"Set 'em right down here," directed Deacon Gammon, cheerily, "an' I'll see to 'em 'fore long. Now, boys, ye've worked consider'ble hard, an' you want some supper. Come in an' have some cherry pie an' cheese."
Every boy's face said he would rather die, and there was a sound of murmured negatives.
"Yes, you will," said the Deacon; "you've worked well, an' deserve your supper. Right in to the kitchen now, right in! Mother's a-waitin' for ye."
So she was—kind, motherly Mrs. Gammon. And there was a table loaded with goodies waiting for them too—sandwiches, and plum-cake, and cherry pie, and cherry tarts, and cherries—cherries everywhere.
"Good-evening," said Mrs. Gammon, beaming upon the boys.
"Take some chairs," ordered the Deacon, behind them; "and set right up and have some cherry pie and sech."
The boys wondered whether they were awake or dreaming as they filed shamefacedly past Mrs. Gammon, hats in hand, and took seats at the well-spread table.
"Now help yourselves," said the Deacon's wife. And each boy in his heart wondered if she knew, and hoped she didn't. But they helped themselves readily enough; and at length, between the Deacon's funny stories and the delicious cherry pie, they came as near to enjoying themselves as was possible under the circumstances.
"You ain't eat scarcely anything," said the Deacon, when the boys finished their meal. "Have some cherries? No cherries? Ho! ho! ho!"
"Now, father!" expostulated his wife, mildly, and then the boys knew she knew.