“Walk right into the drawin'-room, an' draw yer jade knife an' go to whittlin' if ye want to.”
The drawing-room wrung a smile from my sad face. It was the plainest of rooms, decorated with chromos, mottos in colored yams, and with faded wall paper. On the floor was a worn and shabby carpet; and some plain, wooden chairs; a haircloth sofa, with its antimacassar and crocheted cushion, completed the furnishings. The woodwork, the windows, and all the appointments of the room were noticeably dean. A ragged-looking Newfoundland dog came roaring in upon me.
“Leo, Leo, be still, or I'll subject you to punishment,” said Mr. Smead.
“Is He full-blooded?” I asked.
“As full-blooded as Col. Sile Buckstone, an' that's sayin' a good deal.”
“Good watch dog?”
“Sets an' watches the scenery all day.” He opened the stairway door and called: “Mrs. Smead! Oh, Mrs. Smead! A noble guest is under our battlements.”
There was a sound of footsteps on the floor above, and in a moment a pale, weary woman, followed by three boys from seven to twelve years of age, each in patched trousers, came down the stairway. The woman shook my hand and said that she was glad to see me, although I had never beheld a face so utterly joyless.
The master of the household kept up a running fire of talk. Addressing the children, he said:
“Dan'l, Rufus, Edward, salute the young gentleman.” They had been named after the great orators Webster, Choate, and Everett.
As they timidly shook my hand their father observed: “These boys have ascended from Roger Williams, Remember Baker, an' General Winfield Scott. If they look tired, excuse them; it's quite a climb.”
The eldest boy showed me to my room, and so began my life at Smead's. Distressed with loneliness, I walked about the village for hours that afternoon, and on my return had time only to wash my face and comb my hair, when a bell summoned me to supper.
Mr. Smead was considerably dressed up in
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