Polly had overheard this dialogue as she entered the kitchen on an errand, and she could hardly believe her ears.
“But, ’Tura’ll be all right soon as the weather warms up again,” Hiram had explained to Polly in the barn at milking-time. “She ain’t been quite herself the last day or two; toothache appears to upset her more than anything else in this world. I saw her grinding her jaws together yesterday morning, and I knew ’twas that old left-hand wisdom of hers at it again. She’s got a roasted raisin in it now, I know by the way she mumbled at me when I went in for the milk-pail, but I dursn’t refer to it. We’ll just step kind of easy for the next twenty-four hours and it’ll be all clear weather again. She hasn’t got any real malice in her, ’Tura hasn’t.”
“I think she’s just as kind as she can be,” said Polly, warmly. But it was a sober little face at which Hiram smiled broadly down when he arose from the milking stool.
“You stay here while I take this in,” he said, cheerily, “and I’ll fetch out a lantern so we can run through ‘On Linden’ far as we’ve gone. You said old Marm Hackett was with Miss Hetty, I believe?”
“Yes,” said Polly, “and she told me to run out for a while as she had something to lay before Miss Pomeroy. Do you think she’s a very pleasant old lady, Mr. Hiram?”
“Well, now, let’s see if I’ve ever heard anybody speak of her that way,” said Hiram, cautiously. “I guess I’d better consider it while I’m carrying off the milk.”
Polly knew that his opinion agreed with hers, and she gave a little laugh as he swung out of the barn with the pail of milk. When he returned with the lantern she was standing in the middle of the barn floor and made a sweeping courtesy to him as he entered.
“That’s good,” said Hiram, setting down the lantern and seating himself on the lowest stair of the flight that led up to the loft. “That’s first-rate. How would it be if you should make two of ’em—one to the left and one to the right? In case folks were seated promiscuous—that is here and there,” explained Hiram, “it would be fair to all parties. That’s it—that’s the way to do it!” and he clapped his hands as Polly greeted an imaginary audience. “Nobody’s going to feel left out with that beginning. Now for it.”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said Polly, with a wide sweep of her arms, “the piece that I am about to speak to you is ‘Hohenlinden,’ by Mr. Thomas Campbell.”
“Little louder, if you please,” said Hiram, in a disguised voice, “there’s a couple of old ladies at the rear that don’t want to miss a word.”