welcome a reception as she well could. And she had evidently succeeded. He seemed pleased, while she herself was unusually cheerful and sociable.
She had just turned out a third or fourth cup of tea for Mr. M., and was in the very act of handing it to him across the table, when from an adjoining room was heard the clock striking one, two, three, four.
Mr. M. had taken the cup, but it fell as suddenly as if at that instant a paralysis had seized his arm—the cup broke, and the tea flooded the table; at the same time the glance of a kindled eye shot across at his wife.
“Caroline!” said he, in a sharp and inquisitive tone.
“Husband!” at the same time exclaimed Mrs. M. “My dear husband, will you hear me?”