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The oysters steamed; the heels of the boys’ boots thumped in wild delight; the women bustled about; the girls giggled, and the men roared with laughter. Everybody ate as if he and she had never tasted oyster-soup and chicken before, and the cakes and pies went the way of the oyster-soup like corn before a troup of winter turkeys.

Bill Yohe, by way of a joke, put some frosting down the back of Cy Hurd, and, by way of delicate attention to Ella, alternately shoved her out of the seat and pulled her back again, while Joe hurled a chicken-leg at Cad Hines as she stood in the entry-way. Will Kinney told Sary Hines for the fourth time how his team had run away, interrupted by his fear that some kind of pie would get away untasted.

“An’ so I laid the lines down–H’yare! Gimme another handful of crackers, Merry–an’ I laid the lines down while I went t’ fine–nary a noyster I can hold any more. Mrs. Moss, I’m ready f’r pie now–an’ so I noticed ole Frank’s eye kind o’ roll, but thinksi, I c’n git holt o’ the lines if he–Yes’m, I alwiss eat mince; won’t you try some, Sary?–an’–an’–so, jest as I gut my ax–You bet! I’m goin’ t’ try a piece of every kind if it busts my stummick. Gutta git my money’s worth.”

Milton was in his best mood and was very attractive in his mirth. His fine teeth shone and his yellow curls shook under the stress of his laughter. He wrestled with Bettie for the choice bits of cake, delighting in the touch of her firm, sweet flesh; and, as for Bettie, she was almost charmed to oblivion of Ed by the superior attractions of Milton’s town-bred gallantry. Ed looked singularly awkward and lonesome as he sat sprawled out in one of the low seats, and curiously enough his uncouthness and disconsolateness of attitude won her heart back again.

Everybody, with the usual rustic freedom, had remarks to make upon the situation.

“Wal, Bettie, made a swop, hev yeh?” said Councill.

“Hello, Milt; thought you had a girl down town.”

“Oh, I keep one at each end of the line,” Milton replied, with his ready laugh.

“Wal, I swan t’ gudgeon! I can’t keep track o’ you town fellers. You’re too many f’r me!” said Mrs. Councill.

Carrie Hines came up behind Milton and Bettie and put her arms around their necks, bringing their cheeks together. Bettie grew purple with anger and embarrassment, but Milton, with his usual readiness, said, “Thank you,” and reached for the tittering malefactor’s waist. Nobody noticed it, for the room was full of such romping.

The men were standing around the stove discussing political outlooks, and the matrons were busy with the serving of the supper. Out of doors the indefatigable boys were beginning again on “pom-pom pullaway.”

Supper over, the young folks all returned to the house across the way, leaving the men of elderly blood to talk on the Grange and the uselessness of the middlemen. Sport began again in the Dudley farm-house by a dozen or so of the young people “forming on” for “Weevily Wheat.”

“Weevily Wheat” was a “donation dance.” As it would have been wicked to have a fiddle to play the music, singers were substituted with stirring effect, and a song was sung, while the couples bowed and balanced and swung in rhythm to it:

“Come hither, my love, and trip together
In the morning early.
I’ll give to you the parting hand,
Although I love you dearly.
But I won’t have none of y’r weevily wheat,
An’ I won’t have none of y’r barley,
But have some flour in a half an hour
To bake a cake for Charley.

“Oh, Charley, he is a fine young man;
Charley, he is a dandy.
Oh, Charley, he’s a fine young man,
F’r he buys the girls some candy.
Oh, I won’t have none o’ y’r weevily wheat,
I won’t have none o’ y’r barley,
But have some flour in a half an hour
To bake a cake for Charley.