to have dancin' in it. Judge
Tileston died, you remember, within a month after he had his great ball,
twelve year ago, and some thought it was in the natur' of a judgment. I
don't believe in any of them notions. If a man happened to be struck
dead the night after he'd been givin' a ball," (the Colonel loosened his
black stock a little, and winked and swallowed two or three times,) "I
should n't call it a judgment,--I should call it a coincidence. But I 'm
a little afraid our pastor won't come. Somethin' or other's the matter
with Mr. Fairweather. I should sooner expect to see the old Doctor come
over out of the Orthodox parsonage-house."

"I've asked him," said the Colonel.

"Well?" said Deacon Soper.

"He said he should like to come, but he did n't know what his people
would say. For his part, he loved to see young folks havin' their sports
together, and very often felt as if he should like to be one of 'em
himself. 'But,' says I, 'Doctor, I don't say there won't be a little
dancin'.' 'Don't!' says he, 'for I want Letty to go,' (she's his
granddaughter that's been stayin' with him,) 'and Letty 's mighty fond of
dancin'. You know,' says the Doctor, 'it is n't my business to settle
whether other people's children should dance or not.' And the Doctor
looked as if he should like to rigadoon and sashy across as well as the
young one he was talkin' about. He 's got blood in him, the old Doctor
has. I wish our little man and him would swop pulpits."

Deacon Soper started and looked up into the Colonel's face, as if to see
whether he was in earnest.

Mr. Silas Peckham and his lady joined the group.

"Is this to be a Temperance Celebration, Mrs. Sprowle?" asked Mr. Silas
Peckham.

Mrs. Sprowle replied, "that there would be lemonade and srub for those
that preferred such drinks, but that the Colonel had given folks to
understand that he did n't mean to set in judgment on the marriage in
Canaan, and that those that didn't like srub and such things would find
somethin' that would suit them better."

Deacon Soper's countenance assumed a certain air of restrained
cheerfulness. The conversation rose into one of its gusty paroxysms just
then. Master H. Frederic got behind a door and began performing the
experiment of stopping and unstopping his ears in rapid alternation,
greatly rejoicing in the singular effect of mixed conversation chopped
very small, like the contents of a mince-pie, or meat-pie, as it is mo