ALL of Grace's spare hours for a fortnight after Caleb's departure were spent in recalling and applying the makeshift furniture devices of her native village and those described in back numbers of "Ladies' Own" papers and magazines, as well as all the upholstery and other decorative methods of her sister-saleswomen in the days when she and they had far more taste than money. Chairs and lounges were extemporized from old boxes and barrels, cushioned with straw or corn-husks, and covered with chintz. A roll of cheap matting, ordered from the city, drove the rugs from the sitting room and parlor, and the cheapest of hangings replaced the lace curtains at the windows. All of the framed pictures were sent upstairs, and upon the walls were affixed, with furniture tacks, many borderless pictures, plain and colored, from the collection which Philip and Grace had made, in past years, from weekly papers and Christmas "Supplements."

The vases, too, disappeared, though substitutes for them were found. Dainty tables, brackets, etc., were replaced by some made from fragments of boxes, the completed structures being stained to imitate more costly woods, and instead of the couple's darling bric-À-brac appeared oddities peculiar to the country—some birds and small animals stuffed by Black Sam, birds'-nests, dried flowers, a mass of heads of wheat, oats, rye, and sorghum arranged as a great bouquet, some turkey-tail fans, and so many other things that had attracted Grace in her drives and walks that there seemed no room on mantel, tables, and walls for all of them.

"There!" Grace exclaimed, as she ushered her husband into the parlor at the end of a day expended on finishing touches. "What do you think of it?"

"Bless me!" Philip exclaimed. "Absolutely harmonious in color, besides being far fuller than it was before. 'Tis quite as pretty, too, in general effect. Don't imagine for a moment, however, that your selected list of old cats will appreciate it."

"I shall imagine it, and I don't believe I shall be disappointed. All human nature is susceptible to general effect. Besides, Mrs. Taggess is to be here, and all of them are fond of her, and she will say many things that I can't. I shall boast only when they tell me that they suppose my husband did most of the work—if any of them are clever enough to detect the difference between what is here and what the G. A. R. men and other guests have reported."

The invitations were given informally, though long in advance, to a midday dinner on the first day of "Court-week,"—a day set apart by common consent in hundreds of counties, for a general flocking to town. The guests selected were—according to Caleb, who was consulted when the plan was first formed—the ten most virulent feminine gossips in the county. Black Sam's wife had been employed to assist for the day at cooking and serving, and among the dishes were many which would be entirely new to the guests. At one end of the table sat Grace, "dressed," as one of the guests said afterwards, "as all-fired as a gal that was expectin' her feller, an' was boun' to make him pop the question right straight off." At the other end of the table was Mrs. Taggess, plainly attired, except for her habitual smile, and at either side sat five as differing shapes—except for sharp features and inquiring eyes—as could be found anywhere. One wore black silk with much affectation of superiority to the general herd, but the others seemed to have prepared for a wild competition in colors of raiment and ribbons, and one had succeeded in borrowing for the day the original and many-colored silk of Mrs. Hawk Howlaway, described in an early chapter of this narrative.

The guests did full justice to the repast. One by one they became mystified by the number of courses, for they had expected pie or pudding to follow the first dish. Some began to be apprehensive of the future, but with the fine determination characteristic of "settlers," good and bad alike, they continued to ply knife and fork and spoon. For some time the efforts of the hostess and Mrs. Taggess to encourage conversation were unrewarded, though some of the guests exchanged questions and comments in guarded tones. All acted with the apparent unconcern of the North American Indian; but curiosity, a tricky quality at best, suddenly compelled one gaunt woman to exclaim, as she contemplated the dish before her and raised it to her prominent nose:—

"What on airth is that stuff, I'd like to know?"

"That is lobster salad," Grace replied.

"Oh! I couldn't somehow make out what kind of an animile the meat come off of."

"Nuther could I," said her vis-À-vis, with a full mouth, "but I'm goin' to worry my ole man to raise some of 'em on the farm, for it's powerful good, an' no mistake."

A buzz of assent went round the table; the ice was broken, so another guest said:—

"Mis' Somerton, I've been dyin' to know what that there soup was made of that we begun on. I never tasted anythin' so good in all my born days."

"Indeed? I'm very glad you liked it. 'Twas made of crawfish."

A score of knives and forks clattered upon plates, and ten women assumed attitudes of amazement and consternation. Finally one of them succeeded in gasping:—

"Them little things that bores holes 'longside the crick? the things that boys makes fish-bait of?"

"The same, though only millionnaires' sons could afford to use them for bait in the East. Crawfish meat in New York costs as much as—oh, a single pound of it costs as much as a big sugar-cured ham. I never dreamed of buying it—I never dared hope that I might taste it—until I came out here."

The appearance of a new course checked conversation on the subject, but one of the guests eyed suspiciously a tiny French chop, the tip of its bone covered with paper, and said to the woman at her right:—

"Don't appear to know what we're bein' fed with here. Wonder what this is? It's little enough to be a side bone o' cat. Must be all right, though; Mis' Taggess is eatin' hern."

A form of blanc-mange was another mystery. Said one woman to another:—

"It must be the ice-cream the soldiers told about, for it's powerful cold, besides bein' powerful good."

"That's so," was the reply; "but 'pears to me I didn't hear the men say nothin' about there bein' gravy poured on theirn."

Some of the guests were becoming full to their extreme capacity,—a condition which stimulates geniality in some natures, ugliness in others. They had come to criticise—to learn of their hostess's extravagance. They had remained in the parlor only long enough to be entirely overcome by its magnificence and to exchange whispered remarks about the shameful waste of money wrung from the hard-working farmers.

The dinner had been good beyond their wildest expectations; not the best Fourth of July picnic refreshments, or even the memorable dinner given by Squire Burress, the richest farmer in the county, when his daughter was married, compared with it. What was so good must also have been very expensive. Criticism must begin with something, and the blanc-mange seemed a proper subject to one woman, who was reputed to be very religious. So she groaned:—

"This—whatever it is—is so awful good that it must ha' been sinful costly—actually sinful."

"Yes, indeed," sighed another. "One might say, a wicked waste o' money."

"Blanc-mange?—costly?" Grace said, curbing an indignant impulse; "why, 'tis nothing but corn-starch, milk, sugar, and a little flavoring. I wonder what dessert dish could be cheaper!"

"You don't say!" exclaimed a woman less malevolent or more practical than the others. "Now, I just ain't a-goin' to give you no peace till you give me the receipt for it."

"I'll give it, with pleasure; or better still, you shall have a package of the corn-starch,—'tis worth only a few cents,—with full directions on the label. I might possibly forget some part of them, you know."

"Me too," said several women as one, and criticism was temporarily abated. Before a new excuse for reviving it could be found, the ice-cream—the real article, and without gravy, of course—made its appearance. It was consumed in silence, in as much haste as possible with anything so cold, and also with evident enjoyment. Then the opponent of sinful extravagance remarked:—

"It's awful good—too good! It 'pears wicked to enjoy any earthly thing so much. Besides, you needn't tell me that it ain't awful costly, 'cause I shan't believe it."

"If my word is of so doubtful quality," said Grace, with rising color, "perhaps Mrs. Taggess, with whom you're better acquainted, will inform you."

"'Tis nothing but milk, cream, and sugar," said Mrs. Taggess, who had borrowed Grace's freezer and experimented with it, "and most of you know very well that you've so much milk that you feed some of it to your pigs. The cream in what all of you have eaten would make, perhaps, a single pound of butter, which you would be glad to sell for fifteen cents. The sugar cost not more than five or six cents, and the flavoring, to any one with raspberries in their own garden, would have cost nothing."

The guests gasped in chorus, but the tormentor quickly said:—

"But the ice! Us poor farmin' folks can't afford ice; it's only them that makes their livin' out of us—"

"Excuse me," said Mrs. Taggess, "but many of the farmers, your husband among them, have been telling Doctor Taggess recently that they were going to put up ice-houses next winter, and that they were foolish or lazy for not having already done so before. I'm sure that all of you who have enjoyed the cream so greatly will keep your husbands in mind of it, especially as ice-cream, made at home, is as cheap as the poorest food that any farmer's family eats."

The coming of the coffee caused conversation to abate once more, for in each cup floated a puff of whipped cream—a spectacle unfamiliar to any of the gossips, some of whom hastily spooned and swallowed it, in the supposition that it was ice-cream, put in to cool the coffee somewhat. Those who followed the motions of their hostess and Mrs. Taggess stirred the whipped cream into the coffee, and enjoyed the result, but again the voice of the tormentor arose:—

"We buy all our coffee at your store, but we don't never have none that tastes like this here."

"Indeed?" Grace said, with an air of solicitude. "I wonder why, for there is but one kind in the store, and this was made from it. Perhaps we prepare it in different ways."

"I bile mine a plumb half-hour," said the tormentor, "so's to git ev'ry mite o' stren'th out o' it."

"Oh! I never boil mine."

She never boiled coffee! Would the wonders of this house and its housekeeper never cease?

"For pity sakes, how does any one make coffee without boilin', I'd like to know?" said a little woman with a thin, aquiline nose and a piercing voice.

"I used to do it," said Grace, "by putting finely ground coffee in a strainer, and letting boiling water trickle through it, but the strainer melted off one day, through my carelessness, so now I put the coffee in a cotton bag, tie it, throw it into the pot, pour on boiling water, set it on the cooler part of the stove, and let it stand without boiling for five minutes. Then I take out the bag and its contents, to keep the coffee from getting a woody taste. My husband, who often makes the coffee in the morning, throws the ground coffee into cold water, lets it stand on the stove until it comes to a boil, and removes it at once. I'm not yet sure which way is the best."

"Nor I," said Mrs. Taggess, "although I've tasted it here made in both ways, and seen it made, too."

The guests were so astonished that each took a second cup—not that they really wanted it, as one explained to two others, but to see whether it really was as good as it had seemed at first. Then Grace arose, and led the way to the parlor. Some of the guests were loath to follow, among them the tormentor, who said:—

"I s'pose if I'd talked about these crockery dishes, she'd have faced me down, an' tried to make me believe they didn't cost as much as mine."

"Oh, no, she wouldn't," said Mrs. Taggess, who overheard the remark; "but I think 'twas very kind of her to set out her very best china, don't you? Most people do that only for their dearest friends—never for people who forget the manners due to the woman of the house, whoever she may be."

"I don't see what you mean by that, Mis' Taggess, I'm sure. I only—"

"Ah, well, try not to 'only' in the parlor, for Mrs. Somerton is trying very hard to make us feel entirely at home."

"Well, I think she's just tryin' to show off, 'cause she's come into old Jethro's money."

"Show off with what? Do tell me."

"Why, with her fine furniture an' fixin's. If that best room o' hern was mine, I'd be 'feared to use it, an' I'd expect the house to be struck by lightnin' to punish me for my wicked pride."

"I'm a-dyin' to ask her what some o' them things cost," said another, "but I don't quite dass to."

"Then you may stop dying at once, for I'll ask her for you, although I already know, within a few cents, the price of everything in the room. Come along, now. Ahem! Mrs. Somerton, there's much curiosity among the ladies as to the cost of furnishing your beautiful parlor. Won't you tell us?"

"Very gladly," Grace said, "for I'm very proud of it."

"Didn't I tell you?" whispered the tormentor.

"Everything in the parlor, except the piano, which is the ugliest thing in it," Grace continued, "cost less than twenty dollars."

"Sho!" exclaimed one woman, incredulously. "Why, that's no more money than Squire Burress paid for the sofy that his gals is courted on, for Mis' Burress told me the price o' that sofy herself, an' showed me the bill to prove it."

"I've no bills to show," Grace said, with a laugh, "for the largest articles are made of scraps, such as my husband gives away to any one who asks for them. See here—" as she spoke she turned a chair upside down to show that its basis was a barrel. Then she raised the drapery of a divan to show the unpainted boxes beneath. "The matting on the floor is three times as cheap as rag carpet. You can buy the window hangings in the store at fifteen cents a yard—though don't imagine I'm trying to advertise the goods. All the furniture covers are of cheap bedquilt chintzes. Examine everything, ladies; for, as I've already said, I'm very proud of my cheap little parlor."

"You didn't say nothin' about the cost of the labor," said the tormentor.

"True," Grace admitted, "but I can reckon it with very little trouble, for I did it all myself; I've no grown sons and daughters, like some of you, so I did it alone. Besides my time it cost me—well, to be exact, one thumb bruised with the hammer; one finger ditto; a bad scratch on one hand, caused by a saw slipping; half a day of pain in one eye, into which I blew some sawdust; two sore knees, got while putting down the matting; and one twisted ankle—I accidentally stepped from a box while tacking a picture to the wall."

"Well, I'm clean beat out o' my senses!" confessed one guest. "I never heerd tell that they learned such work to women in cities."

"Perhaps they don't," Grace said, "but I learned most of it when I was a country girl in western New York."

"What? You a country gal?"

"Indeed I am. I can milk cows, churn butter, make garden, take care of chickens, saw wood and split it, wash clothes, and do any other country housework, besides making my own clothes."

The woman who had elicited this information looked slowly from face to face among her acquaintances, and then said:—

"I reckon we're a passel o' fools."

"Oh,—excuse me; but I assure you that I meant nothing of the kind."

"But I do, an' I mean it strong, too; yes, ma'am. We're a passel o' fools. I won't feel over an' above safe until I git home an' take a good long think, an' I reckon the sooner the rest of us go too, the seldomer we'll put our foot in it."

There was general acquiescence in this suggestion; even the tormentor seemed suppressed, but suddenly her eyes glared, her lips hardened, and she said:—

"I suppose that scrumptious dress o' yourn was made o' scraps, too?"

Grace laughed merrily, and replied:—

"You're not far from right, for 'tis made of old Madras window curtains that cost eight cents a yard when new. There wasn't enough of the stuff to cover all my windows here, so I made it up into a dress rather than waste it, for I liked the pattern of it very much. Oh, yes—and there's sixteen cents' worth of ribbon worked into it—I'd forgotten that. But your dress—oh, I shouldn't dare wear one so costly as a black silk. Really, I should think it a sinful waste of money that might do so much good to the poor, or to the Missionary Society, or the Bible Society, or—"

"What time's it gittin' to be?" asked the tormentor. "I'll bet my husban' is jest rarin' 'roun' like a bob-tail steer in fly-time, an' tellin' all the other men that women never know when it's time to go home, an' what a long drive he's got before him, an' all the stock to water when he gits thar. Good-by, Mis' Somerton. Some day I'll borrer that ice-cream machine o' yourn, an' a hunk o' ice, if you don't mind."

The other women also took their leave, and soon Grace was alone with Mrs. Taggess, who said:—

"I'd apologize for them, my dear, if you hadn't known in advance that they were the most malicious lot in the county."

Grace laughed, and replied:—

"But weren't they lots of fun?" Mrs. Taggess embraced her hostess, and said:—

"I believe you'd find something to laugh at even in a cyclone."

"If not," Grace replied, "'twouldn't be for lack of trying."