’Zekiel turned and saw that she was alone.  Evidently the city fellow had not come with her.

Huldy was somewhat astonished at the warmth of her greeting, and was at a loss to understand the reason for it, until Lindy Putnam said: 

“Didn’t he come with you?”

“Who?” asked Huldy, with wide-open eyes.

“Oh, you can’t fool us,” cried Tilly James. “’Zeke Pettengill told us all about that city feller that’s boarding down to your house.  We were just talking it over together, and he surmised that it might be the same one that you met down to your aunt’s house, when you went to Boston last summer.”

“As Mr. Pettengill seems to know so much about my gentlemen friends, if you want any more information, no doubt he can supply it,” said Huldy coldly.

“’Zeke kinder thought,” said Bob Wood, “that he might be tired, and probably went to bed right after supper.”

“Well, he didn’t,” said Huldy, now thoroughly excited, “he came with me, and he’s outside now talking with Hiram about the barge.”

“Why don’t he come in?” asked Bob Wood.  “P’r’aps he’s bashful.”

“If he didn’t have no more common sense than you’ve got,” retorted Huldy, “he’d have to go to bed as soon as he had eaten his supper.”

The laugh that followed this remark so incensed Wood that he answered coarsely, “I never saw one of those city chaps who knew B from a bull’s foot.”

“Perhaps he’ll teach you the difference some day,” remarked Huldy, sarcastically.

“Well, I guess not,” said Wood with a sneer; “’less he can put two b’s in able.”

Further altercation was stopped by the sudden entrance of Mr. Strout, who quickly ascended the platform and called the society to order.  It must be acknowledged that the Professor had a good knowledge of music and thoroughly understood the very difficult art of directing a mixed chorus of uncultivated voices.  With him enthusiasm was more important than a strict adherence to quavers and semiquavers, and what was lost in fine touches was more than made up in volume of tone.

Again, the Professor paid strict attention to business at rehearsals, and the progress of the society in musical knowledge had been very marked.  So it is not to be wondered at that the various numbers allotted to the chorus on the next evening’s programme were gone through quickly and to the evident satisfaction of the leader.

The last number to be taken up was an original composition, written and composed by the singing-master himself, and during its rehearsal his enthusiasm reached its highest pitch.  At the conclusion of the chorus, which had been rendered with remarkable spirit, the Professor darted from one-end of the platform to the other, crying out, “Bravo!  Fust rate!  Do it again!  That’ll fetch ’em!”

After several repetitions of the chorus, each one given with increasing spirit and volume, the Professor threw down his baton and said:  “That’ll do.  You’re excused until to-morrow night, seven o’clock sharp at Eastborough Town Hall.  I guess the barge has just drove up and we’d better be gittin’ ready for our sleigh ride.”