that very morning.

Once, during a temporary lull in the rear, he started to meet his
fate when Rodman Boynton followed him into the back room, and the
boy was at once set to work by Patty, who was the most consummate
slave-driver in the State of Maine. After half an hour there was
another Heavensent chance, when Rodman went up to Uncle Bart's
shop with a message for Waitstill, but, just then, in came Bill
Morrill, a boy of twelve, with a request for a gallon of
molasses; and would Cephas lend him a stone jug over Sunday, for
his mother had hers soakin' out in soap-suds 'cause 't wa'n't
smellin' jest right. Bill's message given, he hurried up the road
on another errand, promising to call for the molasses later.

Cephas put the gallon measure under the spigot of the molasses
hogshead and turned on the tap. The task was going to be a long
one and he grew impatient, for the stream was only a slender
trickle, scarcely more than the slow dripping of drops, so the
molasses must be very never low, and with his mind full of
weightier affairs he must make a note to tell the Deacon to
broach a new hogshead. Cephas feared that he could never make
out a full gallon, in which case Mrs. Morrill would be vexed, for
she kept mill boarders and baked quantities of brown bread and
gingerbread and molasses cookies for over Sunday. He did wish
trade would languish altogether on this particular morning. The
minutes dragged by and again there was perfect quiet in the
stock-room. As the door opened, Cephas, taking his last chance,
went forward to meet Patty, who was turning down the skirt of her
dress, taking the cloth off her head, smoothing her hair, and
tying on a clean white ruffed apron, in which she looked as