their outlines
against the sky. Turning westward, they reached the great road leading
from Boston to Providence.

"We might go to Dedham, but I think we had better turn back towards
Roxbury, let the horses rest a bit at the Greyhound Tavern, and have
supper,"[35] said Tom, who was well acquainted with the road.

[Footnote 35: The Greyhound was a much frequented tavern in Roxbury,
with the figure of a greyhound upon its sign. It was in this tavern
that the repeal of the Stamp Act was celebrated, 1767. Convivial
parties were courteously entertained by the accommodating landlord.]

The sun had gone down when they whirled up to the tavern, whose
swinging sign was ornamented with a rude picture of a greyhound. A
bright fire was blazing in the parlor. They laid aside their outer
garments and warmed themselves by its ruddy glow. The keen, fresh air
had sharpened their appetites for supper. Chloe and Samson, cook and
table-waiter, served them with beefsteak hot from the gridiron,
swimming in butter; potatoes roasted in the ashes; shortcake steaming
hot from the Dutch oven.

"Shall I brew Bohea, Hyson, or Hyperion[36] tea," the landlady asked,
beginning with Miss Newville and glancing at each in turn.

[Footnote 36: Strawberry and other domestic teas were called by the
high-sounding name, Hyperion.]

"I will take Hyperion," Miss Newville replied, with a tact and grace
that made her dearer than ever to Berinthia, and to them all, knowing
as they did that Bohea and Hyson were still served in her own home.

Supper over, they returned to the parlor, where the bright flame on
the hearth was setting their shadows to dancing on the walls. The feet
of Mary Shrimpton were keeping time to the ticking of the clock.

"Why can't we have a dance?" she asked.

"Why not?" all responded.

"I'll see if we can find Uncle Brutus," said Tom.

Uncle Brutus was the white-haired old negro who did chores about the
tavern.

"Yes, massa, I can play a jig, quickstep, minuet, and reel. De ladies
and genmen say I can play de fiddle right smart," Brutus responded,
rolling his eyes and showing his well-preserved white teeth.

"If de ladies and genmen will wait a little till old Brutus can make
himself 'spectable, he'll make de fiddle sing."

While the old negro was getting ready to entertain them with his
violin, they proposed conundrums and riddles and narrated stories.

There came at length a gentle rap on the door, and Brutus, with high
s