Corry led his cousin into the kitchen, and a funny-looking place it was. Something like a dozen busy ladies were trying to get at the cook-stove all at the same time; and half as many more were helping Vosh Stebbins "keep track of things," as they were handed in at the side-door, and stowed around in all directions.
"That makes four bushels of onions," Port heard him say, as he and Corry entered the room. "They're a healthy feed—but then!"
"One barrel of flour!" said a tall woman standing near him; "but then, there's ten bushels of wheat."
"Three bags of meal, and twenty sacks of corn; fifteen bushels of turnips, twenty of potatoes; one dressed pig; a side of beef; two dozen chickens."
"Sam Jones has just driven in with another load of wood."
"And Mr. Beans, the miller at Cobbleville, has sent more buckwheat flour'n they can use if they settle down to livin' on flapjacks."
"Five muskrat-skins."
"Two kags of butter."
"Hold on," said Vosh, "till I get down the groceries. Jemimy! What'll he do with so many tallow-dips? and there's more dried apples and doughnuts."
It was indeed a remarkable collection, and Porter began to understand how a "way up country" minister gets his supplies.