e, and ever since, the treacly liquid had been overflowing
the top and spreading in a brown flood, unnoticed, over the floor.
Patty's feet were glued to it, her buff calico skirts lifted high to
escape harm.

"I can't move," she cried. "Oh! You stupid, stupid Cephas, how could you
leave the molasses spigot turned on? See what you've done! You've wasted
quarts and quarts! What will father say, and how will you ever clean up
such a mess? You never can get the floor to look so that he won't notice
it, and he is sure to miss the molasses. You've ruined my shoes, and I
simply can't bear the sight of you!"

At this Cephas all but blubbered in the agony of his soul. It was bad
enough to be told by Patty that she was "considering several," but
his first romance had ended in such complete disaster that he saw in
a vision his life blasted; changed in one brief moment from that of a
prosperous young painter to that of a blighted and despised bungler,
whose week's wages were likely to be expended in molasses to make good
the Deacon's loss.

"Find those cleaning-cloths I left in the hack room," ordered Patty with
a flashing eye. "Get some blocks, or bits of board, or stones, for me to
walk on, so that I can get out of your nasty mess. Fill Bill Morrill's
jug, quick, and set it out on the steps for him to pick up. I don't know
what you'd do without me to plan for you! Lock the front door and hang
father's sign that he's gone to dinner on the doorknob. Scoop up all the
molasses you can with one of those new trowels on the counter. Scoop,
and scrape, and scoop, and scrape; then put a cloth on your oldest
broom, pour lots of water on, pail after pail, and swab! When you've
swabbed till it won't do any more good, then scrub! After that, I
shouldn't wonder if you had to fan the floor with a newspaper or it'll
never get dry before father comes home. I'll sit on the flour barrel a
little while and advise, but I can't stay long because I'm going to a
picnic. Hurry up and don't look as if you were going to die any minute!
It's no use crying over spilt molasses. You don't suppose I'm going to
tell any tales after you've made me an offer of marriage, do you? I'm
not so mean as all that, though I may have my faults."

It was nearly two o'clock before the card announcing Deacon Baxter's
absence at dinner was removed from the front doorknob, and when the
store was finally reopened for business it was a most dejected clerk who
dealt out groceri