Higher Powers, and raise the same scruples which resisted the use of ether and chloroform in certain contingencies.  Whatever may be the cause, it is well known that the announcement at any private rural entertainment that there is to be ice-cream produces an immediate and profound impression.  It may be remarked, as aiding this impression, that exaggerated ideas are entertained as to the dangerous effects this congealed food may produce on persons not in the most robust health.

There was silence as the pyramids of ice were placed on the table, everybody looking on in admiration.  The Colonel took a knife and assailed the one at the head of the table.  When he tried to cut off a slice, it didn’t seem to understand it, however, and only tipped, as if it wanted to upset.  The Colonel attacked it on the other side, and it tipped just as badly the other way.  It was awkward for the Colonel.  “Permit me,” said the Judge,—­and he took the knife and struck a sharp slanting stroke which sliced off a piece just of the right size, and offered it to Mrs. Sprowle.  This act of dexterity was much admired by the company.

The tables were all alive again.

“Lorindy, here’s a plate of ice-cream,” said Silas Peckham.

“Come, Mahaly,” said a fresh-looking young-fellow with a saucerful in each hand, “here’s your ice-cream;—­let’s go in the corner and have a celebration, us two.”  And the old green de-lame, with the young curves under it to make it sit well, moved off as pleased apparently as if it had been silk velvet with thousand-dollar laces over it.

“Oh, now, Miss Green! do you think it’s safe to put that cold stuff into your stomick?” said the Widow Leech to a young married lady, who, finding the air rather warm, thought a little ice would cool her down very nicely.  “It’s jest like eatin’ snowballs.  You don’t look very rugged; and I should be dreadful afeard, if I was you.”

“Carrie,” said old Dr. Kittredge, who had overheard this,—­“how well you’re looking this evening!  But you must be tired and heated;—­sit down here, and let me give you a good slice of ice-cream.  How you young folks do grow up, to be sure!  I don’t feel quite certain whether it’s you or your older sister, but I know it ’s somebody I call Carrie, and that I ’ve known ever since.”

A sound something between a howl and an oath startled the company and broke off the Doctor’s sentence.  Everybody’s eyes turned in the direction from which it came.  A group instantly gathered round the person who had uttered it, who was no other than Deacon Soper.

“He’s chokin’! he’s chokin’!” was the first exclamation,—­“slap him on the back!”

Several heavy fists beat such a tattoo on his spine that the Deacon felt as if at least one of his vertebrae would come up.

“He’s black in the face,” said Widow Leech, “he ‘s swallered somethin’ the wrong way.  Where’s the Doctor?—­let the Doctor get to him, can’t ye?”