Miss Tilly James, who had acted as accompanist on the tin-panny old piano, was putting up her music.  The Professor, with his face wreathed in smiles, walked up to her and said, “I tell you what, Miss James, that last composition of mine is bang up.  One of these days, when the ’Star Spangled Banner,’ ‘Hail Columbia,’ and ‘Marching through Georgia’ are laid upon the top shelf and all covered with dust, one hundred million American freemen will be singing Strout’s great national anthem, ’Hark, and hear the Eagle Scream.’  What do you think of that prophecy?”

“I think,” said Miss James, turning her pretty face towards him, her black eyes snapping with fun, “that if conceit was consumption, there’d be another little green grave in the cemetery with O. Strout on the headstone.”

The Professor never could take a joke.  In his eye, jokes were always insults to be resented accordingly.  Turning upon the young lady savagely, he retorted: 

“If sass was butter, your folks wouldn’t have to keep any cows.”

Then he walked quickly across the room to where ’Zekiel Pettengill stood aloof from the rest, wrapped in some apparently not very pleasant thoughts.

At this juncture Hiram Maxwell dashed into the schoolroom, and judging from appearances his thoughts were of the pleasantest possible description.

“Say, fellers and girls,” he cried, “I’ve got some news for yer, and when you hear it you’ll think the day of judgment has come, and you’re goin’ to git your reward.”

An astonished “Oh!” came up from the assemblage.

“Out with it,” said Bob Wood, in his coarse, rough voice.

“Well, fust,” said Hiram, his face glowing with animation, “you know we got up a subscription to pay for the barge and made me treasurer, cuz I worked in a deacon’s family.  Wall, when I asked Bill Stalker to-night how much the bill would be, just to see if I’d got enough, he told me that a Mr. Sawyer, who said he ’boarded down to Deacon Mason’s, had paid the hull bill and given him a dollar beside for hisself.”  Cheers and the clapping of hands showed that the city fellow’s liberality was appreciated by a majority, at least, of the singing society.  “When we git on the barge I’ll pay yer back yer money, and the ride won’t cost any one on us a durn cent.  That ain’t all.  Mr. Sawyer jest told me hisself that when he was over to Eastborough Centre yesterday he ordered a hot supper for the whole caboodle, and it’ll be ready for us when we git over to the Eagle Hotel.  So come along and git your seats in the barge.”  A wild rush was made for the door, but Hiram backed against it and screamed at the top of his voice:  “No two girls must sit close together.  Fust a girl, then a feller, next a girl, then a feller, next a girl, then a feller, that’s the rule.”

He opened the door and dashed out, followed by all the members of the society excepting the Professor and ’Zekiel, who were left alone in the room.