"Been't they going to get married?" asked Hiram.

"Are you and Mandy going to get married?" asked Quincy.

"Well, we haven't got so far along as to set the day exactly," said Hiram.

"And I don't believe 'Zekiel and Huldy will get married any sooner than you and Mandy will," remarked Quincy. "But don't say a word about this, Hiram."

"Mum's the word," replied Hiram. "I am no speaker, but I hear a thing or two."

"Now, Hiram," said Quincy, "run in and tell Mandy I'll be in to lunch as usual, and then come back, for I have something more to say to you."

Hiram did as directed, and Quincy sat and thought the situation over. So far he had been patient and he had borne the slings and arrows hurled at him without making any return. The time had come to change all that, and from now on he would take up arms in his own defence, and even attack his opponents.

When he had reached this conclusion, Hiram reappeared and resumed his seat on the chopping block.

Quincy asked, "In what regiment did the singing-master go to war?"

"The same one as I did,--th Ma.s.s.," replied Hiram.

"Did you go to war?" inquired Quincy.

"Well, I rather guess," said Hiram. "I went out as a bugler; he was a corporal, but he got detailed for hospital duty, and we left him behind before we got where there was any fightin'."

"Was he ever wounded in battle?" asked Quincy.

"One of the sick fellers in the hospital gave him a lickin' one day, but I don't suppose you'd call that a battle," remarked Hiram.

"Well, how about that rigmarole he got off down to the grocery store that morning?" Quincy interrogated.

"Oh, that was all poppyc.o.c.k," said Hiram. "He said that just to get even with you, when you were telling about your grandfathers and grandmothers."

Quincy laughed.

"Oh, I see," said he. "Were you ever wounded in battle, Hiram?"

"Well, I was shot onct, but not with a bullet."

"What was it," said Quincy, "a cannon ball?"

"No," said Hiram. "I never was so thunderin' mad in my life. When I go to regimental reunions the boys just joke the life out of me. You see I was blowin' my bugle for a charge, and the boys were goin' ahead in great style, when a sh.e.l.l struck a fence about twenty feet off. The sh.e.l.l didn't hit me, but a piece of that darned fence came whizzin'

along and struck me where I eat, and I had a dozen stummick aches inside o' half a minute. I just dropped my bugle and clapped my hands on my stummick and yelled so loud that the boys told me afterwards that they were afraid I had busted my bugle."

Quincy laid back in his chair and laughed heartily.

"What do the boys say to you when you go to the reunions?" he asked.

"They tell me to take a little whiskey for my stummick's sake," said Hiram, "and some of them advise me to put on a plaster, and, darn 'em, they always take me and toss me in a blanket every time I go, and onct they made me a present of a bottleful of milk with a piece of rubber hose on top of it. They said it would be good for me, but I chucked it at the feller's head, darn him."

Quincy had another good laugh. Then he resumed his usual grave expression and asked, "What town offices does the singing-master hold?"

"Well," said Hiram, "he is fence viewer and hog reeve and pound keeper, but the only thing he gets much money out of is tax collector. He gets two per cent on about thirty thousand dollars, which gives him about ten dollars a week on an average, 'cause he don't get no pay if he don't collect."

"Did he get a big vote for the place?" asked Quincy.

"No," said Hiram "he just got in by the skin of his teeth; he had last town meetin' two more votes than Wallace Stackpole, and Wallace would have got it anyhow if it hadn't been for an unfortunate accident."

"How was that?" asked Quincy.

"Well, you see," said Hiram, "two or three days before town meetin'

Wallace went up to Boston. He got an oyster stew for dinner, and it made him kinder sick, and some one gave him a drink of brandy, and I guess they gave him a pretty good dose, for when he got to Eastborough Centre they had to help him off the train, 'cause his legs were kinder weak.

Well, 'Bias Smith, who lives over to West Eastborough, he is the best talker we've got in town meetin'. He took up the cudgels for Wallace, and he just lammed into those mean cusses who'd go back on a man 'cause he was sick and took a little too much medicine. But Abner Stiles,--you know Abner,--well, he's the next best talker to 'Bias Smith,--he stood up and said he didn't think it was safe to trust the town's money to a man who couldn't go to Boston and come home sober, and that pulled over some of the fellers who'd agreed to vote for Wallace."

"Has the tax collector performed his duties satisfactorily?" asked Quincy.

"Well," said Hiram, "Wallace Stackpole told me the other day that he hadn't got in more than two-thirds of last year's taxes. He said the selectmen had to borrow money and there'd be a row at the next town meetin'."

"Well," said Quincy, rising, "I think I will go in and get ready for lunch. I had a very early breakfast in Boston."

"Did you have oyster stew?" asked Hiram.

"No," replied Quincy, "people who live in Boston never eat oyster stews at a restaurant. If they did there wouldn't be enough left for those gentlemen who come from the country."

He opened the door and Hiram grasped his arm.

"By Gosh! I forgot one thing," he cried. "You remember Tilly James, that played the pianner at the concert?"

"Yes," said Quincy, "and she was a fine player, too."

"Well," said Hiram, "she's engaged to Sam Hill, you know, down to the grocery store. That ain't all, old Ben James, her father, he's a paralytic, you know, and pretty well fixed for this world's goods, and he wants Benoni to sell out his grocery when Tilly gets married and come over and run the farm, which is the biggest one in the town, and I heerd Abner Stiles say to 'Manuel Howe, that he reckoned he--you know who I mean--would get some fellers to back him up and he'd buy out the grocery and get 'p'inted postmaster. I guess that's all;" and Hiram started off towards Deacon Mason's.

Quincy went to his room and prepared for the noonday meal. While doing so he mentally resolved that the singing-master would not be the next tax collector if he could prevent it; he also resolved that the same party would not get the grocery store, if he had money enough to outbid him; and lastly he felt sure that he had influence enough to prevent his being appointed postmaster.

Quincy met Ezekiel at lunch. He told Quincy that everything was working smoothly; that the singing-master evidently thought he had the field all to himself. He said Huldy and Alice were old friends, and Huldy was coming over twice a week to see Alice, and so he shouldn't go up to Deacon Mason's very often.

"Where is Miss Pettengill?" said Quincy.

"Well," replied Ezekiel, "she isn't used to heavy dinners at noon, so she had a lunch up in her room. I am going over to West Eastborough this afternoon with the boys to see some cows that 'Bias Smith has got to sell. The sun is coming out and I guess it will be pleasant the rest of the day."

"'Bias Smith?" asked Quincy.

"His name is Tobias," said Ezekiel, "but everybody calls him 'Bias."

"I have heard of him," said Quincy. "You just mention my name to him, Mr. Pettengill, and say I am coming over some day with Mr. Stackpole to see him."

'Zekiel smiled. "Going to take a hand yourself?" asked he.

"Yes," said Quincy, "the other fellow has been playing tricks with the pack so long that I think I shall throw down a card or two myself, and I may trump his next lead."

"By the way," said 'Zekiel, "while you were away Uncle Ike had our piano tuned and fixed up. It hasn't been played since Alice went to Boston five years ago. But the tuner who came from Boston said it was just as good as ever. So if you hear any noise underneath you this afternoon you will know what it means."