the melodeon and proclaimed in a voice that he tried hard not to make
apologetic:

"Now, Luther, if I was you I'd be a good boy and mind ma."

Even this awe-inspiring command had little effect upon the reluctant
Luther, but Captain Eri, who, smiling and bowing right and left, had
been working his passage to the other side of the room, announced
that he was all right and would "squeeze in on the sofy 'side of Cap'n
Baxter." So there was peace once more, that is, as much peace as half a
dozen feminine tongues, all busy with different subjects, would allow.

"Why, Eri" whispered John Baxter, "I didn't expect to see you here. I'm
glad, though; Lord knows every God-fearin' man in this town has need to
be on his knees this night. Have you heard about it?"

"Cap'n John means about the rum-sellin' license that Web Saunders has
got," volunteered Miss Melissa Busteed, leaning over from her seat in
the patent rocker that had been the premium earned by Mrs. Small for
selling one hundred and fifty pounds of tea for a much-advertised house.
"Ain't it awful? I says to Prissy Baker this mornin', soon 's I heard of
it, 'Prissy,' s' I, 'there 'll be a jedgment on this town sure's you're
a livin' woman,' s' I. Says she, 'That's so, M'lissy,' s' she, and I
says--"

Well, when Miss Busteed talks, interruptions are futile, so Captain Eri
sat silent, as the comments of at least one-tenth of the population of
Orham were poured into his ears. The recitation was cut short by Mrs.
Small's vigorous pounding on the center table.