gone to dinner on the doorknob. Scoop up all the molasses you can
with one of those new trowels on the counter. Scoop, and scrape,
and scoop, and scrape; then put a cloth on your oldest broom,
pour lots of water on, pail after pail, and swab! When you've
swabbed till it won't do any more good, then scrub! After that, I
shouldn't wonder if you had to fan the floor with a newspaper or
it'll never get dry before father comes home. I'll sit on the
flour barrel a little while and advise, but I can't stay long
because I'm going to a picnic. Hurry up and don't look as if you
were going to die any minute! It's no use crying over spilt
molasses. You don't suppose I'm going to tell any tales after
you've made me an offer of marriage, do you? I'm not so mean as
all that, though I may have my faults."

It was nearly two o'clock before the card announcing Deacon
Baxter's absence at dinner was removed from the front doorknob,
and when the store was finally reopened for business it was a
most dejected clerk who dealt out groceries to the public. The
worst feature of the affair was that every one in the two
villages suddenly and contemporaneously wanted molasses, so that
Cephas spent the afternoon reviewing his misery by continually
turning the tap and drawing off the fatal liquid. Then, too,
every inquisitive boy in the neighborhood came to the back of the
store to view the operation, exclaiming: "What makes the floor so
wet? Hain't been spillin' molasses, have yer? Bet yer have! Good
joke on Old Foxy!"



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