known everywhere as "boiled victuals."

By this time the men had ranged themselves in respectful silence upon
the opposite side of the table, each stealing an admiring though
modest glance at Maggie; for the masculine heart, whether it beats
beneath a homespun frock or coat of finest cloth, is alike susceptible
to glowing, youthful beauty like that of Maggie Miller. The head of
the house was absent--"had gone to town with a load of wood," so his
spouse informed the ladies, at the same time pouring out a cup of tea,
which she said she had tried to make strong enough to bear up an egg.
"Betsy Jane," she continued, casting a deprecating glance, first at
the blue sugar bowl and then at her daughter, "what possessed you to
put on this brown sugar, when I told you to get crush? Have some of
the apple sass? It's new--made this morning. Dew have some," she
continued, as Madam Conway shook her head. "Mebby it's better than
it looks. Seem's ef you wan't goin' to eat nothin'. Betsy Jane,
now you're up after the crush, fetch them china sassers for the
cowcumbers. Like enough she'll eat some of them."

But, affecting a headache, Madam Conway declined everything save
the green tea and a Boston cracker, which, at the first mention of
headache, the distressed woman had brought her. Suddenly remembering
Mike, who, having fixed the carriage, was fast asleep on a wheelbarrow
under the woodshed, she exclaimed: "For the land of massy, if I hain't
forgot that young gentleman! Go, William, and call him this minute.
Are you sick at your stomach?" she asked, turning to Madam Conway,
who at the thought of eating with her drunken coachman had uttered
an exclamation of disgust. "Go, Betsy Jane, and fetch the camphire,
quick!"