The Purification of Cornbury

ONE September morning, sixty years ago, the three selectmen of Cornbury were holding an informal council in front of the kitchen door of Squire Dana. He, a tall, athletic man, with a strongly moulded and not unkindly face, stood on the ground, resting one foot on the hub of a vehicle called by courtesy a light wagon, in which sat, elevated high above him, the second and third members of the triumvirate. One of them, a short, important-looking man, held the reins of a fat Morgan mare that stood quite undisturbed by his meditative flicking of the grass with the woodchuck-skin lash of the hickory-handled whip. The other, a lean, mild-faced person, picked nervously at the hair of the buffalo skin that temporarily upholstered the wagon seat, while he listened to the conversation of his associates.

“ The long an’ short on ’t is,” said he who held the reins, giving a sharp cut at a late-blooming dandelion, “ folks is a-gittin’ so stirred up abaout them a-livin’ tugether the way they du ’at we’ve got tu raout ’em aout.”

“ Wal, I s’pose so,” Squire Dana admitted reluctantly, taking his foot from the hub as he drew his knife from his pocket, picked up a chip that had strayed from the woodshed into the neatness of the yard, and began to whittle, “ but I swan it goes agin my grain tu tackle a woman.”

“That’s jest it,” said Captain Fay, the rotund second selectman. “ All aour women folks is tur’bly riled up abaout it, an’ for itiy my part, I’d a good deal druther hev a bresh wi’ that ’ere one woman an’ done with it ’an tu hev all the women in taown a-buzzin’ araound aour ears the hul endurin’ time.”

“ Why not set the constable arter ’em?” Deacon Palmer suggested. “ Seems’s ’ough’t was more his business ’n what it is aourn.”

Squire Dana shook his head in slow dissent. “ No, ’t would make the taown expense. I guess we ’ll hafter ’tend tu it.”

Mrs. Dana, hovering near the open door, conducted her housework in such unusual silence that her alert ears caught the drift of the conversation, to which she felt it her duty, as a member of the Moral Reform Society and the wife of the first selectman, to add her voice for the quick removal of a blot on the town’s good name.

“ Good - mornin’, Captain. Goodmornin’, Deacon,” she said, stepping out on to the stoop, the welcome smile on her genial face hardening to fitting severity as she asked, “ Was you a-talkin’ abaout that Lem Tyler an’ that woman ? It’s a disgrace tu the hul town an’ every respectable woman in it tu have them mis’able creeturs a-livin’ the way they du. It’s a burnin’ shame, an’ I say if the selec’men hain’t got enough spunk tu take a holt an’ turn ’em aou’ door, the women ’ll haftu.”

“ Sartainly, we ’re a-cal’latin’ tu, Mis’ Dany,” Captain Fay answered, with prompt decision; “ but you see we want tu ketch ’em aou’ door if we possibly can, an’ then we can set their stuff aou’ door an’ not hev no rumpus.”

“ That’s it ezackly,” her husband assented emphatically ; and Deacon Palmer added acquiescence without taking his eyes from an unfamiliar prairie bur he was plucking at in the buffalo hair.

“ Wal, if that’s what you want, he’s gone away,” declared Mrs. Dana. “ He went off up the road whilst aour folks was a-milkin’, an’ I hain’t seen him go back. If you three men can’t git one woman an’ one young one aout of a haouse, the taown hed better elect a new board.”

“ I guess they won’t heftu, Mis’ Dany,” Captain Fay said confidently. “ Say, Square, if we ’re a-goin’ tu-day tu lay that new road, why can’t we take in this ’ere job as we go along ? ’T won’t be no gret of a chore. Come, put on your kut, an’ git right in here.”

“ You come in an’ let me put a clean dicky on, Mr. Dany,” said his wife, and she bustled indoors, presently reappearing with the supplementary collar and bosom, with which she proceeded to invest her husband, while he elevated his chin, pursed his lips, shut his eyes, and held his breath, in dread of pins. Then she brought his second-best blue coat and his black fur hat, in which he permitted himself to be arrayed without audible protest.

“ There! naow you look more like payin’ your respec’s to a lady,” she said, after a brief, comprehensive inspection that lingered with least approval on trousers and boots.

He climbed to the seat, and the three drove away, watched by Mrs. Dana till they were hidden by the copse of crimson sumac at the turn of the road.

“ Wal, I only hope their spunk ’ll hold aout,” she soliloquized as the apex of the pyramid of three bell-crowned hats disappeared, and she reëntered to a brisk and noisy resumption of her interrupted labors. “ I wish’t I was a man a spell: I’d drive ’em aout o’ the taown. But then, I s’pose if I was a man I should be jest like the rest on ’em.”

Captain Fay drove the Morgan mare at a pace that soon brought him and his associates to a house of such forlorn exterior and surroundings that one would have thought it untenanted, if the smoke crawling from the crumbling chimney and the heap of freshly gathered wood at the door had not betokened occupancy. Naked scars where the wind had torn shingles from the sagging mossy roof; broken windows; lichen - scaled clapboards dropping away from their places, disclosing raw strips of unweathered boarding like unhealed wounds ; the dying lilac tree, hedged around by its own sprouts, beside the unused front door; the lilies and peonies running wild with a vagabond company of weeds ; the untrodden, weed - grown path to the ruinous barn ; the curbless well, and its broken sweep lying beside it, with the leaky bucket still attached to the pole and chain, — all told of a house abandoned by its owners and given over to careless tenants.

“ They run a pretty good fire,” said the Squire, observing the smoke.

“Yes, wood a-plenty for the picking up,” said Captain Fay ; and then,casting a critical eye along a rail fence which had shrunken somewhat below lawful height, “ Guess Davis’s fences hes begun tu winter-kill a’ready.”

“ I don’t see what in tunket Davis ever let the critturs in here fur ! ” Squire Dana said impatiently. “ Folks ortu be more pa’tic’lar. My tenant haousen has ben empty more ’n three months ’cause I can’t find the right sort of a family tu let int’ it.”

“ Wal, mebby Davis ’ll git a day’s work naow an’ agin, an’ that’s better ’n nothin’,” said Palmer. “ Shh ! there ’s the woman naow. Say, she hain’t badlookin’.”

A dark-haired, dark-eyed woman, comely in spite of a look too worn for her years, which were not more than twenty-five, and neatly though poorly clad, came out at the side door with a pall in her hand. She halted a moment to cast a startled glance upon the visitors alighting at the broken gate, and then hurried to the well and hastily lowered the bucket by its clumsy attachment.

Squire Dana’s first impulse was to help her ; but while he hesitated she drew up the dribbling bucket with swift, strong hands, and emptying what remained of its wasted contents into the pail, sped back to the house without bestowing another look on the strangers at the gate, though their chief called out: —

“ Hol’ on a minute, won’t ye, marm ? There, Fay, if you hadn’t ’a’ ben forever a-hitchin’ your hoss, we might ’a’ run in ahead on her.”

“Wal, what hendered you an’ Palmer ? ” the Captain asked, chuckling as he joined his companions. “ I could tend the mare.”

“ Say,” said Palmer, edging toward the wagon, “ le’ ’s go an’ lay that road, an’ leave this ’ere job for the constable. It hain’t aourn.”

“ What! flunk aout naow an’ hev aour women folks givin’ us Hail Columby ? ” asked the Squire. “ No, siree, I’ve ben hetcheled all I want tu be. Come on.”

With that he led the way up the path, but with as little stomach as the others for the unpleasant duty. He knocked at the door where the woman had gone in ; but there was no response, though he could hear her stepping lightly across the floor. He tried the latch and found it fastened ; then knocked more loudly. A window over the door was opened, and the woman’s voice descended : —

“ What d’ you want ? ”

There was a little penthouse roof jutting out over the door, and the Squire backed from beneath it that he might see the speaker. Her face was flushed and defiant, and beside her, peering over the window ledge, was the curious, scared face of a fair-haired little girl.

“We want tu come in,” he said, answering her question as he looked up at her.

“ Wal, you can’t, ’cause Mr. Tyler’s gone away, an’ he tol’ me not tu let nob’dy in till he come back.”

“ Oh, come naow, what’s the use ? We ’re the selec’men, ye know. You 'd better let us in.”

“ I can’t help it if you ’re the hul taown. I can’t let you in, I can’t! ”

“ Wal, then we ’ll hafter bust in the door, for we ’re a-comin’ in, one way or ’nother,” said the Squire, taking a more decided tone. “ Fay, you an’ Palmer fetch a rail off’en the fence.” He turned away, and stood with his arms akimbo watching the somewhat slow execution of the order by his companions.

The two figures disappeared from the window; there was a clatter of stove furniture, a sound of pouring water, and the woman reappeared at her coign of vantage as the storming party advanced, carrying a stout rail as a battering ram.

“ I give you good warnin’,” she said, with her voice higher pitched than before. “ If you come anigh, you ’ll git scalt.”

There was a reek of steam about her, and as she spoke she lifted a large dipper of hot water from a pail and rested it on the window sill.

“ Sho, she won’t dast tu ! ” said the Squire contemptuously as his comrades hesitated. “ Come on. Let drive nighest tu the latch an’ bust it.”

They advanced more briskly, and she, drawing back the dipper, called out, “ Ta’ care, or you ’ll ketch it! ” and then flung out the contents at them.

The shot fell short of the bearers of the battering ram, and the Squire dodged under shelter of the narrow pent roof and flattened himself against the door, while the charge overshot him and dribbled from the eaves.

“ Gosh, hain’t she a spunky one ! ” he exclaimed, in a burst of admiration that exceeded his vexation. “ Come on, naow. Quick afore she gits loaded up agin.”

But before the order could be executed another volley descended upon the assaulting party, who dropped the rail and retired precipitately ; Captain Fay nursing a scalded finger, and Deacon Palmer, whose hat had fallen off within range of the battery, striving to express his feelings within the limits of such mild profanity as a church member might be allowed.

“ Wal, you be smart fellers,” the Squire commented. “ Naow, if I ’d bed a holt o’ that ’ere rail ” —

“ You can hev a holt o’ my sheer on’t an’ welcome,” the Captain generously offered, as he alternately inspected and blew his injured finger.

“ Mine tew, gol darn it! ” the Deacon declared, venturing near the danger line with a pole, and attempting to insert the end of it in the crown of his hat. Before he could effect a rescue down came a scalding shower, deluging the upturned beaver and barely missing its owner.

The Squire made a determined attack upon the door, kicking lustily at the panels and throwing his shoulder with all his might against it; but it would not yield, and he desisted when a dash of hot water caught his foot thrust beyond the shelter of the door’s hood. Direct attack did not seem to promise success, so he sallied out to his comrades beyond the fire of the garrison, and began plotting strategy.

“ We wanter kinder squirmish ’raound till she gits her ammernition used up,” said he ; “when that’s gone, I’ll resk her claws.”

“ I do’ know ’baout that, the darn’ she-cat! ” Deacon Palmer remarked dubiously ; but he had no thought of raising the siege now, for his fighting blood was up. “ I’m a-goin’ tu make another try for that ’ere hat.”

“ Yes, du, an’ me an’ Captain ’ll make b’lieve go at the door agin.”

The Deacon clawed at the hat with the pole at arm’s length, the others made a show of attack with the rail, and all drew frequent fire from the enemy, ineffectual but for a further drenching of the hat, which the owner at last secured and hung on a stake to dry.

“ My sakes ! ” he groaned, as he contemplated its limp and bedraggled condition. “ I do’ know what in time Mis’ Palmer 'll say when she sees that ’ere hat. I’ve kep’ it as good as new for fifteen year, an’ naow jest look at it! Looks as if I’d took a head dive int’ the river an’ forgot tu take it off.”

“ If I was you, I’d ruther hev her see it ’an tu hev her hear what you said. Pretty nigh cussin’ for a deacon.”

“ That I can keep tu myself. The hat I can’t.”

“ Wal, you want tu keep that ’ere tu show your gran’childern when you tell ’em abaout the capture o’ Fort Davis,” said the Captain.

“ It hain’t captured yet.”

“Wal, it’s a-goin’ tu be,” said the Squire confidently. “ I can hear her scrapin’ the dipper in the bottom of the kittle, an’ her ammernition’s ’baout spent. Le’ ’s draw her fire agin.”

The feint excited a feeble volley; another brought no response, and it became evident that the amazon’s ammunition was exhausted. The besiegers now advanced boldly to the assault. The door yielded to the first vigorous stroke of the battering ram, and victory at last perched on the banner of the selectmen.

“Wal, marm,” said the Squire, in his severest official voice, addressing, the woman who stood sullenly defiant at the farther side of the scantily furnished kitchen, with one hand on the head of the frightened child, “you ortu be ’shamed o’ yourself a-scaldin’ taown officers.”

“ ’Shamed ! ” she flared up indignantly. “ I sh’d think you was the ones tu be ’shamed ! Three men a-tacklin’ a woman an’ a little girl an’ bustin’ in doors ! Scald you ! I wish I c’d bile you ! ”

“ No daoubt on’t, marm, but we won’t waste no time a-passin’ compliments,” and the Squire turned away. “ Come, men, le’ ’s git these ’ere things aout.”

The victors hurried as if in fear of relenting before the disagreeable duty was accomplished, and soon set the poor and meagre furniture out of doors, yet with a degree of care they felt was due to its valiant defender, who now, without further attempt at useless resistance, went out, leading the child by the hand. Then they fastened the door, and clambered out through a window and went their way, leaving the woman and child standing in silent, dazed despair among their unshrined household gods.

“ Gosh ! I do’ know but I sh’d feel as mean ’f I ’d ben stealin’ sheep an’ got ketched at it.” The Squire broke the silence in which the selectmen held selfcommunion as they drove along the highway. His associates grunted a sympathetic response, and the Deacon ran his hand tenderly over the blistered hat crown.

“ I do’ know what the critturs live on,” the Captain remarked. “All the victuals I see was a bag o’ ’taters I fetched aout, an’ the’ wa’n’t more ’n a ha’ bushel o’ them.”

As the Squire’s wife set her kitchen in order and put the finishing touches to its neatness (for she was just then, as she expressed it, “ aout of a girl, an’ duin’ my own work ”), she often went to the door and looked down the road, wondering what progress the town fathers were making, and with what thoroughness they would perform their duty. No hopeful sign was given her out of the haze of smoke with which a shift of wind to the northward was thickening the atmosphere, from some distant forest fire, and chilling it with what seemed an unnatural breath, since it choked one with the odor of burnt leaves, and even bore their charred and ashy shapes, wavering as silently as ghosts of dead leaves, in long slants to the ground. The sumac copse shone like a red flame in the blue mist that blurred near objects, and blotted out all beyond the middle distance.

“ I p’sume tu say they won’t du nothin’,” she said to herself. “ Square Dany’s tew soft-hearted, an’ the others is afeard o’ maddin’ someb’dy nuther tu vote agin ’em. My! I wish ’t women voted ; we’d show ’em which side their bread was buttered on. Wal, I ’ll see if I can spin part of a knot ’fore it’s time tu git dinner a-goin’.”

She drew the big wheel, with its white saddle of rolls, from the corner, and set it to humming its musical song while she stepped back and forth beside it; now twirling the wheel swiftly in one way, now slowly the other. After a time the merrier sound of the kettle and the clatter of dinner-getting succeeded the noise of the wheel ; then the dinner horn sounded a note pleasant to the ear of the hired man wrestling with the plumed ranks of ripe corn, when, sticking his sickle into the last-vanquished shock, he declared an hour’s truce. When he had resumed hostilities, and Mrs. Dana, leaving the table uncleared, was assisting digestion by a perusal of the Advocate of Moral Reform, she was disturbed by a timid knock at the door.

Opening it, she was confronted by the unfamiliar faces of a young woman and a little girl. Both bore traces of recent tears, and the child’s breath was still broken by an irrepressible sob.

“ I would n’t ’a’ bothered you, ma’am, but ’Mandy was cryin’ for somethin’ tu eat, an’ there wa’n’t nothin’ tu give her.” The young woman spoke in a soft voice, and her dark eyes had a pleading expression that a harder heart than Mrs. Dana’s could not have resisted.

“Hungry, is she? Why, good land, come right in. I guess you be, tew, if you hed n’t nothin’ for her. Set up to the stove. It’s turned raound real cold, an’ the fire feels good.” She put chairs for her guests, and gave the fire a hospitable punch, and set herself to rearranging the table; piling dirty plates, cups, and saucers, clawing the rumpled cloth into place, brushing the crumbs with one hand into the other, and. bustling to the pantry for a fresh supply of bread and the indispensable pie. “ I don’t want you tu take no trouble,” the’woman protested, looking apprehensively at the preparations. “I — I hain’t no money tu pay you, but I can spin a spell for you,” her eyes dwelling on the wheel.

“Good land, I don’t want no pay, an’ I hain’t goin’ tu take no trouble,”Mrs. Dana declared. “ Trav’lin’ fur r Goin’ tu see some o’ your folks, I p’sume tu say ? The little girl hain’t yourn ? Some related, mebby, but she don’t favor you a mite. Mebby you hain’t merried ?”

It was not Mrs. Dana’s habit to wait for answers to her questions, but she did now, while the visitor, with downcast eyes, shook her head.

“ If you’d ha’ come an hour sooner, you might ha’ eat a hot dinner with us,” the hostess went on. “ But there’s enough left, such as it is, thank goodness. There wa’n’t nob’dy but me an’ the hired man tu dinner. My husband, he’s gone off on taown business tu-day. He’s fust selec’nmn, an’ they’ve gone off ’mongst ’em a-transactin’ business. Naow, then, you an’ she take right off your bunnets an’ shawls, an’ set up tu the table.”

The visitor arose hastily, and gasped in a scared voice : “ No, no ! Give ’Mandy a piece o’ bread an’ butter in her hand, an’ we’ll go. We can’t stop! Oh no, we can’t stop ! ”

“ Be you crazy ? I sh’d like to know what’ sthereason you can’t stop an’ eat ? ”

“ Oh, I can’t,” the woman protested. “ We must go right off.”

“ Wal, then, you hain’t a-goin’, an’ that child hain’t a-goin’ afore she’s eat a meal o’ victuals ! Naow tell me your trouble,” Mrs. Dana said, in a tone so masterful that, aided by the entreating, hungry eyes of the little girl, it compelled compliance.

“ If you’ve got tu know,” the stranger answered half defiantly, “your man an’ the other selec’men come over there,” indicating the direction with a sidewise motion of the head; “ an’ Mr. Tyler, he was gone, an’ they was comin in, an’ I hove hot water ontu ’em ! Yes, I did. But they broke in the door, an’ they sot all the things aout door an’ fastened us aout; an’, oh dear, I do’ know what’s goin’ tu be become of us ! I wish’t I was dead ! ” With that she broke down utterly, covered her face with her hands, and sobbed as if her heart would break.

“ Wal, I never ! ” Mrs. Dana gasped, her breath so completely taken away by the relation that she was obliged to sit down to await its return, burying beneath her ample form the crumpled pages of the Advocate where it lay on the cushion into which she sank. The blankness of her face gradually hardened into an expression of proper severity ; her gaping mouth closed tightly, then opened again as speech came with renewed breath. “ So you ’re that woman, be you ? You don’t look like her. I would n’t ha’ thought it of you. Haow ever come you tu du so ? ”

No answer came but sobs from the hidden face. Impelled by an impulse of motherly pity, Mrs. Dana laid her hand gently on the bowed head, and said as gently, “ Don’t you believe you’d better tell me all abaout your trouble ? ”

Then the woman began in a broken voice that grew steadier as she went on : “ I was took sick at the place where I was a-workin’, an’ they was a-goin’ to throw me on t’ the taown, but Mr. an’ Mis’ Tyler took me in an’ kep’ me till I got well; an’ then Mis’ Tyler, she took sick, an’ there wa’n’t nob’dy tu ta’ care of her only me, an’ so I did till she died ; an’ then there wa’n’t nob’dy tu keep haouse for him, an’ so I stayed an’ kep’ a-stayin’, like a fool, but I could n’t seem tu help it, they ’d ben so good tu me. An’ everybody turned agin us, an’ he could n’t git no work, an’ so we come away from there an’ got in here, but it’s jes’ as bad; an’ this mornin’ he started off for Brinkford lookin’ for work, an’ them men come an’ turned us aout, an’ now I do’ know what we be goin’ tu do! Oh dear, I wish’t I was dead! ”

Her sobs broke out afresh, and Mrs. Dana waited a little before she asked, “ Why wa’n’t you merried ? ”

“ He wanted tu, but I would n’t so soon after she died, an’ so we kep’ livin’ along ; an’ he said’t wa’n’t nob’dy’s business ’s long’s we sot so by one mother as we did.”

The moral reformer of Cornbury, suddenly recollecting neglected hospitality, said in a gentler voice : “ It don’t signify, a-lettin’ folks starve afore my face an’ eyes ! Now set up tu the table. Yes, you’ve got tu, an’ the little girl ’ll set right by, an’ help her an’ yourself ; ” and having seated her guests at the table, she busied herself in ministering to them while she silently pondered and cast frequent searching glances up the road.

“ When was you expectin’ ’Mandy’s pa ’d be comin’ back ? ”

“ Any time ’most.”

“ Well, I want tu ketch him when he comes along. An’ naow, if you won’t eat nothin’ more, you may spin a little while if you are a mind tu. You was sayin’ you could, wa’n’t you ? What did you say your name was ? ”

“ Roxy,” the woman answered, taking her place at the wheel with the alacrity of accustomed use.

Mrs. Dana watched her, at first doubtfully, then with growing admiration of her agile and skillful movements; and when she had examined the yarn with critical eye and touches, she declared : “ I never see nob’dy that could spin sprier an’ better. I could n’t myself. There, naow, you sit daown an’ rest. You need n’t spin no more. Sis, is n’t that your pa ? ”

She hastened out to intercept a man whose form seemed to acquire substance as he drew near, as if materializing out of the blue haze. He yielded to her entreaty, which was as much a command. His heavy, good-humored face was blank. While he was wiping his dusty boots on the dooryard knotgrass, she was further gratified by the arrival of the selectmen.

“ Hitch your hoss, and come right in, Captain, you an’ the Deacon. Oh yes, you got tu. I want you tu,” she urged against all excuses, and getting in the rear of her guests left no way open to them but the one she desired them to take. Her husband walked behind her, dumbly wondering at her, and went to the depths of speechless astonishment with his colleagues when he found their late antagonist installed in his own kitchen.

“ Square Dany,” his wife began, without any detail of explanation, “ these folks wants tu git merried right off, an’ I want you tu merry ’em. Stan’ right up here, naow, Lem’wil, an’ you, Roxy, take a holt o’ his han’. There, naow, Square, perform the ceremony.”

The matrimonial candidates obediently did as told, but the Squire protested.

“ Why, Mis’ Dany, I never merried a couple in my life.”

“Wal, if you’ve ben Justice o’ the Peace tew hul year, goin’ on three, an’ do’ know haow tu merry folks, the taown ’d better ’lect someb’dy else in your place,” she said, in a tone that put him upon his mettle ; and since the eyes of his fellow fathers were upon him, he manfully essayed the performance of the unaccustomed duty.

“ Du you, j’intly an’ severally, solemnly promise, in the presence o’ these witnesses, tu take one ’nother for husban’ an’ wife, for better or wus, be the same more or less, an’ promise well an’ truly tu perform the same without fear or favor of any man — or woman ? ” he added, with a happy afterthought.

Lemuel Tyler responded with a hearty affirmative, and Roxy bashfully nodded, as the mistress of ceremonies, with a ready hand, would perforce have obliged her to, had she hesitated. Then the Squire declared, in his best official voice : “ By the authority in me vested by the state of Vermont, I du pronounce you man an’ wife, tu hev an’ tu hoi’ till death du you part. Asy Dany, Justice of the Peace. — There, I guess that ’ll hold, won’t it ? ” he asked, turning to his associates as he wiped his perspiring face.

“ I don’t see no flaw in the indictment,” Captain Fay admitted ; “ but hain’t you goin’ tu make no remarks ? It’s usuil on sech occasions.”

“ Wal, yes, I s’pose it is.” The Squire pondered as he cleared his throat for further speech. “ I will say tu you, Mr. Tyler, that ef you want tu keep peace in the fam’ly you’d better du putty nigh as Mis’ Tyler wants you tu; an’ tu you, Mis’ Tyler, not tu want onreasonable ; an’ tu both on ye, if one gits sassy, for t’ other not to sass back, — in the words of the poet,

“ S’posin’ it’s hot water ? ” the Captain asked, as he tended his forefinger.

“I do’ know ’s I’ve got anything more tu remark,” said the Squire.

“ Naow set daown, all on ye,” his wife commanded, as she bustled into the pantry, where her voice, pitched in a high key, could still be heard : “ The’ wa’n’t no time for preperation, so the’ hain’t no weddin’ cake; but the’ ’s nut cakes an’ cheese a-plenty, an’ punkin pie, which is good if I did make it.” These she presently brought and pressed upon the company.

Captain Fay picked up the crumpled Advocate from the chair in which he was about to seat himself, and studying the title a moment remarked, “ Mis’ Dany, your Moral Reform paper looks as if it hed ben set daown on.”

Without heeding him she went on: “ Naow, ef you hain’t no objections, Square Dany, I ’ll blow the horn for Hiram, an’ he an’ Lem’wil can hitch ontu the hay riggin’, an’ go an’ git the things an’ put ’em in your tenant haouse. You ben wantin’ a good stubbed man in ’t, which Lem’wil looks tu be, an’ Roxy is the beater tu spin, as I know.”

As Squire Dana parted with his associates at the hitching post he spoke only one word, — “ Gosh ! ”

Rowland E. Robinson.