which every stroke of the teaspoon left a smooth, conchoidal surface
like the fracture of chalcedony, with here and there a little eye like
what one sees in cheeses. Nor was that most wonderful object of domestic
art called trifle wanting, with its charming confusion of cream and cake
and almonds and jam and jelly and wine and cinnamon and froth; nor yet
the marvellous floating-island,--name suggestive of all that is romantic
in the imaginations of youthful palates.

"It must have cost you a sight of work, to say nothin' of money, to get
all this beautiful confectionery made for the party," said Mrs. Crane to
Mrs. Sprowle.

"Well, it cost some consid'able labor, no doubt," said Mrs. Sprowle.
"Matilda and our girls and I made 'most all the cake with our own hands,
and we all feel some tired; but if folks get what suits 'em, we don't
begrudge the time nor the work. But I do feel thirsty," said the
poor lady, "and I think a glass of srub would do my throat good; it's
dreadful dry. Mr. Peckham, would you be so polite as to pass me a glass
of srub?"

Silas Peckham bowed with great alacrity, and took from the table a small
glass cup, containing a fluid reddish in hue and subacid in taste.
This was srub, a beverage in local repute, of questionable nature, but
suspected of owing its tint and sharpness to some kind of syrup derived
from the maroon-colored fruit of the sumac. There were similar small
cups on the table filled with lemonade, and here and there a decanter of
Madeira wine, of the Marsala kind, which some prefer to, and many more
cannot distinguish from, that which comes from the Atlantic island.

"Take a glass of wine, Judge," said, the Colonel; "here is an article
that I rather think 'll suit you."

The Judge knew something of wines, and could tell all the famous old
Madeiras from each other, "Eclipse," "Juno," the almost fabulously
scarce and precious "White-top," and the rest. He struck the nativity of
the Mediterranean Madeira before it had fairly moistened his lip.

"A sound wine, Colonel, and I should think of a genuine vintage. Your
very good health."

"Deacon Soper," said the Colonel, "here is some Madary Judge Thornton
recommends. Let me fill you a glass of it."

The Deacon's eyes glistened. He was one of those consistent Christians
who stick firmly by the first miracle and Paul's advice to Timothy.

"A little good wine won't hurt anybody," said the Deacon. "Plenty,
--plenty,--plenty. There!" He ha