As for Elder Evans's own barn, hay, straw, and all that sort of thing, formed a regular part of his annual donation. Load after load had come in and been stowed away, after a fashion that spoke well for either the elder's popularity or the goodness of the hay-crop.
There was no intention of letting the good man freeze to death, either, in a country where wood was to be had almost for the chopping. His wood-pile was a sight to see, a good hour before supper, and everybody knew there was more to come.
Corry explained it all to Porter.
"Yes, but he can't eat hay and wood. You say he doesn't get much money."
That was a little after they entered the house, and while Mrs. Farnham and Susie were talking with the elder's kind-faced little wife.
"Eat!" said Corry. "You come right out here with me."
The sitting-room, back of the parlor, was a large one; but it was nearly half full of tables of all sorts and sizes, and these were covered with a feast of such liberal abundance that Porter gave it up at once.
"Even this crowd can't finish all that in one evening, Corry. Will Elder Evans's folks live on what's left, for the rest of the year?"
"Come right along. Vosh is out here. He's one of the receiving committee."
"What's that?"