ther town, and that's more'n any other feller could say."

"If you don't shut up," said Strout, "I'll nominate you for town idyut, and there won't be any use of any one runnin' agin yer!"

Abner took his reproof meekly. He always did when Strout spoke to him.

No more was said until they reached home. Strout entered the boarding house and went upstairs to his room, forgetting that there was a man from Boston, to arrive late that evening, who was to have the next room to his.

Abner put up the horse and went home. As he went by Strout's door, thoughts of the rum and mola.s.ses, and the good cigar that he had enjoyed the night of the surprise party one week ago went through his mind, and he stopped before Strout's door and listened attentively, but there was no sound, and he went upstairs disconsolately, and went to bed feeling that his confidence in the Professor had been somewhat diminished by the events of the day.

CHAPTER XXIX.

MRS. HAWKINS' BOARDING HOUSE.

Mrs. Hawkins waited patiently until eight o'clock for the gentleman from Boston to come down to breakfast. She then waited impatiently from eight o'clock till nine. During that time she put the breakfast on the stove to keep it warm, and also made several trips to the front entry, where she listened to see if she could hear any signs of movement on the part of her new boarder.

When nine o'clock arrived she could restrain her impatience no longer, and, going upstairs, she gave a sharp knock on the door of Quincy's room.

"What is it?" answered a voice, somewhat sharply.

"It's nine o'clock, and your breakfast's most dried up," replied Mrs.

Hawkins.

"I don't wish for any breakfast," said the voice within the room, but in a much pleasanter tone. "What time do you have dinner?"

"Twelve o'clock," said Mrs. Hawkins.

"All right," answered the voice, cheerfully. "I'll take my breakfast and dinner together."

"That beats all," said Mrs. Hawkins, as she entered the kitchen.

"What beats all?" asked Betsy Green, who worked for Mrs. Hawkins.

"It beats all," repeated Mrs. Hawkins, "how these city folks can sit up till twelve o'clock at night, and then go without their breakfast till noontime. I've fixed up somethin' pretty nice for him, and I don't propose to see it wasted."

"What are you goin' to do with it?" asked Betsy. "'Twon't keep till to-morrer mornin'."

"I'm goin' to eat it myself," said Mrs. Hawkins. And suiting the action to the word, she transferred the appetizing breakfast to the kitchen table, and, taking a seat, began to devour it.

"Have you seen your sister, Samanthy, lately?" she asked.

"I was up there Sunday evening," replied Betsy, "and she said Mis'

Putnam was failin' very fast. She keeps her bed all the time now, and Samanthy has to run up and down stairs, 'bout forty times a day. She won't let Miss Lindy do a thing for her."

"Well, if I was Lindy," said Mrs. Hawkins, "I wouldn't do anything for her if she wanted me to. She used to abuse that child shamefully. Is Miss Lindy goin' to keep house arter her mother dies?"

"No," said Betsy, "she's got her things all packed up, and she told Samanthy she should leave town for well and good as soon as her mother was buried."

"I don't blame her," exclaimed Mrs. Hawkins. "Where's Samanthy goin'?"

"Oh, she says she wants to rest awhile afore she goes anywheres else to live. She's all run down."

"P'r'aps she'll go and stay with yer mother for a while."

"No," said Betsy, "she won't go there."

"Ain't yer mother 'n' her on good terms?"

"Oh, yes," replied Betsy, "but the four boys send mother five dollars a month apiece, and us girls give her two dollars a month apiece, and it's understood that none of us is to go and loaf 'round at home, 'less we pay our board."

"That's all right," said Mrs. Hawkins. "You can tell Samanthy for me that she can come here and stay a couple o' weeks with you. Your bed's big enough for two, and I won't charge her no board if she's willin' to wait on table at dinner time. You'll get the benefit of it, ye know, Betsy, for you kin get the dinner dishes done so much earlier."

"That's very kind of you, Mrs. Hawkins," said Betsy, and the conversation lapsed for a moment till she inquired, "Will your daughter Mandy stay with Mr. Pettengill arter he marries Huldy Mason?"

"I don't know," replied Mrs. Hawkins. "Mandy says that Hiram Maxwell is the biggest fool of a man she ever saw."

"Then she must think a good deal of him," laughed Betsy.

"Wall, I fancy she does," replied Mrs. Hawkins; "and I've no objections to him, seein' as that Mr. Sawyer is goin' to put him inter the grocery store and back him up. But Mandy says that he won't come to the pi'nt.

He hints and hints and wobbles all 'round the question, but he don't ask her to marry him right out and out. Mandy says she won't gin in until he does, for if she does, she says he'll be chuckin' it at her one of these days that he didn't ask her to marry him and be sayin' as how she threw herself at him, but there's too much of the old Job Skinner spirit in Mandy for her to do anythin' like that."

At this moment Mrs. Hawkins looked up and saw Hiram Maxwell standing in the half-open doorway that led into the wood-shed.

"List'ners never hear any good of themselves," remarked Mrs. Hawkins, as Hiram advanced into the room.

"I didn't hear nothin'," said Hiram. "I've got too many things in my head to tell yer to mind any women's talk," he continued.

"What is it?" cried Mrs. Hawkins and Betsy simultaneously.

"Well, fust," said Hiram, "early this mornin' your sister Samanthy,"

here he looked at Betsy, "came tearin' down to Deacon Mason's house and said as how Mis' Hepsey Putnam was powerful bad, and she wanted me to run down to 'Zeke Pettengill's and have him bring his sister right up to the house, 'cause Mis' Putnam wanted to see her afore she died, and the Deacon's wife said as how I could go up with him and her, and so we druv up, and a little while ago your sister Samanthy," here he looked at Betsy again, "asked me if I'd drive over and ask Mis' Hawkins if you,"

here he looked at Betsy for the third time, "could come up and stay with her this arternoon, for she thinks Mis' Putnam is goin' to die, and she don't want to be left alone up in that big house."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "AN OLD-FASHIONED HUSKING BEE." (ACT III.)--Penalty of red ear.]

Betsy looked at Mrs. Hawkins inquiringly.

Mrs. Hawkins saw the glance and said, "I can't spare yer till arter dinner, Betsy; say 'bout one o'clock. You kin go and stay till the fust thing to-morrer mornin'. I guess I kin manage supper alone."

"Samanthy will be much obleeged, Mis' Hawkins," said Hiram. "I'll drive right back and tell her, and I'll drive down agin about one o'clock arter Betsy."

"List'ners get a good p'int now and then," remarked Hiram to himself.

"Now I see what made Mandy so durned offish. Wall, she won't have any excuse in the future. I guess I kin ask her a straight question when I git good and ready, Mother Hawkins." And he struck the horse such a violent blow with the whip that it required all his attention for the next few minutes to bring him down to a trot. When he had done so he had reached his destination and his resentful feelings had subsided.

After Hiram had gone, Mrs. Hawkins and Betsy busied themselves getting dinner. Happening to glance out of the window, the former exclaimed, "Why, there's Jonas, and what on airth has he got in his hands?"

Betsy ran to the window and looked out.