Now, Meshech Little, the carpenter, had gone home and to bed towering
drunk the night before, after taking part as a leading performer in
the aforesaid serenade to the Squire. His sleep had been exceedingly
dense, and in the morning when it became time for him to go to his
work, it was only after repeated callings and shakings, that Mrs.
Little was able to elicit the first sign of wakefulness.

"You must get up," she expostulated. "Sun's half way daown the west
post, an ye know how mad Deacon Nash'll be ef ye don' git don shinglin
his barn tidday." After a series of heartrending groans and yawns,
Meshech, who had tumbled on the bed in his clothes, got up and stood
stretching and rubbing his eyes in the middle of the floor.

"By gosh, it's kinder tough," he said, "I wuz jess a dreamin ez I wuz
latherin deakin. I'd jess swotted him one in the snout wen ye woke me,
an naow, by gorry, I've got tew go an work fer the critter."

"An ye better hurry, tew," urged his wife anxiously. "Ye know ye
didn't dew the fuss thing all day yis'dy."

"Whar wuz I yis'dy?" asked Meshech, in whose confused faculties the
only distinct recollection was that he had been drunk.

"Ye went daown tew Barrington 'long with the crowd."

Meshech was in the act of ducking his head in a bucket of water,
standing on a bench by the door, but at his wife's words he became
suddenly motionless as a statue, his nose close to the water. Then he
straightened sharply up and stared at her, the working of his eyes