been making wonderful things for the dinners they were to bring, and
stowing them in the great basket ready for the early morning start. At
six o'clock Jethro's three-seated farm wagon was in front of the store.
Cousin Ephraim Prescott, in a blue suit and an army felt hat with a cord,
got up behind, a little stiffly by reason of that Wilderness bullet; and
there were also William Wetherell and Lem Hallowell, his honest face
shining, and Sue, his wife, and young Sue and Jock and Lilian, all
a-quiver with excitement in their Sunday best.

And as they drove away there trotted up behind them Moses and Amandy
Hatch, with their farm team, and all the little Hatches,--Eben and George
and Judy and Liza. As they jogged along they drank in the fragrance of
the dew-washed meadows and the pines, and a great blue heron stood
knee-deep on the far side of Deacon Lysander's old mill-pond, watching
them philosophically as they passed.

It was eight o'clock when they got into the press of Brampton Street, and
there was a hush as they made their way slowly through the throng, and
many a stare at the curious figure in the old-fashioned blue swallowtail
and brass buttons and tall hat, driving the farm wagon. Husbands pointed
him out to their wives, young men to sisters and sweethearts, some
openly, some discreetly. "There goes Jethro Bass," and some were bold
enough to say, "Howdy, Jethro?" Jake Wheeler was to be observed in the
crowd ahead of them, hurried for once out of his Jethro step, actually
running toward the tavern, lest such a one arrive unheralded. Commotion
is perceived on the tavern porch,--Mr. Sherman, the proprietor, bustling
out, Jake Wheeler beside him; a chorus of "How be you, Jethros?" from the
more courageous there,--but the farm team jogs on, leaving a discomfited
gathering, into the side street, up an alley, and into the cool,
ammonia-reeking sheds of lank Jim Sanborn's livery stable. No