Strout started off, and the party followed Abner to the appointed waiting place.

Strout knocked lightly at the kitchen door, and it was opened by Mrs. Mason.

"Is the Deacon at home?" inquired he, endeavoring to disguise his voice.

"No," said Mrs. Mason, "he has gone to Eastborough Centre on some business, but told me he would be back about half past nine."

"Is Hiram here?" asked Strout.

"He's out in the kitchen polishing up his bugle," said Mrs. Mason. "But come in a minute, Mr. Strout, I have got something to fell you."

Strout stepped in and quietly closed the door.

"What's the matter, Mrs. Mason? I hope Huldy isn't sick."

"No," said she, "it's unfortunate it has happened as it has, but it couldn't be avoided. You see she invited some company to tea, and I supposed that they would have gone home long 'fore this. You see, Huldy don't suspect nothing, and she has asked them to spend the evening, and I don't see how in the world I am going to get rid of them."

"Don't do it," said Strout. "Extend to them an invitation in my name to remain and enjoy the evening's festivities with us. No doubt Miss Huldy will be pleased to have them stay."

"I know she will," said Mrs. Mason, "and I'll give them your invite as soon as you're ready."

"Well, Mrs. Mason," said Strout, "just tell Hiram I am ready to have him blow that bugle, and when you hear it you can just tell your daughter and her friends what's up."

Hiram soon joined Strout outside the kitchen door. The latter went out in the road and looked up the hill to see if his party was all ready. Abner waved his hand, and Strout rushed back to Hiram and cried, "Give it to 'em now, Hiram, and do your darnedest!"

Huldy and her friends were engaged in earnest conversation, when a loud blast burst upon the air, followed by a succession of piercing notes from Hiram's old cracked bugle.

Huldy jumped to her feet and exclaimed, "What does Hiram want to blow that horrid old bugle at this time of night for? I will tell ma to stop him."

She started towards the parlor door, when the whole party heard shouts of laughter, screams from female voices, and yells from male ones that would have done credit to a band of wild Comanches.

All stood still and listened. Again the laughter, screams, and yells were heard. This time they seemed right under the parlor window.

A look of surprise and almost terror passed over Alice's face, and turning to Quincy unthinkingly she said in a low whisper, "What was that, Quincy? What does it mean?"

Quincy's heart jumped as his Christian name fell from the girl's lips. He put his left hand over his heart (her picture was in the pocket just beneath it) and said as naturally as he could, although with a little tremor in his voice, "It's all right, Alice, that's Mr. Strout's idea of a surprise party."

"A surprise party!" cried Huldy, "who for? Me?"

At this moment Mrs. Mason opened the door and entered the room.

"Huldy," said she, "Professor Strout wishes me to tell you that he and his friends have come to give you a surprise party, and he wished me to invite you," turning to the others, "as Huldy's friends to remain and enjoy the festivities of the evening."

Then the poor old lady, who had been under a nervous strain for the past ten days, and who had come nearer telling untruths than she ever had before in her life, began to laugh, and then to cry, and finally sank into a chair, overcome for the moment.

"I wish Abraham was here," said she, "I guess I'm getting a little bit nervous."

Let us return to the great kitchen, which the members of the surprise party now had in their possession. A dozen of the men produced lanterns, which they lighted, and which were soon hung upon the walls of the kitchen, one of the number having brought a hammer and some nails.

It was a pound party, and two young men fetched in a basket containing the goodies which had been brought for the supper. Strout had made arrangements to have the hot coffee made at the grocery store, and it was to be brought down at half-past nine.

He arranged his party so that all could get a good view of the door through which Huldy must come. He stepped forward within ten feet of the door and stood expectantly. Why this delay? Strout looked around at the party. There were Tilly James and Sam Hill; Cobb's twins, and each brought a pretty girl; Robert Wood, Benjamin Bates, and Arthur Scates were equally well supplied; Lindy Putnam, after much solicitation, had consented to come with Emmanuel Howe, the clergyman's son, and he was in the seventh heaven of delight; Mandy stood beside Hiram and his bugle, and Samantha Green had Farmer Tompkins's son George for escort. It was a real old-fashioned, democratic party. Clergymen's sons, farmers' sons, girls that worked out, chore boys, farm hands, and an heiress to a hundred thousand dollars, met on a plane of perfect equality without a thought of caste, and to these were soon to be added more farmers' sons and daughters and the only son of a millionaire.

"Just give them a call," said Strout, turning to Hiram, and the latter gave a blast on his bugle, which sent fingers to the ears of his listeners. The handle of the door turned and opened and Huldy entered, her mother leaning upon her arm.

They were greeted by hand clapping and cries of "Good evening" from the party, and all eyes were fixed upon Strout, who stood as if petrified and gazed at the three figures that came through the open door and stood behind Huldy and her mother. Hamlet following the fleeting apparition on the battlements of the castle at Elsinore, Macbeth viewing Banquo at his feast, or Richard the Third gazing on the ghostly panorama of the murdered kings and princes, could not have felt weaker at heart than did Professor Strout when he saw the new-comers and realized that they were there by his express invitation.

The members of the surprise party thought Strout had forgotten his speech, and cries of "Speech!" "Speech!" "Give us the speech!" fell upon his ear, but no words fell from his lips. It was a cruel blow, but no crueler than the unfounded stories that he had started and circulated about the town for the past three months. Those who had thought it was mean not to invite the Pettengills and Mr. Sawyer enjoyed his discomfiture and were the loudest in calling for a speech.

The situation became somewhat strained, and Huldy looked up to Quincy with an expression that seemed to say, How are we going to get out of this?

Quite a number of the party saw this look and immediately began calling out, "Mr. Sawyer, give us a speech!" "A speech from Mr. Sawyer!"

Huldy smiled and nodded to Quincy, and then there were loud cries of "Speech! Speech!" and clapping of hands.

Abner Stiles got up and gave his chair to Professor Strout, who sank into it, saying as he did so, "I guess it was the heat."

Quincy stepped forward and bowing to Huldy and then to Mrs. Mason, addressed the party in a low but clearly distinct voice.

"Authorized by these ladies to speak for them, I desire to return sincere thanks for this manifestation of your regard for them. Your visit was entirely unexpected by Miss Mason and a great surprise to her. But it is a most pleasant surprise, and she desires me to thank you again and again for your kind thoughts and your good company this evening. She and her mother join in giving you a most hearty welcome. They wish you to make yourselves at home and will do all in their power to make the evening a happy one and one long to be remembered by the inhabitants of Mason's Corner. The inception of this happy event, I learn, is due to Professor Strout, who for some time, I understand, has been Miss Mason's music teacher, and the ladies, whose ideas I am expressing, desire me to call upon him to take charge of the festivities and bring them to a successful close, as he is no doubt competent and willing to do."

Quincy bowed low and retired behind the other members of the party.

Quincy's speech was greeted with cheers and more clapping of hands. Even Strout's friends were pleased by the graceful compliment paid to the Professor, and joined in the applause.

Strout had by this time fully recovered his equanimity. A chair was placed upon the kitchen table and Abner Stiles was boosted up and took his seat thereon. While he was tuning up his fiddle the Professor opened a package that one of the girls handed to him and passed a pair of knitted woollen wristers to each lady in the company. He gave three pairs to Huldy, who in turn gave one pair to her mother and one to Alice. There were several pairs over, as several girls who had been expected to join the party had not come.

"Now, Mrs. Mason," said the Professor, "could you kindly supply me with a couple of small baskets, or if not, with a couple of milk pans?"

The Professor took one of the pans and Robert Wood the other.

"The ladies wall please form in line," cried the Professor; which was done. "Now will each lady," said the Professor, "as she marches between us, throw one wrister in one pan and t'other wrister in the other pan? Give us a good, lively march, Abner," he added, and the music began.

The procession passed between the upheld pans, one wrister of each pair thrown right and the other left, as it moved on.

The music stopped. "Now, will the ladies please form in line again," said the Professor, "and as they pass through each one take a wrister from the pan held by Mr. Wood."

The music started up again and the procession moved forward and the work of selection was completed.

Again the music stopped. "Now will the gentlemen form in line, and as they march forward each one take a wrister from the pan that I hold," said the Professor.

Once more the music started up. The line was formed, the procession advanced, 'Zekiel and Quincy bringing up the rear. As Quincy took the last wrister from the pan that the Professor held, the latter turned quickly away and beat a tattoo on the bottom of the pan with his knuckles and cried out, "Gentlemen will please find their partners. The wristers become the property of the gentlemen."

Then a wild rush took place. Screams of laughter were heard on every side, and it was fully five minutes before the excitement subsided, and in response to another tattoo upon the milk pan by the Professor, the couples, as arranged by the hand of Fate, formed in line and marched around the great kitchen to the music of a sprightly march written by the Professor and called "The Wrister March," and respectfully dedicated to Miss Hulda Mason. This announcement was made by Mr. Stiles from his elevated position upon the kitchen table.

The hand of Fate had acted somewhat strangely. The Professor and Mandy Skinner stood side by side, as did 'Zekiel Pettengill and Mrs. Mason. Lindy Putnam and Huldy by a queer twist of fortune were mated with Cobb's twins.

But Fate did one good act. By chance Quincy and Alice stood side by side. She looked up at him and said to her partner, "What is your name, I cannot see your face?"

"My name is Quincy," said Sawyer in a low voice.

"I am so glad!" said Alice, leaning a little more heavily on his arm.

"So am I," responded Quincy ardently.

After the procession had made several circuits of the great kitchen, Professor Strout gave a signal, and it broke up, each gentleman being then at liberty to seek the lady of his own choice.

"What games shall we play fust?" asked Strout, taking the centre of the room, and looking round upon the company with a countenance full of smiles and good nature.

"Who is it?" "Who is it?" came from a dozen voices.

"All right," cried Strout; "that's a very easy game to play. Now all you ladies git in a line and I'll put this one chair right front of yer. Now all the gentlemen must leave the room except one. I suppose we can use the parlor, Mrs. Mason?"

Mrs. Mason nodded her head in the affirmative.

"I'll 'tend door," said Hiram; and he took his position accordingly. After the rest of the gentlemen had left the room, Hiram closed the door, and turning to Huldy said, "Shall I call them, or will you?"

"You call them," said Huldy.

"Got the handkerchief ready?" asked Hiram.

Huldy swung a big red bandanna in the air. Opening a door, Hiram called out in a loud voice, "Obadiah Strout."

As Strout walked towards the line of young girls they called out together, "Mister, please take a chair."

Strout sat down in a chair. One of the girls who had the bandanna handkerchief in her hand passed it quickly over his eyes and tied it firmly behind his head. Two of the girls then stepped forward and each one taking one of his hands and extending it at right angles with his body held it firmly in their grasps. At the same instant his head was pulled back by one of the girls and a kiss was imprinted on his upturned mouth.

"Who is it?" screamed the girls in unison. The holds on the Professor's head and hands were released and he sat upright in the chair.

"I kinder guess it was Miss Huldy Mason," said he.

A loud laugh burst from the girls, mixed with cries of "You're wrong!" "You ain't right!" "You didn't get it!" "You're out!" and similar ejaculations.

The handkerchief was taken from his eyes and he was marched to the left of the line of girls, which ran length-wise of the kitchen.

Abner Stiles was the next one called in, and he was subjected to the same treatment as had befallen his predecessor, but to the intense disgust of Professor Strout he saw Hiram Maxwell come on tiptoe from the parlor door, lean over and kiss Abner Stiles. The thought of course ran through his mind that he had been subjected to the same treatment. He was on the point of protesting at this way of conducting the game when the idea occurred to him that it would be a huge satisfaction to have that city chap subjected to the same treatment, and he decided to hold his peace.

The next one called was 'Zekiel Pettengill, and he was treated in the same manner as the Professor and Abner had been; but as Hiram leaned over to kiss him, 'Zekiel's foot slipped upon the floor and struck against Hiram's, Hiram being in front of him. 'Zekiel then put up both of his feet and kicked with them in such a way that Hiram was unable to approach him.

'Zekiel called out, "It's Hiram Maxwell," and the room rang with the laughs and cries of the girls.

'Zekiel, having guessed who it was, was marched off to the right of the line of girls.

Strout called out, "Let's play something else," but the sentiment of the company seemed to be that it wasn't fair to the others not to give them a chance, so the game continued. Quincy was the next one called, and to still further increase the disgust of Strout and Abner, instead of Hiram leaving the door, as before, one of the girls stepped out from the line, at a signal from Huldy, and kissed Quincy. He guessed that it was Miss Huldy Mason, and was greeted with the same cries that Strout had heard. He took his place at the left with the latter.

Strout leaned over and whispered in Abner's ear, "That was a put-up job. I'll get even with Hiram Maxwell before I get through."

The game continued until all the men had been called in. With the exception of Emmanuel Howe, none of them were able to guess who it was. When Emmanuel took his place by the side of 'Zekiel he confided the fact to him that he guessed it was Miss Putnam on account of the perfumery which he had noticed before he left the house with her.

After this game others followed in quick succession. There were "Pillow," "Roll the Cover," "Button, Button, Who's Got the Button?" "Copenhagen," and finally "Post Office." From all of these games Alice begged to be excused. She told the Professor that she was not bashful nor diffident, but that her eyesight was so poor that she knew she would detract from the pleasure of the others if she engaged in the games. The Professor demurred at first, but said finally that her excuse was a good one. Then he turned to Abner and remarked that he supposed Mr. Sawyer would ask to be excused next 'cause his girl wasn't going to play.

But Quincy had no such intention. After leading Alice to a seat beside Mrs. Mason, he returned to the company and took part in every game, entering with spirit and vivacity into each of them. He invented some forfeits that one girl objected to the forfeit exacted of her as being all out of proportion to her offence, the matter was referred to Quincy. He said that he would remit the original forfeit and she could kiss him instead. But she objected, saying that forfeit was worse than the other one. This pleased Strout greatly, and he remarked to Abner, who kept as close to him as the tail to a kite, that there was one girl in town who wasn't afraid to speak her mind.

The game of Post Office was the most trying one to Quincy. Of his own free will he would not have called either Huldy or Lindy, but Strout and Abner and all the rest of them had letters for both of these young ladies. He was afraid that his failure to call them out might lead to remark, as he knew that Strout and Abner and Robert Wood were watching his actions closely. So, near the middle of the game, when he had been called out, he had a letter from England for Miss Lindy Putnam.

As she raised her face to his for the kiss on the cheek that he gave her, she said, "I was afraid you had not forgiven me, after all."

"Oh, yes, I have," said Quincy, and carried away by the excitement of the occasion, he caught her again in his arms and gave her another kiss, this time upon the lips.

At this instant Abner Stiles, who was tending door, opened it and called out, "Takes a long time to pay the postage on one letter!"

A little later Quincy was again called out, and this time he had a letter from Boston for Miss Mason. He kissed her on the cheek, as he had done with Lindy. Huldy looked up with a laugh and said, "Were you as bashful as that with Miss Putnam?"

"Yes," said Quincy, "at first, but there was double postage on her letter, the same as on yours." And though Huldy tried to break away from him he caught her and kissed her upon the lips, as he had done to Lindy.

Again Abner opened the door and cried out that the mails would close in one minute, and he'd better get the stamps on that letter quick.

All such good times come to an end, and the signal for the close was the return of Deacon Mason from his visit to town. He was popular with all parties, and Stroutites, Anti-Stroutites, and neutrals all gathered 'round him and said they were having a beautiful time, and could they have a little dance after supper?

The Deacon said he didn't know that dancing in itself was so bad, for the Bible referred to a great many dances. "But," said he, "I have always been agin permiscuous dancing."

"But we ain't permiscuous," said Tilly James. "We are all friends and neighbors."

"Most all," said Strout; but his remark was unnoticed by all excepting Quincy.

"Well, under the circumstances," concluded the Deacon, "I don't object to your finishing up with an old-fashioned reel, and mother and me will jine in with you, so as to countenance the perceedings."

The call was now made for supper. A procession was again formed, each gentleman taking the lady who had accompanied him to the party. They all filed into the dining-room and took their places around the long table. The most of them looked at its contents with surprise and delight. Instead of seeing only home-made cakes, and pies, and dishes of nuts, and raisins, and apples, that they had expected, occupying the centre of the table, they gazed upon a large frosted cake, in the centre of which arose what resembled the spire of a church, made of sugar and adorned with small American flags and streamers made of various colored silk ribbons. Flanking the centrepiece at each corner were large dishes containing mounds of jelly cake, pound cake, sponge cake, and angel cake. On either side of the centrepiece, shaped in fancy moulds, were two large dishes of ice cream, a third full of sherbet, and the fourth one filled with frozen pudding. In the vacant spaces about the larger dishes were smaller plates containing the home-made pies and cake, and the apples, oranges, dates, figs, raisins, nuts, and candy taken from the pound packages brought by the members of the surprise party. Piled upon the table in heaps were the fifty boxes containing the souvenir gifts that Quincy had ordered.

As they took their places about the table, Quincy felt it incumbent upon him to say something. Turning to the Professor he addressed him:

"Professor Strout, I think it is my duty to inform you that I have made this little addition to the bountiful supper supplied by you and the members of this party, on behalf of my friends, Mr. and Miss Pettengill, and myself. I trust that you will take as much pleasure in disposing of it as I have in sending it. In the language of the poet I would now say, 'Fall to and may good digestion wait on appetite!'"

Quincy's speech was received with applause. The hot coffee had arrived and was soon circulating in cups, mugs, and tumblers. Everybody was talking to everybody else at the same time, and all petty fueds, prejudices, and animosities were, apparently, forgotten.

The young fellows took the cue from Quincy, who, as soon as he had finished his little speech, began filling the plates with the good things provided, and passing them to the ladies, and in a short time all had been waited upon. When both hunger and appetite had been satisfied, Quincy again addressed the company.

"In those small paper boxes," said he, "you will find some little souvenirs, which you can keep to remind you of this very pleasant evening, or you can eat them and remember how sweet they were." A general laugh followed this remark. "In making your selection," continued Quincy, "bear in mind that the boxes tied up with red ribbon are for the ladies, while those having blue ribbons are for the gentlemen."

A rush was made for the table, and almost instantly each member of the company became possessed of a souvenir and was busily engaged in untying the ribbons.

Again Quincy's voice was heard above the tumult.

"In each package," cried he, "will be found printed on a slip of paper a poetical selection. The poetry, like that found on valentines, is often very poor, but the sentiment is there just the same. In the city the plan that we follow is to pass our own slip to our left-hand neighbor and he or she reads it."

This was too much for the Professor.

"I don't think," said he, "that we ought to foller that style of doin' things jest because they do it that way in the city. We are pretty independent in the country, like to do thing's our own way."

"Oh! it don't make any difference to me," said Quincy; "in the city when we get a good thing we are willing to share it with our partners or friends; you know I said if you didn't wish to keep your souvenir, you could eat it, and of course the poetical selection is part of the souvenir."

A peal of laughter greeted this sally, which rose to a shout when Strout took his souvenir out of the box. It proved to be a large sugar bee, very lifelike in appearance and having a little wad of paper rolled up and tucked under one of the wings.

As Strout spread out the slip of paper with his fingers, loud cries of "Eat it!" "Read it!" and "Pass it along!" came from the company. The Professor stood apparently undecided what course to pursue, when Tilly James, who was standing at his left, grabbed it from his fingers, and running to the end of the table, stood beside young Hill with an expression that seemed to say, "This is my young man, and I know he will protect me."

Loud cries of "Read it, Tilly!" came from all parts of the table.

"Not unless Professor Strout is willing," said Tilly with mock humility.

All eyes were turned upon Strout, who, seeing that he had nothing to gain by objecting, cried out, "Oh, go ahead; what do I care about such nonsense!"

Tilly then read with much dramatic expression the following poetical effusion:

"How does the wicked bumblebee Employ the shining hours, In stinging folks that he dislikes, Instead of sipping flowers."

Another loud laugh greeted this; largely due to the comical expression on Tilly James's face, which so far upset Quincy's habitual gravity that he was obliged to smile in spite of himself.

If Strout felt the shot he did not betray it, but turned to Huldy, who stood at his right, and said, "Now, Miss Mason, let me read your poetry for you, as they do it in the city."

Huldy hesitated, holding the slip of paper between her fingers, "Oh! that ain't fair," said Strout. "I've set you a good example, now you mustn't squeal. Come, walk right up to the trough."

"I'm no pig," protested Huldy.

As Strout leaned over to take the paper he said in an undertone, "No, you are a little dear;" whereat Huldy's face flushed a bright crimson.

Strout cleared his voice and then read:

"Come wreathe your face with smiles, my dear, A husband you'll find within the year."

This was greeted with laughter, clapping of hands, and cries of "Who is it, Huldy?"

The Professor looked at Huldy inquiringly, but she averted her eyes. He leaned over and said in an undertone, "May I keep this?"

Huldy looked up and said in a tone that was heard by every one at the table, "I don't care; if you like it better than that one about the bumblebee you can have it."

The Professor then turned to Quincy and said, "Perhaps Mr. Sawyer will oblige the company by passing his poetry along, as they do it in the city."

Quincy answered quickly, "Why, certainly," and handed the slip to his left-hand neighbor, who chanced to be Miss Seraphina Cotton, who was the teacher in the public school located at Mason's Corner.

She prided herself on her elocutionary ability, and read the following with great expression:

"Though wealth and fame fall to my lot, I'd much prefer a little cot, In which, apart from care and strife, I'd love my children and my wife."

Strout laughed outright.

"By the way, Mr. Sawyer," said he, "have you seen any little cot round here that you'd swap your Beacon Street house for?"

"I've got my eye on some real estate in this town," said Quincy, "and if you own it perhaps we can make a trade."

'Zekiel Pettengill passed his slip to Lindy Putnam; it ran thus:

"'An honest man's the noblest work of God,' No nobler lives than he who tills the sod."

This was greeted with shouts and cries of "Good for 'Zeke!" while one of Cobb's twins, who possessed a thin, high voice, cried out, "He's all wool and a yard wide."

This provoked more shouts and hand-clapping, and 'Zekiel blushed like a peony.

Lindy Putnam handed her slip to Quincy; he took in its meaning at a glance and looked at her inquiringly.

Strout saw the glance and cried out, "Oh, come, now; don't leave out nothin'; read it jist as it's writ."

Lindy nodded to Quincy and he read:

"There is no heart but hath some wish unfilled, There is no soul without some longing killed, With heart and soul work for thy heart's desire. And turn not back for storm, nor flood, nor fire."

"This is gittin' quite tragic," said Strout. "I guess we've had all we want to eat and drink, and have listened to all the bad poetry we want ter, and I move—"

"Second the motion," cried Abner Stiles.

"And I move," continued Strout, "that we git back inter the kitchen, and have a little dance jist to shake our suppers down."

After the company returned to the kitchen, Abner was again lifted to his elevated position on the kitchen table, and the fun began again. There was no doubt that in telling stories Abner Stiles often drew the long bow, but it was equally true that he had no superior in Eastborough and vicinity on the violin, or the fiddle, as he preferred to call it. He was now in his glory. His fiddle was tucked under his chin, a red silk handkerchief with large yellow polka dots protecting the violin from injury from his stubbly beard rather than his chin from being injured by the instrument.



After a few preliminary chords, Abner struck up the peculiar dance movement very popular in those days, called "The Cure." As if prearranged, Hiram Maxwell and Mandy Skinner ran to the centre of the room and began singing the words belonging to the dance. Abner gradually increased the speed of the melody, and the singers conformed, thereto. Faster and faster the music went, and higher and higher the dancers jumped until the ceiling prevented any further progress upward. They leaned forward and backward, they leaned from side to side, but still kept up their monotonous leaps into the air. Finally, when almost exhausted, they sank into chairs hastily brought for them, amid the applause of the party.

Quincy had seen the dance at the city theatres, but acknowledged to himself that the country version was far ahead of the city one. At the same time it seemed to him that the dance savored of barbarism, and he recalled pictures and stories of Indian dances where the participants fell to the ground too weak to rise.

"I put my right hand in," called out one of the fellows. Cries of "Oh, yes, that's it!" came from the company, and they arranged themselves in two rows, facing each other and running the length of the long room. They were in couples, as they came to the party. Abner played the melody on his violin, and the fellows and girls sang these words:

"I put my right hand in, I put my right hand out, I give my right hand a shake, shake, shake, And I turn myself about."

As they sang the last line they did turn themselves about so many times that it seemed a wonder to Quincy, who was an amused spectator, how they kept upon their feet.

Seeing that one of the young ladies in the line was without a partner, Quincy took his place beside her and joined in the merriment as heartily as the rest. Then followed all the changes of "I put my left hand in," "I put my right foot in," "I put my left foot in," and so on until the whole party was nearly as much exhausted as Hiram and Mandy had been.

At this moment the door leading to the parlor opened and Deacon Mason entered, accompanied by his wife. They were greeted with shouts of laughter. Quincy looked at them with astonishment, and had it not been for their familiar faces, which they had not tried to disguise, he would not have recognized them.

Out of compliment to their guests, the Deacon and his wife had gone back to the days of their youth. Probably from some old chest in the garret each had resurrected a costume of fifty years before. They advanced into the room, smiling and bowing to the delighted spectators on either side. They went directly to Abner, and the latter bent over to hear what the Deacon whispered in his ear. The Deacon then went to Strout and whispered something to him.

Strout nodded, and turning to the company said, "As it's now half past 'leven and most time for honest folks to be abed and rogues a runnin', out of compliment to Miss Huldy's grandpa and grandma, who have honored us with their presence this evenin', we will close these festivities with a good old-fashioned heel and toe Virginia reel. Let 'er go, Abner, and keep her up till all the fiddle strings are busted."

Like trained soldiers, they sprang to their places. Quincy and his partner took places near the end of the line. He explained to her that he had never danced a reel, but thought he could easily learn from seeing the others, and he told her that when their turn came she need not fear but that he would do his part.

The Deacon and his wife led off, and their performance caused great enthusiasm. Sam Hill was not a good dancer, so he resigned Miss Tilly James to Professor Strout. Miss James was a superb dancer, and as Quincy looked at her his face showed his appreciation.

His partner saw the glance, and looking up to him said, "Don't you wish you could dance as well as that?"

"I wish I could," said Quincy. "I have no doubt you can," he added, looking at his partner's rosy face.

"Well," said she, "you do the best you can, and I'll do the same."

Professor Strout and Tilly did finely, and their performance gained them an encore, which they granted. One by one the couples went under the arch of extended arms, and one by one they showed their Terpsichorean agility on the kitchen floor, over which Mandy Skinner had thoughtfully sprinkled a handful of house sand.

At last came the turn of Quincy and his little partner, whose name was unknown to him. He observed the grace with which she went through the march, and when the dance came be wished he could have stood still and watched her. Instead, he entered with his whole soul into the dance, and at its conclusion he was astonished to hear the burst of applause and cheers that fell upon his ears.

"Come along!" said his partner, and taking him by the hand she drew him back through the arch, and the dance was repeated.

Three times in succession was this done in response to enthusiastic applause, and Quincy was beginning to think that he would soon fall in his tracks. He had no idea that any such fate would befall his partner, for she seemed equal to an indefinite number of repetitions.

But, as has been said before, to all good things an end must come at last, and when the old-fashioned Connecticut clock on the mantelpiece clanged out the midnight hour, as if by magic a hush came over the company and the jollities came to an end. Then followed a rush for capes, and coats, and jackets, and shawls, and hats. Then came good-byes and good-nights, and then the girls all kissed Huldy and her mother, wished them long life and happiness, while their escorts stood quietly by thinking of the pleasant homeward trips, and knowing in their hearts that they should treasure more the pressure of the hand or the single good-night kiss yet to come than they did the surprise party kisses that had been theirs during the evening.

Mrs. Mason and 'Zekiel had prepared Alice for her homeward trip. Quincy took occasion to seek out his partner in the reel to say good night, and as he shook hands with her he said, "Would you consider me rude if I asked your name and who taught you to dance?"

"Oh! no," she replied; "my name is Bessie Chisholm. I teach the dancing school at Eastborough Centre, and Mr. Stiles always plays for me."

"Is he going to see you home to-night?" asked Quincy.

"Oh! no," said she; "I came with my brother. Here, Sylvester," cried she, and a smart-looking, country fellow, apparently about twenty-one years of age, came towards them. "I'm ready," said Bessie to him, and then, turning to Quincy, "Mr. Sawyer, make you acquainted with my brother, Sylvester Chisholm."

"Ah, you know my name," said Quincy.

"I guess everybody in Eastborough knows who you are," retorted she with a toss of her head, as she took her brother's arm and walked away.

Hiram had brought 'round the Pettengill sleigh from the barn. 'Zekiel, Alice, Quincy, and Mandy were the last of the party to leave. Quincy took his old place beside Alice, while Mandy sat on the front seat with 'Zekiel.

It was a beautiful moonlight night and the ride home was a most enjoyable one.

"I am sorry," said Quincy to Alice, "that you could not take part in more of the games. I enjoyed them very much."

"Oh, Mrs. Mason kept me informed of your actions," said Alice with a laugh.

Halfway to Hill's grocery they passed the Professor and Abner walking home to Mrs. Hawkins's boarding house. They called out, "Good night and pleasant dreams," and drove rapidly on. In the Square a number of the party had stopped to say good night again before taking the various roads that diverged from it, and another interchange of "Good nights" followed.

When Strout and Abner reached the Square it was deserted. There was no light shining in the boarding house. The kerosene lamps and matches were on a table in the front entry. Strout lighted his lamp and went upstairs. Strout's room was one flight up, while Abner's was up two. As they reached Strout's room he said, "Come in, Abner, and warm up. Comin' out of that hot room into this cold air has given me a chill." He went to a closet and brought out a bottle, a small pitcher, and a couple of spoons. "Have some rum and molasses, nothin' better for a cold."

They mixed their drinks in a couple of tumblers, which Strout found in the closet. Then he took a couple of cigars from his pocket and gave one to Abner. They drank and smoked for some time in silence.

At last Abner said, "How are you satisfied with this evenin's perceedin's?"

"Wall, all things considered," said Strout, "I think it was the most successful party ever given in this 'ere town, if I did do it."

"That's so," responded Abner sententiously. "Warn't you a bit struck up when that city feller come in?"

"Not a bit," said Strout. "You know when I come back, you see it was so cussed hot, yer know I said it was the heat, but I knew they wuz there. Mrs. Mason, told me."

"Did she?" asked Abner, with wide-opened eyes. "I thought it was one on you."

"When I went down to the road before the bugle was blown," said Strout, "Mrs. Mason told me they was there. You see, Huldy didn't suspect nothin' about the party and so she asked them over to tea. She sorter expected they would go right after tea, but they got singin' songs and tellin' stories, and Huldy saw they had come to stay."

"But," said Abner, "that city feller must have known all about it aforehand or how could he git that cake and frozen stuff down from Bosting so quick?"

"Didn't you say," said Strout, "that you seen them going over to Eastborough Centre about five o'clock?"

"Yes," replied Abner, "but how did he know when it was? Some one must have told him, I guess."

"There are times, Abner Stiles," exclaimed Strout, "when you are too almighty inquisitive."

"Wall, I only wanted to know, so I could tell the truth when folks asked me," said Abner.

"That's all right," said Strout. "Cuddent you guess who told him? 'Twas that Hiram Maxwell. I've been pumping him about the city chap, and of course, I've had to tell him somethin' for swaps. But to-morrow when I meet him I'll tell him I don't want anythin' more to do with a tittle-tattle tell-tale like him."

"What d'ye think of that pome 'bout the bumblebee?" drawled Abner.

"Oh, that was a put-up job," said Strout.

"How could that be?" asked Abner, "when you took it out of your own box?"

"Well," rejoined Strout, "he'll find I'm the wustest kind of a bumblebee if he stirs me up much more. When my dander's up a hornet's nest ain't a patch to me."

"I kinder fancied," continued Abner, "that the reason he had them fancy boxes sent down was because he sorter thought our pound packages would be rather ornary."

"I guess you've hit it 'bout right," remarked Strout; "them city swells would cheat their tailor so as to make a splurge and show how much money they've got. I guess he thought as how I'd never seen ice cream, but I showed him I knew all about it. I eat three sasserful myself."

"I beat you on that," said Abner; "I eat a sasserful of each kind."

As Abner finished speaking he emptied his glass and then reached forward for the bottle in order to replenish it. Strout's glass was also empty, and being much nearer to the bottle than Abner was, he had it in his possession before Abner could reach it. When he put it down again it was beyond his companion's reach. Abner turned some molasses into has tumbler, and then said, "Don't you think 'twas purty plucky of that city feller to come to our party to-night?"

"No, I don't," said Strout, "he jest sneaked in with 'Zeke Pettengill and his sister. He'll find out that I'm no slouch here in Eastborough. When I marry the Deacon's daughter and git the Deacon's money, and am elected tax collector agin, and buy the grocery store, and I'm app'inted postmaster at Mason's Corner, he'll diskiver that it's harder fightin' facts like them than it is Bob Wood's fists. I kinder reckon there won't be anybody that won't take off their hats to me, and there won't be any doubts as to who runs this 'ere town. That city feller's health will improve right off, and he'll go up to Boston a wiser man than when he come down."

"That's so," remarked Abner; and as he spoke he stood up as if to emphasize his words. Before he sat down, however, he reached across the table for the bottle, but again Strout was too quick for him.

"I was only goin' to drink yer health an' success to yer," said Abner.

"All right," said Strout, "make it half a glass and I'll jine yer."

The two men clinked their glasses, drank, and smacked their lips.

"If you don't go to bed now you won't git up till to-morrer," said the Professor.

"Yer mean ter-day," chuckled Abner, as he got up and walked 'round to the other side of the table, where he had left his lamp.

"I guess," remarked Strout, "I'll have some more fire. I ain't goin' to bed jest yet. I've got some heavy thinkin' to do."

While he was upon his knees arranging the wood, starting up the embers with the bellows, Abner reached across the table and got possession of his tumbler, from which he had fortunately removed the spoon. Grasping the bottle he filled it to the brim and tossed it down in three big swallows. As he replaced the tumbler on the table, Strout turned round.

"There was 'bout a spoonful left in the bottom of my tumbler," said Abner, apologetically. "Them that drinks last drinks best," said he, as he took up his lamp. "I guess that nightcap won't hurt me," he muttered to himself as he stumbled up the flight of stairs that led to his room.

The fire burned brightly and Strout resumed his seat and drew the bottle towards him. He lifted it up and looked at it.

"The skunk!" said he half aloud; "a man that'll steal rum will hook money next. Wall, it won't be many days before that city chap will buy his return ticket to Boston. Then I shan't have any further use for Abner. Let me see," he soliloquized, "what I've got to do to-morrer? Git the Deacon's money at ten, propose to Huldy 'bout half past, git home to dinner at twelve, buy the grocery store 'bout quarter-past three; that'll be a pretty good day's work!"

Then the Professor mixed up a nightcap for himself and was soon sleeping soundly, regardless of the broad smile upon the face of the Man in the Moon, who looked down upon the town with an expression that seemed to indicate that he considered himself the biggest man in it.



CHAPTER XXVII.

TOWN POLITICS.

At the table next morning the conversation was all about the surprise party. The Cobb twins declared that without exception it was the best party that had ever been given at Mason's Corner, to their knowledge.

After breakfast Quincy told Ezekiel that he was going over to Eastborough Centre that morning; in fact, he should like the single horse and team for the next three days, as he had considerable business to attend to.

He drove first to the office of the express company; but to his great disappointment he was informed that no package had arrived for him on the morning train. Thinking that possibly some explanation of the failure of the bank to comply with his wishes might have been sent by mail, he went to the post office; there he found a letter from the cashier of his bank, informing him that he had taken the liberty to send him enclosed, instead of the five hundred dollars in bills, his own check certified for that amount, and stated that the local bank would undoubtedly cash the same for him.

As he turned to leave the post office he met Sylvester Chisholm. Quincy greeted the young man pleasantly, and asked him if he were in business at the Centre. Sylvester replied that he was the compositor and local newsman on the "Eastborough Express," a weekly newspaper issued every Friday. The bank being located in the same building, Quincy drove him over. Sylvester asked Quincy if he would not step in and look at their office. Quincy did so. A man about thirty years of age arose from a chair and stepped forward as they entered, saying, "Hello, Chisholm, I have been waiting nearly half an hour for you."

"Mr. Appleby, Mr. Sawyer," said Sylvester, introducing the two men.

"Mr. Appleby occupies a similar position on the 'Montrose Messenger' to the one that I hold on the 'Eastborough Express,'" said Sylvester, by way of explanation to Quincy. "We exchange items; that is, he supplies me with items relating to Montrose that are supposed to be interesting to the inhabitants of Eastborough, and I return the compliment. Here are your items," said Sylvester, passing an envelope to Mr. Appleby.

Mr. Appleby seemed to be in great haste, and with a short "Good morning" left the office.

"He is a great friend of Professor Strout's," remarked Sylvester.

"You speak as though you were not," said Quincy.

"Well," replied Sylvester, "I used to think a good deal more of him at one time than I do now, not on account of anything that he has done to me, but I do not think he has treated one of my dearest friends just right. Did you hear anything, Mr. Sawyer, about his being engaged or likely to be engaged to Deacon Mason's daughter, Huldy?"

Quincy looked at Sylvester and then laughed outright.

"No, I haven't heard of any such thing," he replied, "and considering certain information that I have in my mind and which I know to be correct, I do not think I ever shall."

"Will you tell me what that information is?" asked Sylvester.

"Well, perhaps I will," said Quincy, "if you will inform me why you wish to know."

"Well, the fact is," remarked Sylvester, "that for quite a while Professor Strout and my sister Bessie, whom you saw last night at the party and with whom you danced, kept company together, and everybody over here to the Centre thought that they would be engaged and get married one of these days; but since that concert at the Town Hall, where you sang, a change of mind seems to have come over the Professor, and he has not seen my sister except when they met by accident. She thinks a good deal of him still, and although the man has done me no harm personally, of course I do not feel very good toward the fellow who makes my sister feel unhappy."

"Now," said Quincy, "what I am going to say I am going to tell you for your personal benefit and not for publication. I happen to know that Miss Huldy Mason is engaged definitely to Mr. Ezekiel Pettengill, and has been for some time. Now, promise me not to put that in your paper."

"I promise," said Sylvester, "unless I obtain the same information from some other source."

"All right," rejoined Quincy, and shaking hands with the young man he crossed the passageway and went into the bank.

He presented his certified check, and the five hundred dollars in bills were passed to him, and he placed them in his inside coat pocket. He was turning to leave the bank when he met Deacon Mason just entering.

"Ah, Deacon," said he, "have you come to draw some money? I think I have just taken all the bank bills they have on hand."

"I hope not," said the Deacon, "I kinder promised some one that I'd be on hand about noon to-day with five hundred dollars that he wants to use on a business matter this afternoon."

Quincy took the Deacon by the arm and pulled him one side, out of hearing of any other person in the room.

"Say, Deacon Mason, I am going to ask you a question, which, of course, you can answer or not, as you see fit; but if this business matter turns out to be what I think it is, I may be able to save you considerable trouble."

"I don't think you would ask me any question that I ought not to answer," replied the Deacon, glancing up at Quincy with a sly look in his eye and a slight smile on his face.

"Well," continued Quincy, "are you going to let Strout have that money to pay down on account of the grocery store?"

"Why, yes," said the Deacon, "I guess you have hit it about right. Strout seemed to think that there warn't any doubt but what he could get the store, but as he said the town clerk was willing to endorse his note, I came over here last night just on purpose to find that out. I kinder thought I was perfectly safe in letting him have the money."

"Oh, you would be all right, Deacon, financially, if the town clerk or any other good man endorsed his note; but you see Strout won't need the money. I happen to know of another man that is going to bid on that grocery store. How much money do you think Strout can command; how high will he bid?"

"Well, he told me," the Deacon answered, "that he had parties that would back him up to the extent of two thousand dollars, and this five hundred dollars that I was goin' to lend him would make twenty-five hundred, and he had sort o' figured that the whole place, including the land and buildings and stock, warn't wuth any more than that, and that Benoni Hill would be mighty glad to get such a good offer."

"That's all right," said Quincy, "but I happen to know a man that's going to bid on that grocery store and he will have it if he has to bid as high as five thousand dollars, and he is ready to put down the solid cash for it without any notes."

The Deacon glanced up at Quincy, and the sly look in his eye was more pronounced than ever, while the smile on his face very much resembled a grin.

"I guess it must be some outside feller that is a-going to buy it then," said the Deacon, "for I don't believe there is a man in Eastborough that would put up five thousand dollars in cold cash for that grocery store, unless he considered that he was paying for something besides groceries when he bought it."

"Well, I don't think, Deacon," continued Quincy, "that we need go further into particulars; I think we understand each other; all is, you come up to the auction this afternoon, and if the place is knocked down to Strout I will let you have the five hundred dollars that I have here in my pocket; besides, it would have been poor business policy for you to let him have the money on that note before the sale; for if the store was not sold to him you could not get back your money until the note became due."

"That's so," assented the Deacon. "Well, I've got to get home, cuz I promised to meet him by twelve o'clock."

"So have I," said Quincy, "for I have got to see the man who is going to buy the grocery store and fix up a few business matters with him."

Both men left the bank and got into their respective teams, which were standing in front of the building.

"Which road are you going, Deacon?" asked Quincy.

"Waal, I guess, for appearance's sake, Mr. Sawyer, you better go on the straight road, while I'll take the curved one. Yer know the curved one leads right up to my barn door."

"Yes, I know," said Quincy, "I found that out last night;" and the two men parted.

Quincy made quick time on his homeward trip. As he neared the Pettengill house he saw Cobb's twins and Hiram standing in front of the barn. He drove up and threw the reins to Bill Cobb, saying, "I shall want the team again right after dinner;" and turning to Hiram, be said, "Come down to Jacob's Parlor, I want to have a little talk with you."

They entered the large wood shed that Ezekiel's father had called by the quaint name just referred to, and took their old seats, Quincy in the armchair and Hiram on the chopping block facing him. Hiram looked towards the stove and Quincy said, "It is not very cold this morning, I don't think we shall need a fire; besides, what I have got to say will take but a short time. Now, young man," continued he, "how old did you say you were?"

"I am about thirty," replied Hiram.

"You are about thirty?" repeated Quincy, "and yet you are satisfied to stay with Deacon Mason and do his odd jobs for about ten dollars a month and your board, I suppose."

"Well, he isn't a mean man," said Hiram, "he gives me ten dollars a month and my board, and two suits of clothes a year, including shoes and hats."

"Have you no ambition to do any better?" asked Quincy.

"Ambition?" cried Hiram, "why I'm full of it. I've thought of more than a dozen different kinds of business that I would like to go into and work day and night to make my fortune, but what can a feller do if he hasn't any capital and hasn't got any backer?"

"Well, the best thing that you can do, Hiram, is to find a partner; that's what people do when they have no money; they look around and find somebody who has."

"You mean," said Hiram, "that I've got to look 'round and find some one who has got some money, who's willin' to let me have part of it. There's lots of fellers in Eastborough that have got money, but they hang to it tighter'n the bark to a tree."

"And yet," said Quincy, "a man like Obadiah Strout can go around this town and get parties to back him up to the extent of twenty-five hundred dollars."

"Yes, I know," answered Hiram, "but he couldn't do that if the parties didn't have a mortgage on the place, and o' course if Strout can't keep up his payments they'll grab the store and get the hull business. I happen to know that one of the parties that's goin' to put his name on one of Strout's notes said quietly to another party that told a feller that I heerd it from that it wouldn't be more'n a year afore he'd be runnin' that grocery store himself."

"Well, Hiram Maxwell, I've got some money that I am not using just now. You know that I've got quite a large account to settle with that Professor Strout, and I can afford to pay pretty handsomely to get even with him. Now do you think if you had that grocery store that you could make a success of it?"

"Could I?" cried Hiram, "waal, I know I could. I know every man, woman, and child in this town, and there isn't one of them that's got anythin' agin me that I knows of."

"I'd back you up," said Quincy, "but I've got something against you, and I will not agree to put my money into that store until you explain to me something that you told me several weeks ago. I don't say but that you told me the truth as far as it went, but you didn't tell me the whole truth, and that's what I find fault with you for."

Hiram's eyes had dilated, and he looked at Quincy with a wild glance of astonishment. Could he believe his ears? Here was this young man, a millionaire's son, saying that he would have backed him up in business but for the fact that he had told him a wrong story. Hiram scratched his head and looked perplexed.

"True as I live, Mr. Sawyer, I don't remember ever tellin' you a lie since I've known yer. I may have added a little somethin' to some of my stories that I have brought inter yer, jest to make them a little more interesting and p'r'aps ter satisfy a little pussonal spite that I might have agin some o' the parties that I was tellin' yer about, but I know as well's I'm standin' here that I never told yer nothin' in the way of a lie to work yer any injury. You've alwus treated me white, and if there's one thing that Mandy Skinner says she can't abear, it's a man that tells lies."

"Then," remarked Quincy with a smile, "you think a good deal of Miss Mandy Skinner's opinion?"

"I ain't never seen any girl whose opinion I think more of," answered Hiram.

"Did you ever see any girl that you thought more of?" continued Quincy.

"Waal, I guess it's an open secret 'round town," said Hiram, "that I'd marry her quicker'n lightnin', if she'd have me."

"Well, why won't she have you?" persisted Quincy.

"That's easy to answer," said Hiram. "You stated the situation purty plainly yourself when you counted up my income, ten dollars a month and my food and two suits of clothes. How could I pervide for Mandy out o' that?"

"Well," asked Quincy, "supposing I bought that grocery store for you and you got along well and made money. Do you think Mandy would consent to become Mrs. Maxwell?"

"I can't say for sure, Mr. Sawyer, but I think Miss Mandy Skinner would be at a loss for any good reason for refusin' me, in case what you jest talked about come to pass," said Hiram.

"Now," proceeded Quincy, "we will settle that little matter that I referred to a short time ago. You remember you were telling me your war experiences. You said you were never shot, but that you were hit with a fence rail at the battle of Cedar Mountain."

"Waal, I guess if you git my war record you will find I didn't tell yer any lie about that."

"Well, no," said Quincy, "that's all right; but why didn't you tell me that on one occasion, when the captain of your company was shot down, together with half the attacking force, that you took his body on your back and bore him off the field, at the same time sounding the retreat with your bugle? Why didn't you tell me that on two separate occasions, when the color sergeants of your company were shot and the flag fell from their grasp, that you took the flag and bore it forward, sounding the charge, until you were relieved of your double duty? In other words, when there were so many good things that you could say for yourself, why didn't you say them?"

Hiram thought for a moment and then he said, "Waal, I didn't think that I had any right to interduce outside matters not connected with what we were talkin' about. You asked me if I'd ever been shot, and I told yer how I got hit; but I didn't consider the luggin' the cap'n off the field or h'istin' Old Glory, when there wasn't anybody else to attend to it jest that minute, come under the head of bein' shot."

Quincy laughed outright and extended his hand, which Hiram took. Quincy gave it a hearty shake and said, "Hiram, I think you're all right. I've decided to buy that grocery store for you for two reasons. The first is that you have served me well; Mandy has been very kind and attentive to me, and I want to see you both prosper and be happy. My second reason relates to the Professor, and, of course, does not need any explanation, so far as you're concerned. Now, you go up to the house, put on your best suit of clothes, tell the Deacon that I want your company this afternoon; I will drive up your way about two o'clock, and we will go to the auction."

While these events were taking place, others, perhaps equally interesting, were transpiring in another part of Mason's Corner. The Professor had not arisen until late, but ten o'clock found him dressed in his best and surveying his personal appearance with a pleased expression. He felt that this was a day big with the fate of Professor Strout and Mason's Corner!

When he left Mrs. Hawkins's boarding house he went straight to Deacon Mason's.

"Is the Deacon in?" he asked, as pleasant-faced Mrs. Mason opened the door.

"No, he has gone over to the Centre. He said he'd got to go to the bank to get some money for somebody, but that he'd be back 'tween 'leven and twelve."

"Oh, that's all right," said Strout, stepping inside the door; "is Miss Huldy in?"

"Yes, she's in the parlor; she went in to practise on her music lesson, but I guess she's reading a book instead, for I haven't heard the piano since she went in half an hour ago."

"Waal, I'll step in and have a little chat with her whilst I'm waiting for the Deacon," said the Professor; "but you just let me know as soon as the Deacon comes, won't you, Mrs. Mason?"

Mrs. Mason replied that she would, and the Professor opened the parlor door and stepped in.

"Oh, good morning, Miss Mason," said the Professor; "I hope I see you enjoying your usual good health after last evening's excitement."

Huldy arose and shook hands with the Professor.

"Oh, yes," said she, "I got up a little late this morning, but I never felt better in my life. It was very kind of you, Mr. Strout, and of my other friends, to show your appreciation in such a pleasant manner, and I shall never forget your kindness."

"Waal, you know, I've always taken a great interest in you, Miss Mason."

"I know you have in my singing," answered Huldy, "and I know that I have improved a great deal since you have been giving me lessons."

"But I don't refer wholly to your singin'," said the Professor.

"Oh, you mean my playing," remarked Huldy. "Well, I don't know that I shall ever be a brilliant performer on the piano, but I must acknowledge that you have been the cause of my improving in that respect also."

"Waal, I don't mean," continued the Professor, "jest your singin' and your playin'. I've been interested in you as a whole."

"I don't exactly see what you mean by that, Mr. Strout, unless you mean my ability as a housekeeper. I am afraid if you ask my mother, she will not give me a very flattering recommendation."

"Oh, you know enough about housekeepin' to satisfy me," said the Professor.

Huldy by this time divined what was on the Professor's mind; in fact, she had known it for some time, but had assured herself that he would never have the courage to put his hints, and suggestions, and allusions, into an actual declaration. So she replied with some asperity, "What made you think I was looking for a situation as housekeeper?"

"Oh, nothin'," said he, "I wasn't thinkin' anythin' about what I thought you thought, but I was a-thinkin' about somethin' that I thought myself."

Huldy looked up inquiringly.

"What would you say," asked the Professor, "if I told you that I thought of gettin' married?"

"Well," replied Huldy, "I think my first question would be, 'have you asked her?'"

"No, I haven't yet," said the Professor.

"Well, then, my advice to you," continued Huldy, "is don't delay; if you do perhaps some other fellow may ask her first, and she may consent, not knowing that you think so much of her."

"Well, I've thought of that," said the Professor. "I guess you're right. What would you say," continued he, "if I told you that I had asked her?"

"Well, I should say," answered Huldy, "that you told me only a minute or two ago that you hadn't."

"Well, I hadn't then," said the Professor.

"I don't really see how you have had any chance to ask her, as you say you have," remarked Huldy, "in the short time that has passed since you said you hadn't. I am not very quick at seeing a joke, Professor, but p'raps I can understand what you mean, if you will tell me when you asked her, and where you asked her to marry you."

"Just now! Right here!" cried the Professor; and before Huldy could interpose he had arisen from his chair and had fallen on his knees before her.

Huldy looked at him with a startled expression, then as the whole matter dawned upon her she burst into a loud laugh. The Professor looked up with a grieved expression on his face. Huldy became grave instantly.

"I wasn't laughing at you, Professor. I'm sure I'm grateful for your esteem and friendship, but it never entered my head till this moment that you had any idea of asking me to be your wife. What made you think such a thing possible?"

The Professor was quite portly, and it was with some little difficulty that he regained his feet, and his face was rather red with the exertion when he had succeeded.

"Well, you see," said he, "I never thought much about it till that city feller came down here to board; then the whole town knew that you and 'Zeke Pettengill had had a fallin' out, and then by and by that city feller who was boardin' with your folks went away, and I kinder thought that as you didn't have any steady feller—"

Huldy broke in,—"You thought I was in the market again and that your chances were as good as those of any one else?"

"Yes, that's jest it," said the Professor. "You put it jest as I would have said it, if you hadn't said it fust."

"Well, really, Professor, I can't understand what gave you and the whole town the idea that there was any falling out between Mr. Pettengill and myself. We have grown up together, we have always loved each other very much, and we have been engaged to be married—"

"Since when?" broke in the Professor, excitedly.

"Since the day before I last engaged you to give me music lessons," replied Huldy.

What the Professor would have said in reply to this will never be known; for at that moment Mrs. Mason opened the door, and looking in, said, "The Deacon's come."

Strout grasped his hat, and with a hurried bow and "Good morning" to Huldy, left the room, closing the door behind him. It must be said for the Professor that he bore defeat with great equanimity, and when he reached the great kitchen and shook hands with Deacon Mason, who had just come in from the barn, the casual observer would have noticed nothing peculiar in his expression.

"Waal, Deacon," said he in a low tone, "did you git the money?"

"Oh, I've 'ranged 'bout the money," said the Deacon; "but I had a talk with my lawyer, and he said it wasn't good bizness for me to pay over the five hundred dollars till the store was actually knocked down to you. Here's that note of yourn that the town clerk endorsed las' night. Neow, when the auctioneer says the store is yourn I'll give yer the five hundred dollars and take the note. I'll be up to the auction by half-past two, so you needn't worry, it'll be jest the same as though yer had the money in yer hand."

Strout looked a little disturbed; but thinking the matter over quickly, he decided that he had nothing to gain by arguing the question with the Deacon; so saying, "Be sure and be on hand, Deacon, for it's a sure thing my gettin' that store, if I have the cash to pay down," he left the house.

He went up the hill and turned the corner on the way back to his boarding house. When he got out of sight of the Deacon's house he stopped, clenched his hands, shut his teeth firmly together and stamped his foot on the ground; then he ejaculated in a savage whisper, "Women are wussern catamounts; you know which way a catamount's goin' to jump. I wonder whether she was honest about that, or whether she's been foolin' me all this time; she'll be a sorry girl when I git that store and 'lected tax collector, and git app'inted postmaster. I've got three tricks left, ef I have lost two. I wonder who it was put that idea into the Deacon's head not ter let me have thet money till the sale was over. I bet a dollar it wuz thet city feller. Abner says thet he met Appleby on his way back to Montrose, and he told him thet he saw thet city feller and the Deacon drive off tergether from front o' the bank. Oh! nonsense, what would the son of a millionaire want of a grocery store in a little country town like this?" and he went into his boarding house to dinner.

A few moments after two o'clock Strout could restrain his impatience no longer, and leaving his boarding house he walked over to the grocery store. Quite a number of the Mason's Corner people were gathered in the Square, for to them an auction sale was as good as a show. Quincy had not arrived, and the Professor tried to quiet his nerves by walking up and down the platform and smoking a cigar. The crowd gradually increased, quite a number coming in teams from Montrose and from Eastborough Centre. One of the teams from Montrose brought the auctioneer, Mr. Beers, with whom Strout was acquainted. He gave the auctioneer a cigar, and they walked up and down the platform smoking and talking about everything else but the auction sale. It was a matter of professional dignity with Mr. Barnabas Beers, auctioneer, not to be on too friendly terms with bidders before an auction. He had found that it had detracted from his importance and had lowered bids, if he allowed would be purchasers to converse with him concerning the articles to be sold. It was their business, he maintained in a heated argument one evening in the hotel at Montrose, to find out by personal inspection the condition and value of what was to be sold, and it was his business, he said, to know as little about it as possible, for the less he knew the less it would interfere with his descriptive powers when, hammer in hand, he took his position on the bench. Having established a professional standing, Barnabas Beers was not a man to step down, and though the Professor, after a while, endeavored to extract some information from the auctioneer as to whether there was likely to be many bidders, he finally gave it up in despair, for he found Mr. Beers as uncommunicative as a hitching post, as he afterwards told Abner Stiles.

About half-past two Deacon Mason drove into the Square, and the Professor went to meet him, and shook hands with him. In a short time his other backers, who had agreed to endorse his notes to the amount of two thousand dollars, arrived upon the scene, and he took occasion to welcome them in a manner that could not escape the attention of the crowd. It was now ten minutes of three, and the auctioneer stepped upon the temporary platform that had been erected for him, and bringing his hammer down upon the head of a barrel that had been placed in front of him, he read, in a loud voice, which reached every portion of the Square, the printed notice that for several weeks had hung upon the fences, sheds, and trees of Mason's Corner, Eastborough Centre, West Eastborough, and Montrose.

It was now three o'clock, for that hour was rung out by the bell on the Rev. Caleb Howe's church. The auctioneer prefaced his inquiry for bids by the usual grandiloquence in use by members of that fraternity, closing his oration with that often-heard remark, "How much am I offered?"

The Professor, who was standing by the side of Deacon Mason's team, called out in a loud voice, "Fifteen hundred!"

"Well, I'll take that just for a starter," said the auctioneer, "but of course no sane man not fitted to be the inmate of an idiotic asylum thinks that this fine piece of ground, this long-built and long-established grocery store, filled to overflowing with all the necessities and delicacies of the season, a store which has been in successful operation for nearly forty years, and of which the good will is worth a good deal more than the sum just bid, will be sold for any such preposterous figure! Gentlemen, I am listening."

Suddenly a voice from the rear of the crowd called out, "T-o-o-t-o to to-oo-two thousand!"

As if by magic, every head was turned, for the majority of those in the crowd recognized the voice at once. There was but one man in Mason's Corner who stammered, and that man was Hiram Maxwell.

They turned, and all saw seated in the Pettengill team Hiram Maxwell, and beside him sat Mr. Sawyer from Boston.

"Oh, that's more like it," said the auctioneer. "Competition is the life of trade, and is particularly pleasing to an auctioneer. The first gentleman who bid now sees that there is another gentleman who has a better knowledge of the value of this fine property than he has evinced up to the present moment. There is still an opportunity for him to see the error of his ways, and put himself on record as being an observing and intelligent person."

All eyes were turned upon Strout at these words from the auctioneer; his face reddened, and he called out, "Twenty-five hundred!"

"Still better," cried the auctioneer; "the gentleman, as I supposed, has shown that he is a person of discernment; he did not imagine that I was engaged simply to make a present of this fine establishment to any one who would offer any sum that suited his convenience for it. He knew as well as I did that there would be a sharp contest to secure this fine property. Now, gentlemen, I am offered twenty-five hundred, twenty-five hundred I am offered, twenty-five hundred—"

Again a voice was heard from the team on the outer limits of the crowd, "Twenty-five fifty!"

The crowd again turned their gaze upon Strout; the Professor was not an extravagant man, and he had saved a little money. He had in his pocket at the time a little over a hundred dollars; he would not put it in the bank, for, he argued, if he did everybody in town would know how much money he had; so he called out, "Twenty-six hundred!"

"Ah, gentlemen," continued the auctioneer, "let me thank you for the keen appreciation that you show of a good thing. When I looked this property over I said to myself, the bidders will tumble over themselves to secure this fine property'; and I have not been disappointed."

Again the faces of the crowd were turned towards the team in which sat Quincy and Hiram. Hiram stood up in the team, and masking a horn with his hands, shouted at the top of his voice, for the time overcoming his propensity to stammer, "Twenty-seven hundred!"

"Better! still better!" cried the auctioneer; "we are now approaching the figure that I had placed on this property, and my judgment is usually correct. I am offered twenty-seven hundred, twenty-seven hundred; who will go one hundred better?"

At this moment Abner Stiles, who had been watching the proceedings with eyes distended and mouth wide open, went up to Strout and whispered something in his ear. Strout's face brightened, he grasped Abner's hand and shook it warmly, then turning towards the auctioneer cried out, "Twenty-eight hundred!"

By this time the crowd was getting excited. To them it was a battle royal; nothing of the kind had ever been seen at Mason's Corner before. A great many in the crowd were friends of Strout's, and admired his pluck in standing out so well. They had seen at a glance that Abner Stiles had offered to help Strout.

Again the auctioneer called out in his parrot-like tone, "Twenty-eight hundred! I am offered twenty-eight hundred!"

And again Hiram put his hands to his mouth, and his voice was heard over the Square as he said, "Three thousand!"

"Now, gentlemen," continued the auctioneer, "I am proud to be with you. When it is my misfortune to stand up before a company, the members of which have no appreciation of the value of the property to be sold, I often wish myself at home; but, as I said before, on this occasion I am proud to be with you, for a sum approximating to the true value of the property offered for sale has been bidden. I am offered three thousand—three thousand—three thousand—going at three thousand! Did I hear a bid? No, it must have been the wind whistling through the trees." At this sally a laugh came up from the crowd. "Going at three thousand—going—going—going—gone at three thousand to—"

"Mr. Hiram Maxwell!" came from the score of voices.

"Gone at three thousand to Mr. Hiram Maxwell!" said the auctioneer, as he brought down his hammer heavily upon the barrel head with such force that it fell in, and, losing his hold upon the hammer, that dropped in also. This slight accident caused a great laugh among the crowd.

The auctioneer continued, "According to the terms of the sale, five hundred dollars in cash must be paid down to bind the bargain, and the balance must be paid within three days in endorsed notes satisfactory to the present owner."

Quincy and Hiram alighted from the Pettengill team and advanced towards the auctioneer. Reaching the platform, Quincy took from his pocket a large wallet and passed a pile of bills to the auctioneer.

"Make out a receipt, please," he said to Mr. Beers, "in the name of Mr. Hiram Maxwell; the notes will be made out by him and endorsed by me. If you will give a discount of six per cent, Mr. Maxwell will pay the entire sum in cash within ten days; whichever proposition is accepted by Mr. Hill will be satisfactory to Mr. Maxwell."

The show was over and the company began to disperse. Deacon Mason nodded to Strout and turned his horse's head homeward. While Quincy and Hiram were settling their business matters with the auctioneer, everybody had left the Square with the exception of a few loungers about the platform of the grocery store, and Strout and Abner, who stood near the big tree in the centre of the Square, talking earnestly to each other.

The auctioneer, together with Quincy and Hiram, entered the store to talk over business matters with Mr. Hill and his son. Mr. Hill argued that Mr. Sawyer was good for any sum, and he would just as soon have the notes; in fact, he would prefer to have them, rather than make any discount.

This matter being adjusted, Mr. Hill treated the party to some of his best cigars, which he kept under the counter in a private box, and when Quincy and Hiram came out and took their seats in the team, they looked about the Square and found that the Professor and his best friend were not in sight.

The next morning at about nine o'clock, Abbott Smith arrived at Pettengill's, having with him Mr. Wallace Stackpole. Quincy was ready for the trip, and they started immediately for Eastborough Centre. On the way Quincy had plenty of time for conversation with Mr. Stackpole. The latter gave a true account of the cause that had led to his losing his election as tax collector at the town meeting a year before. He had been taken sick on the train while coming from Boston, and a kind passenger had given him a drink of brandy. He acknowledged that he took too much, and that he really was unable to walk when he reached the station at Eastborough Centre; but he said that he was not a drinking man, and would not have taken the brandy if he had not been sick. They reached Eastborough Centre in due season, but made no stop, continuing on to West Eastborough to the home of Abbott Smith's father.

Here Quincy was introduced to 'Bias Smith, and found that what had been said about him was not overstated. He was a tall, heavily-built man, with a hard, rugged face, but with a pleasant and powerful countenance, and, in the course of conversation, ran the whole gamut of oratorical expression. He was what New England country towns have so often produced—a natural-born orator. In addition he was an up-to-date man. He was well read in history, and kept a close eye on current political events, including not only local matters, but State and National affairs as well.

Quincy gave him Strout's war record that he had obtained from the Adjutant-General's office, and it was read over and compared with that of Wallace Stackpole, which was also in 'Bias Smith's possession. Mr. Stackpole had obtained from the town clerk a statement of taxes due and collected for the past twenty years, and this was also delivered to Mr. Smith. Quincy confided to Mr. Smith several matters that he wished attended to in town meeting, and the latter agreed to present them, as requested.

It was finally settled that 'Bias Smith and Mr. Stackpole should come over to Mason's Corner the following Saturday and see if Deacon Mason would agree to act as moderator at the annual town meeting on the following Monday, the warrants for same having already been posted.

When Quincy reached home he found Hiram waiting for him. They went in to Jacob's Parlor and took their accustomed seats.

"Any news?" asked Quincy.

"Not a word," said Hiram, "neither Strout or Abner have been seen on the street sence the sale wuz over, but Strout has got hold of it in some way that Huldy's engaged to 'Zeke Pettengill, and it's all over town."

At that moment Ezekiel opened the door and stepped into the shed. There was a roguish twinkle in his eye and a smile about his lips as he advanced towards Quincy.

"Waal, the cat's out o' the bag," said he to Quincy.

"Yes, Hiram was just telling me that Strout got hold of it in some way."

"Yaas," said Ezekiel, "he got hold of it in the most direct way that he possibly could."

"How's that," asked Quincy, "did Miss Mason tell him?"

"Yaas," said Ezekiel, "he seemed to want a satisfactory reason why she couldn't marry him, and it sorter seemed to her that the best reason that she could give him was that she was engaged to marry me."

Hiram nearly lost his seat on the chopping block while expressing his delight, and on Quincy's face there was a look of quiet satisfaction that indicated that he was quite well satisfied with the present condition of affairs.

"By the way, Hiram," said Quincy, "I believe you told me once that Mrs. Hawkins, who keeps the house where the Professor boards, is Mandy Skinner's mother."

"Yaas," said Hiram, "Mandy's father died and her mother married Jonas Hawkins. He wasn't much account afore he was married, but I understand that he has turned out to be a rale handy man 'round the boardin' house. Mrs. Hawkins's a mighty smart woman, and she knew just what kind of a man she wanted."

"Well," said Quincy, "I want you to tell Mandy to see her mother as soon as she can, and engage the best room that she has left in the house for a gentleman that I expect down here from Boston next Monday night. Here's ten dollars, and have Mandy tell her that this is her week's pay in advance for room and board, counting from to-day."

"Waal, I don't believe she'll take it," said Hiram; "she's a mighty smart woman and mighty clus in money matters, but she's no skin, and I don't believe she'll take ten dollars for one week's board and room."

"Well, if she won't take it," remarked Quincy, "Mandy may have the balance of it for her trouble. The man wants the room, and he is able to pay for it."

Then Quincy and Ezekiel went into the house for supper.

The next morning Quincy found that Uncle Ike had not forgotten his promise, for he was on hand promptly, dressed for a trip to Eastborough Centre. This time they took the carryall and two horses, and Uncle Ike sat on the front seat with Quincy.

They reached Eastborough Centre and found Dr. Tillotson awaiting them. The return home was quickly made and Uncle Ike took the doctor to the parlor. Then he went to Alice's room, and Quincy heard them descend the stairs. The conversation lasted for a full hour, and Quincy sat in his room thinking and hoping for the best. Suddenly he was startled from his reveries by a rap upon the door, and Uncle Ike said the doctor was ready. Quincy drove him back to Eastborough Centre, and on the way the doctor gave him his diagnosis of the case and his proposed treatment. He said it would not be necessary for him to see her again for three weeks, or until the medicine that he had left for her was gone. He would come down again at a day's notice from Quincy.

On his return Mandy told him that Miss Alice was in the parlor and would like to see him. As he entered the room she recognized his footstep, and starting to her feet turned towards him. He advanced to meet her and took both her hands in his.

"How can I thank you, my good friend," said she, "for the interest that you have taken in me, and how can I repay you for the money that you have spent?"

Quincy was at first disposed to deny his connection with the matter, but thinking that Uncle Ike must have told of it, he said, "I don't think it was quite fair for Uncle Ike, after promising to keep silent!"

"It was not Uncle Ike's fault," broke in Alice; "it was nobody's fault. Nobody had told the doctor that there was any secret about it, and so he spoke freely of your visit to the city, and of what you had said, and of the arrangements that you had made to have the treatment continued as long as it produced satisfactory results. But," continued Alice, "how can I ever pay you this great sum of money that it will cost for my treatment?"

"Do not worry about that, Alice," said he, using her Christian name for the second time, "the money is nothing. I have more than I know what to do with, and it is a pleasure for me to use it in this way, if it will be of any benefit to you. You can repay me at any time. You will get money from your poems and your stories in due time, and I shall not have to suffer if I have to wait a long time for it. God knows, Alice," and her name fell from his lips as though he had always called her by that name, "that if half, or even the whole of my fortune would give you back your sight, I would give it to you willingly. Do you believe me?" And he took her hands again in his.

"I believe you," she said simply.

At that moment Mandy appeared at the door with the familiar cry, "Supper's ready," and Quincy led Alice to her old place at the table and took his seat at her side.



CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE TOWN MEETING.

The next day was Friday. After breakfast Quincy went to his room and looked over the memorandum pad upon which he had taken pleasure in jotting down the various items of his campaign against the singing-master. As he looked at the pad he checked off the items that he had attended to, but suddenly started back with an expression of disgust.

"Confound it," said he, "I neglected to telegraph to those congressmen when I was at Eastborough Centre last Tuesday. I hope I'm not too late." He reflected for a moment, then said to himself, "No, it's all right; this is the long session, and my friends will be in Washington."

He immediately wrote two letters to his Congressional friends, stating that he had good reasons for having the appointment of Obadiah Strout as postmaster at Mason's Corner, Mass., held up for a week.