“Tom Gladding hab no manners,” said Primus to himself, after the departure of his friend.  “It is bery onpleasant to hear sich pussonal inflections.  But, probumbly, arter he keep company wid me a little longer, he larn better.”

How it got out, nobody could tell.  Tom and the General both declared they had said nothing about it, and Basset was equally positive he had not opened his mouth.  It is, therefore, singular that, before twelve o’clock the next day, rumors of the adventure had reached the ears of more than one-half the inhabitants of Hillsdale.  True, none were very accurate, nor did any two agree; for, as is apt to happen, in such cases, each one who told the story took care, most conscientiously, it should lose nothing in the repetition.  Hence, before noon, it was, like most of our modern literature, “splendidly embellished.”

It was not strange, then, that the doctor, in his morning round among his patients and friends, should get some inkling of it.  Divested of ornaments, enough remained to satisfy him that an attempt to arrest Holden had been made.  For the cause, he was at first at a loss; for, though he had heard of the disturbance at the conference, he hardly supposed that an offence which he regarded as so venial, would have drawn along such serious consequences.  But when he heard that generally assigned as the reason, having no words of his own to express his astonishment, he was obliged to resort to his unfailing treasury—­

               “’Can such things be,
  And overcome us like a summer cloud,
  Without our special wonder?’”

The quotation did not seem fully to answer the purpose, and he added, “Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun:  it shines everywhere.”  This gave him relief.  It acted more soothingly than his own anodyne drops; and, having thus recovered his equanimity, he determined to ascertain if the Armstrongs had heard the news.

He found Miss Armstrong at home, but not her father.

“You have heard the news, Faith, this morning.  I suppose?” said the doctor.

“No; we are not much like the Athenians.  Neither my father nor myself are accustomed to get the first edition.  What is it, doctor?”

But the doctor did not relish being called, by the remotest implication, an Athenian.  As inquisitive as the most prying Yankee is said to be, he stoutly repelled the imputation of inquisitiveness, as applied to himself or to his countrymen.  “It was,” he was in the habit of saying, “a slander invented by your porter-guzzling Englishmen and smoking Dutchmen.  What can you expect of people who are involved in a perpetual cloud either of their own raising or of the making of Providence?  They are adapted to circumstances.  It never was intended they should have more than one idea a week; it would be too much for their constitution; and therefore they ask no questions.  No wonder, then, they feel uncomfortable when they get into a clear climate, where they can see the sun, and hear ideas buzzing about their ears like a swarm of bees.”