who was in the full enjoyment of some fourteen years of boyhood, scarcely made a third in the conversation until his appetite was satisfied.
Conversation indeed hardly existed during the first portion of the meal. Miss Cilly poured out her tea and broke her biscuit with a certain prim sort of elegance which belonged to that young lady—as at least she believed. But sipping tea and nibbling biscuit went on in company with thoughts.
"Sam, what are you bothering yourself about Mr. Linden for?"
"How long since you was made a trustee?" said the Squire, beginning his sentence with an untranslatable sort of grunt, and ending it in his teacup.
"Give us the sugar bowl down this way, Cilly," said Joe,—"this apple sarce is as sour as sixty."
"I've been your trustee ever since you was up to anything," said his sister. "Come Sam—don't you begin now. What's made you so crusty?"
"It aint the worst thing to be crusty," said the Squire, while Joe started up and seized the sugar bowl. "Shews a man's more'n half baked, any how."
Miss Cilly vouchsafed a rather sour smile to these manifestations of disposition on the part of both her brothers.
"Well, what has he done?"
"Sure enough," said the Squire, (he kept his small stock of big words for company) "what has he done? That's just what I can't find out."
"What do you want to find out for? What ails him?"
"Suppose he hasn't done nothing"—said the Squire,—"is that the sort o' man to teach litteratur in Pattaquasset?"
"Lit—what?" said his sister with an arch of her head.
"Anything you've a mind to," said the Squire sulkily.
"I wouldn't say anything against Mr. Linden's literature, if I was you; because it's my belief, Sam, it'll stand any pecking you make at it. What's given you such a spite at him? You're a goodnatured fellow enough in general."
"The whole temperature of Pattaquasset's come about since he come," replied the Squire comprehensively.
"He's a gentleman!" said Miss Cilly bridling again. "He won't hurt anybody's manners—not the best—if they was to copy him."
"He didn't hurt mine," said Joe patronizingly. "To be sure I didn't go to him long."
"Do the boys like him, Joe?"
"Well I daresay they wouldn't if they could help it," said Joe, "if that's any comfort. Some other folks likes him too,—besides Sam."
"Aint he a good teacher?"
"Firstrate—" said Joe, "taught me all I ever learned. I didn't go but four weeks, and Sam thought 'twarn't no use for me to hold on any longer. My! Cilly—he'd make you roll up your eyes in arithmetic!"
"Now Sam Deacon, what do you expect to do by all this fuss you're making?" said his sister judicially.
"What's the use of cross-examining a man at that rate?" said the Squire restlessly. "When I do anything, you'll know it."
"You'll make yourself a fool, one of these fine mornings; that's what I count upon," said Miss Cecilia. "He's a match for you, I have a presentiment, Sam."
"He won't be for you," said the Squire with some heat.
"There's Mr. Simlins goin' along," said Joe, who having finished his supper was gazing out of the window. "O my! if he was cut up into real simlinses, what a many there'd be!"
"You hush, Joe!" said his sister wrathfully. "He's comin' in."
And Mr. Simlins' tall figure did indeed come through the gate and up the walk, from which a very few more steps and minutes brought him to the tea table.
"Well, Mr. Simlins!" said Miss Cecilia as she gave him his cup,—"you've got back. I heard you were returned."
"Yes!" said the farmer deliberately stirring his tea,—"I've got back! And I'm glad, for one. I've been visiting my relations in New Jersey; and I've made up my mind that the Simlinses made a good move when they come to Connecticut."
"You found them all well?" said Miss Cecilia politely.
"Well, no, I didn't," said Mr. Simlins. "How's a man to find five hundred and fifty people all well? 'Taint nature. How's things with you, Squire?"
"Wheat's done well—corn middlin'," replied the Squire, while Joe got behind his sister's chair and whispered,
"There's another name in the diction'ry sounds like your'n, though they aint spelled just alike."
"Goin' to school, Joe?" growled Mr. Simlins.
"No sir," said Joe. "Mr. Linden teached me all he knowed in a jiffy,—and all I know, too."
"Well—are the other boys learnin' yet?" said Mr. Simlins, as he spread a slice of bread pretty thick with butter.
"S'pose so"—said Joe,—"all they kin."
"It's hard work!" said Mr. Simlins. "I feel it now! Never ploughin' made my back ache like learnin'. I wonder whatever they made me school trustee for, seein' I hate it like pison. But s'pose we mustn't quarrel with onerous duties," said the farmer, carrying on sighing and bread and butter and tea very harmoniously together. "I shouldn't mind takin' a look at your last copy-book, Joe, if it would be agreeable."
"O Mr. Linden kep' that," said Joe unblushingly, "'cause it was so good lookin'."
"He was so fond of you?" said Mr. Simlins. "How come he to let you go?"
"I staid away," said Joe, drumming on the back of Miss Cecilia's chair."Cilly's got the rest of the copy-books—she likes the writin' too."
"Joe, behave yourself!" said his sister. "Mr. Simlins knows better than to believe you."
"Did you ever get flogged, Joe, for bad writin'?" said the farmer.
"Worse'n that!" said Joe, shaking his head,—"I've had to do it over!"
"Now you've got to do it over for me," said Mr. Simlins. "You write your name for me there—the best you kin—and 'Pattaquasset, Connecticut'—I want to see what the new school's up to."
"No"—said Joe—"I aint agoin' to do it. You ask one of the other boys. It wouldn't tell you nothin' if I did, 'cause I learned writin' afore,—and I didn't go to him but four weeks, besides." And Joe at once absented himself.
"Is it workin' as straight with all the rest of 'em as it is with him?" said Mr. Simlins. "You and me's got to see to it, you know, Squire—seein' we're honorary individuals."
"Yes," said Squire Deacon, rousing up now Joe was gone—he had a wholesome fear of Joe's tongue—"Yes, Mr. Simlins,—and it's my belief it wants seein' to—and he too."
"Joe,"—said Mr. Simlins. "Ne-ver fear—he'll see to himself."
"Here's some of his writin'," said Joe, returning with a spelling book. "All the boys gets him to write in their books." And laying it down by Mr. Simlins, Joe took his final departure.
"What
