They had just sat down in the little parlour when cries of "Mamma"
were heard outside and four year old Quincy Adams Pettingill burst
into the room followed closely by Abner Stiles.
"He don't mind me no more'n a woodchuck would," said Abner--then his
eyes fell on Quincy, who rose to greet him.
"Why, if it ain't"--but words failed him as Quincy gave his hand a
hearty grasp.
"This is the first time I ever shook hands with a guv'nor," said
Abner. "I didn't know you was going to shake hands all round the
night of the show an' I went home." He looked at his right hand,
rubbed it softly with his left, and then remarked: "I sha'n't wash
that hand for a couple o' days if I can help it."
His hearers laughed, for his words were accentuated by the old-time
grin that had pleased Obadiah Strout on some occasions, but on others
had raised his ire to an explosive point.
"Are father and mother at home?" asked Huldah.
"Yes, both on 'em. Susie Barker's been helpin' her to-day, and the
Dekin's wife thinks o' keepin' her reg'lar."
"I'll have them come to supper," said Huldah. "Abner, hitch up the
black mare into the low phaeton and bring them up here. Don't tell
them who's here, but tell them that I say they must come."
"Well, I declare!" All looked up and saw Ezekiel standing in the
doorway. He wore overalls and thick boots, his sleeves were rolled
up, showing his brawny arms with muscles like whip-cords.
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