“We don’t want no impiousness at this here shuckin’, Tim,” observed William Ming, who occupied the position of host in Betsey’s absence about the more important matter of supper.  “You fill up with cider an’ go at that thar pile befo’ you.”

“Then pass it on,” replied Mallory, reaching for the jug of cider, which travelled in a regular orbit from old Adam’s right hand round the circle to the neighbour on his left, who chanced to be Solomon Hatch.

“Speakin’ of impiousness,” remarked that sour-faced little man, “have you all heard the tales about Reuben Merryweather’s gal sence she’s had her windfall?  Why, to see the way she trails her skirt, you’d think she was the real child of her father.”  Then rushing hurriedly to generalization at Abel’s entrance, he added in a louder tone—­“Ah, it’s a sad pass for things to come to, an’ the beginnin’ of the end of public morality, when a gal that’s born of a mischance can come to act as if a man was responsible for her.  It ain’t nothin’ mo’ nor less than flyin’ in the face of the law, which reads different, an’ if it keeps up, the women folks will be settin’ up the same rights as men to all the instincts of natur’.”

Old Adam—­the pride and wonder of the neighbourhood because he could still walk his half mile with the help of his son and still drink his share of cider with the help of nobody—­bent over the heap of corn before him, and selecting an ear, divested it of the husks with a twirling, sleight-of-hand movement.

“They’re losing virtue fast enough,” he observed, throwing the naked ear into the bin and reaching for another.  “Why, when I was young thar warn’t nothin’ in the way of meanness that a good woman wouldn’t put up with.  They’d shut thar eyes to Hagars, white or black, rather than lose the respect of men by seemin’ to be aware of any immodesty.”

“Ah, the times have changed now!” sighed Solomon Hatch, “but thar’s one thing sho’ to my mind, an’ that is, that if a woman thinks she’s goin’ to attract men by pryin’ an’ peekin’ into immorality an’ settin’ it straight ag’in, she’s gone clean out of her head.  Thar’s got to be indecency in the world because thar al’ays has been.  But a man sets a heap mo’ sto’ by his wife if she ain’t too inquirin’ upon the subject.”

“True, true, Solomon,” said old Adam, “I for one was al’ays set against teachin’ women to read for fear they’d come to know things.  Thar’s a deal of evil that gits into print, an’ if you ain’t acquainted with yo’ letters thar’s less temptation to nose arter it.  Reuben Merryweather would have his daughter Janet taught, though I urged strongly against it—­holdin’ that she could learn about sins an’ immoralities even in Holy Writ.  Who knows if she’d ever have gone wrong if she hadn’t learned to read printed words?”

“Well, I’m glad print is too difficult for me,” observed young Adam.  “The pains I take to spell out the words would stand greatly in the way of my enj’yin’ any immorality if I was to stumble across it.  What part of Scripture, pa, is it that deals with sech doin’s?”