CHAPTER VI.
THE DONATION-PARTY
One of the first things learned by Susie and Porter Hudson, on their arrival at the farmhouse, had been that the reason why Corry and Pen were not attending school was that the teacher was sick.
"Soon as she's well again," said Pen, "we'll have to go. It's too bad, but she always gets well right away."
Hard as it was, the very next morning after the picnic, word came to the farmhouses all over the valley that school was open.
"Vosh," said his mother, "I can't have ye miss a day, not till you know more'n that there teacher does; and you ort to ketch up with her before the winter's out."
Some little plans of Vosh's, in which his horse and cutter had a part, were upset completely by the teacher's recovery; but the consequences were even more severe at Deacon Farnham's.
Corry and Pen were compelled to leave their cousins to take care of themselves every day till after school-hours. It was not so bad for Susie, with her two aunts to care for her. There was the milk-room and the spinning-wheel and the kitchen, and a dozen kinds of knitting to learn, and there were many good books in the house. It looked a little blue to Porter at first, but he faced it manfully. He determined not to spend an hour in the house that he could find a use for out of doors. He went with the deacon to the cattle-yard and the stables, and he learned more about horses and cows and oxen than he had supposed there was to learn.
The sheep, too, were very interesting; especially one old ram that took a dislike to him, and was strongly disposed to drive him out of the sheepfold every time he came in.
Porter discovered, too, that hens, ducks, turkeys, had to live and be cared for in winter as well as in summer; and Susie took a share with him in that part of his work and learning.
All that, and a great deal more, was close around the house; and it was a positive treat to make a trip, after a couple of days, to the forest with his uncle. There was likely to be more snow, the latter said, and he wanted to do all the chopping and hauling he could before the roads should be blocked. Port wondered if it would be possible to burn, before spring, as much wood as there was already in the woodshed; but it just suited him to go for more.
The deacon could do the chopping on that and other days, and Port could be on hand to help him load the sleigh. The rest of the time, he could be helping Ponto look for game around among the trees and bushes.
Between them they bagged some more rabbits, and once Port actually fired both barrels of his gun into a covey of partridges.
"Three of 'em?" said his uncle when he brought them in. "You'll be a sportsman yet, if you keep on in this way."
That was only three days after the Mink-lake picnic, and a proud boy was Port when Corry and Vosh came home. They were not even to have Saturday to themselves, for there was lost time to make up over their books.
Aunt Judith said she had never heard of such a thing when she was young; and Vosh Stebbins went out to the barn, and sat in his cutter for two hours, while he worked at his back lessons.
That Sunday they all went to meeting at Benton Village; and it seemed to Susie Hudson that all she heard about, except while the minister was preaching, was "the donation." She was not at all sure but what some of the ladies were thinking of it during the sermon, from the way they talked about it afterwards.
"Pen," she said in the sleigh on their way home, "tell me just what it is. I've heard about a donation often enough, but I never saw one."
"Why, don't you know?" exclaimed Pen in great surprise. "Why, a donation – it's a donation: that's all. It's a kind of a picnic at the minister's house. Everybody comes, and they all bring something. Only aunt Judith says some of 'em eat more'n they bring."
"Shall we all go?"
"Of course we will. You'll see. It's the nicest kind of a time."
Susie learned a great deal more during the next two days. Mrs. Farnham and aunt Judith seemed to be cooking for that "donation" as if there were likely to be a famine there, especially in the matter of mince-pies.
"Elder Evans is a real good man," remarked aunt Judith, "but he ain't any kind of a pervider. No, nor his wife ain't either. It won't do to let things go, and have 'em eaten out of house and home."
They were not likely to be, if the rest of the good people in Benton Valley sent over such stores of "goodies" as went to the minister's house, before the day appointed, from Deacon Farnham's.
"I've done my best," said Mrs. Stebbins to Vosh while she was putting her contribution into his cutter for transportation, "but Sarah Farnham and Judith can beat me. Their oven'll hold three times what mine will."
She went over early in the afternoon, to help Mrs. Evans; and she said to Vosh, "You needn't mind about my gittin' home. I'll come with Judith Farnham."
Perhaps that was why Vosh felt free to say to Susie Hudson, as she stood at the gate, telling him how nice his horse and cutter looked, —
"You'll have to go in the deacon's big sleigh with the rest, but you and I'll have this all to ourselves coming home."
That was kind of Vosh; and, if there was any thing Susie was fast learning to like, it was sleighing.
An old-fashioned, up-country donation-party cannot be altogether an evening affair. Some of the good people have far to come and go, and some of them have heavy loads to bring: so they generally begin to assemble before the middle of the afternoon.
Susie had seen the minister's house several times. It stood in the edge of the village, with an immense barn behind it; and it looked, for all the world, like another large barn, painted very white, with ever so many windows.
"Room," she thought, "for all the company that will come." And it was a good thing for them that she was so nearly right. That crowd would have been very uncomfortable in a small house.
When the sleigh-load from Deacon Farnham's got there, there was already a long line of teams hitched at the roadside in front of the house, beside all that had found shed and stable accommodations here and there.
As for Elder Evans's own barn, hay, straw, and all that sort of thing, formed a regular part of his annual donation. Load after load had come in and been stowed away, after a fashion that spoke well for either the elder's popularity or the goodness of the hay-crop.
There was no intention of letting the good man freeze to death, either, in a country where wood was to be had almost for the chopping. His wood-pile was a sight to see, a good hour before supper, and everybody knew there was more to come.
Corry explained it all to Porter.
"Yes, but he can't eat hay and wood. You say he doesn't get much money."
That was a little after they entered the house, and while Mrs. Farnham and Susie were talking with the elder's kind-faced little wife.
"Eat!" said Corry. "You come right out here with me."
The sitting-room, back of the parlor, was a large one; but it was nearly half full of tables of all sorts and sizes, and these were covered with a feast of such liberal abundance that Porter gave it up at once.
"Even this crowd can't finish all that in one evening, Corry. Will Elder Evans's folks live on what's left, for the rest of the year?"
"Come right along. Vosh is out here. He's one of the receiving committee."
"What's that?"
Corry led his cousin into the kitchen, and a funny-looking place it was. Something like a dozen busy ladies were trying to get at the cook-stove all at the same time; and half as many more were helping Vosh Stebbins "keep track of things," as they were handed in at the side-door, and stowed around in all directions.
"That makes four bushels of onions," Port heard him say, as he and Corry entered the room. "They're a healthy feed – but then!"
"One barrel of flour!" said a tall woman standing near him; "but then, there's ten bushels of wheat."
"Three bags of meal, and twenty sacks of corn; fifteen bushels of turnips, twenty of potatoes; one dressed pig; a side of beef; two dozen chickens."
"Sam Jones has just driven in with another load of wood."
"And Mr. Beans, the miller at Cobbleville, has sent more buckwheat flour'n they can use if they settle down to livin' on flapjacks."
"Five muskrat-skins."
"Two kags of butter."
"Hold on," said Vosh, "till I get down the groceries. Jemimy! What'll he do with so many tallow-dips? and there's more dried apples and doughnuts."
It was indeed a remarkable collection, and Porter began to understand how a "way up country" minister gets his supplies.
"Port," said Corry a little while after that, "let's go for our supper. We want to be ready for the fun."
"What'll that be?"
"Oh, you'll see."
Susie had been making a dreadful mistake at that very moment; for she had asked old Mrs. Jordan, the minister's mother-in-law, if they ever had any dancing at donation-parties. She told Port afterwards that the old lady looked pretty nearly scared to death, and that all she said was, —
"Dancing, child! Sakes alive!"
The house was swarming with young people as well as old, and it was of no manner of use for the leader of the Benton church choir to try and get them all to singing. A hymn or two went off well enough, and then they all listened pretty attentively while a quartet sang some glees. By that time, however, Vosh Stebbins had returned from the kitchen with his list all made up, and ready for the minister; and he said something to another young man, older than himself, but no taller, about "those charades." The music went to the wall, or somewhere else, in about a minute and a half.
Susie Hudson had never heard of one-half the games that followed after the charades. Some of these had been pretty good; but they were hardly noisy enough for the country boys and girls, and in due time were set aside like the music. There were forfeits of several kinds, anagrams, "kiss in the ring," and, after several other things had been proposed and tried, the parlor was given up to a royal game of blind-man's-buff.
It was grand fun for the young people; but, while it went on, there seemed to be every bit as hungry a crowd as ever around the tables in the sitting-room. As fast as any one came out, somebody else went in.
"Deacon Farnham," said Vosh in an undertone, "I've seen that oldest Bean girl eat three suppers already."
"It's a good thing there's plenty."
"Biggest kind of a donation. Sile Hathaway's just got here with two whole deer. Killed 'em on the mountains yesterday."
The deacon brightened up a little as he responded, "Deer, eh? Well, the elder won't starve, anyway."
Susie enjoyed herself exceedingly, but Pen told her, —
"It's real good of you to laugh right out the way you do. They ain't half so much afraid of you now as they were when you got here."
"Afraid of me, Pen?"
"Why, yes: you're a city girl. They ain't a bit afraid of me."
Vosh overheard that, and he added with a broad grin, —
"Fact, Susie. Half these fellows'd rather face a wildcat, any day, than a girl like you, right from the city."
Susie blushed and laughed, but it was a sort of explanation to her of some things she had noticed during the evening.
"Port," said Corry, "let's go out and take a look at Sile Hathaway's deer. One's a buck, and one's a doe, and they're prime."
"Is he a hunter?"
"Guess he is. He'd rather hunt than earn a living, any day. But he's about the best rifle-shot there is anywhere around here."
Port felt that such a man had a great claim to public respect, but he walked on without a word more until they were outside of the kitchen-door.
There on the snow lay the fat doe and the antlered buck, and it made Porter Hudson's very fingers tingle to look on them.
"Where'd you get 'em, Sile?" asked Corry.
"Not more'n a mile up this way from Mink Lake; jest whar the split comes in from towards the old loggin'-camp."
"How'd you get 'em to the village?"
"Well, of course I had my pony along. Allers do. Made a pole-drag right thar. I had two more deer to fetch in, and they wasn't more'n jest a good load for a drag."
He was a long, lanky, grizzled sort of man, with keen gray eyes, and a stoop in his shoulders.
"What's a pole-drag?" asked Port.
"Why," replied Corry, "all he does is to cut down two saplings, and make a kind of sled of 'em. It won't last long, but it'll do to haul deer home. I'll show you one to-morrow."
Port would have stood and looked at the deer longer if the weather out there had been warmer, but he half made up his mind to be a hunter while he was feeling of that buck's antlers. There was something magnetic about them that sent a hunting-fever all over him.
At last the pleasant gathering at the minister's house began to break up. Some sleigh-loads of those who had far to go had already set out for their homes, and it was well understood that not even the village people and near neighbors would stay later than ten o'clock. Very likely Elder Evans and his family would be tired enough to be pleased at once more having their home to themselves.
There came at the end a trifle of a surprise to Susie Hudson. The country-boys grew bolder as breaking-up time drew near; and she was compelled to inform no less than three of them in succession, when they offered her a ride home in their own cutters, that she was already supplied with company.
She did not happen to see Vosh Stebbins's triumphant grin at one of these young men when he was turning away to hunt for another girl, but she better understood why her thoughtful young neighbor had spoken to her beforehand.
She learned yet one thing more before she arrived at her uncle's house. That was, that there were two roads to it, and the one selected by Vosh for the return drive was several times longer than that by which Deacon Farnham had driven his big sleigh. The snowy track was everywhere in fine condition; the sorrel colt was in the best of spirits; the bells rang out clearly in a ceaseless jingle as the gay little turnout dashed along: it was altogether a capital winding-up for an evening of genuine "winter fun" in the country.
There was a great deal of merry talk in the larger sleigh all the way home. The older people, Mrs. Stebbins included, were in a good state of mind over the success of the party, and Pen had something to say about everybody she had seen.
"Corry," said Port as he nestled down among the buffalo-robes, "is there any thing up this way that pays better than a donation?"
"I don't know. Tell you what, though: they say we're to have a big spelling-match in about two weeks."
"What's that?"
"Why, it's this way: the Benton school-district takes in all the young folks around here. The Cobbleville school-district joins ours, only it's bigger, and there's more of 'em. We're to spell against 'em. It's tip-top fun; but I'm awfully afraid they'll spell us down. They did last year, and the year before."
"Can Susie and I go?"
"Of course you can. We've a right to count in anybody that's living in our district."
"I'm in, then. I live here."
"Will Susie come? She ought to be a good speller. The day isn't set yet. They were talking it over to-night. We'll have to go to Cobbleville: they've got the biggest meeting-house."
"Meeting-house? What for?"
"Why, to hold the match in. It'll be jam full, too, galleries and all. Everybody comes out to a spelling-match. You'll see."
Port had no end of questions to ask; but he felt that he was becoming a country-boy very fast, and that he already had a strong interest in upholding the honor of the Benton school-district.
"Susie?" he said. "Why, of course she'll go. She can spell any thing."
CHAPTER VII.
THE WORD-BATTLE AT COBBLEVILLE
Penelope was in bed and asleep when Susie returned from the donation. So long a road home as Vosh Stebbins had selected, had required time to travel over it; and Mrs. Farnham had vetoed Pen's proposal to sit up. When they all reached the breakfast-table in the morning, there was a great deal to talk about, but it was not long before the spelling-match came up.
"Oh, yes! Susie," said Pen, "I was going to tell you all about it. You know how to spell."
"They say we can be counted in among the Benton spellers," began Port; but there was a very serious look on Susie's face as she said to him, —
"I promised to go; but then, to think of being spelled down!"
"Why, Susie!" exclaimed Pen, "where did you hear of it?"
"Wasn't she at the donation?" asked Corry. "Didn't she ride home with Vosh Stebbins? Guess she's heard as much as anybody."
That was not a bad guess; but it soon appeared that Susie was as much in earnest over the results of the match as if she were a regular Benton-valley settler, instead of a mere visitor.
There was plenty of enthusiasm warming up, but Deacon Farnham seemed inclined to throw cold water on their hope of victory. He reminded them of the disastrous manner in which their district champions had already been defeated twice in succession.
"They've had a pretty good teacher, too, all winter," he said.
"So've we," said Corry; "and some of us have been putting in on our spelling more'n any thing else."
"That's good. Maybe they have too. I shouldn't wonder if Vosh was the best man you've got."
"Perhaps he is, and perhaps he isn't. Anyhow, we're going to have fair play this time. Their teacher isn't going to put out the words. There'll be a committee."
"That's better; but I'm afraid there won't be any prize brought back to this valley."
"It's a splendid prize!" exclaimed Pen, – "a great big dixinary."
"A dictionary, eh?"
"Yes," said Port; "and all the words spelled are to be given out from it."
"Any kind of words?"
"Not exactly. They must be just such words as people use, but they can be as long as they can find in the book."
"That won't hurt one side more'n it will the other," said Mrs. Farnham.
"Besides," said Pen, "more of us had to sit down on short words than long ones last year."
"Sit down?" asked Port.
"When they missed. You'll see when you get there," replied Corry. "It's awful to sit down on a mistake, with a whole meeting-house full of people looking at you and laughing."
"I should say it was."
There were four pairs of eyes in that one house, right away after breakfast, busy over the long rows of words in some spelling-books, and wondering if there were any there they had forgotten.
"I knew 'em all once," said Pen; "but they always look different when you're told 'em from the pulpit."
Over at the Stebbins homestead it was very much the same.
"Vosh," said his mother, "you was a dreadful long time at the barn."
"Well, mother, I staid till I'd spelled over every thing I could see. There's a good many names to things around a stable, and I spelled every one of 'em."
"Did you git 'em right, Vosh?"
"Guess I did."
"Would it do ye any good to have some other kind of spellin'-book, so you'd know more words?"
"That isn't the trouble, mother. It kind o' seems to me I know so many now, I can't remember half of 'em."
"Don't you git spelled down, now, Vosh. You won't, will ye, not with Susie Hudson and her brother a-lookin' on?"
Vosh's face put on a pretty sober expression as he muttered, —
"Guess I wouldn't like that."
The quiet winter days went by rapidly, and nothing came in them to interrupt in any way the steadily growing excitement over the great spelling-match.
All the arrangements for it were discussed over and over, until at last there was nothing more to be settled, and the set day came.
"Corry," said Port, when the sleigh drove to the door after supper, and they were hurrying on their overcoats, "seems to me I couldn't spell the shortest word I ever heard."
"If you get scared, you'll miss, sure's you live. Now, Port, we've just got to beat 'em."
Vosh and his cutter came up at that moment, and Mrs. Stebbins stepped out with the remark, —
"Deacon, you must make room for me. I'll swop with Susie. I want a talk with Judith and Sarah."
"Come, Susie," said Vosh. "I've been teaching my colt to spell."
There was no spare room in the big sleigh, for the farmhouse was left in charge of Ponto and the hired man.
Mrs. Farnham and aunt Judith would not for any thing have missed hearing for themselves how Penelope and Coriolanus, and Susie and Porter, managed their long words at Cobbleville.
The red cutter was jingling away down the road before the black span was in motion, but somehow the two sets of passengers reached Cobbleville at about the same time. Eight miles of excellent sleighing does not last long before fast horses, and there was to be no such thing as being late.
"This is Cobbleville, Susie."
"It's not so much bigger than Benton. I don't believe we shall be beaten."
Something like that same suggestion cheered up Porter Hudson a little, as the deacon drove into the village; but the faces of Pen and Corry were very serious. There was a great trial before them, and they knew it, – a very great trial; for the tall-steepled, white-painted meeting-house in the middle of the village-green was hardly large enough to hold the crowd which was now pouring into it. The people had come from miles and miles all over the country; and those of the Cobbleville district were not only the more numerous, but seemed to be in a sort of exultation over a victory they were sure to win.
Deacon Farnham and his party managed to secure seats, and then they could look around them. Up on the platform, behind the pulpit-desk, were several very dignified gentlemen; and it did the Benton people good to see Elder Evans among them.
"He's come to see fair play," whispered Corry. "He won't let 'em put out any words they ought not to. Our chance is good."
That was encouraging; and at that very moment Elder Evans arose, and came forward to say to his own parishioners, —
"Some of our friends of the Cobbleville district have visitors among their young people, and the committee have consented to their taking part in the exercises."
"That fixes you and Susie all right," said Corry. "They can't object to you now."
Of course not; and the other final arrangements were speedily completed.
It was simple enough, or would have been if there had not been so many boys and girls who had not learned to stand still. The pews and the galleries, all but a few of the very forward pews, were given up to the general public.
The young folk from the Benton district were made to stand in the right-hand aisle, in a line that reached from the platform to the door. The other aisle belonged to Cobbleville, and its line of spellers came near being a double one.
"Two to our one, Port," said Corry; "but they'll thin out fast enough after we begin to spell."
There was no such thing as selecting places at first. The spelling began at the head of each line, alternating from one to the other. If the speller missed, he or she sat down wherever a seat could be found; but, as fast as words were spelled rightly, their happy victors were entitled to march to the heads of their lines, and so these were kept continually in motion. It was a proud thing to walk up the whole length of that meeting-house again and again, but it was not so proud to walk down the aisle hunting for a seat.
"I see how it is," said Port.
"Yes, it's great fun; and the last one up gets the dictionary."
It had been agreed that neither of the school-teachers should give out the words, and Elder Evans had modestly insisted that the pastor of the Cobbleville church should perform that duty.
"Won't he kill 'em off, though!" exclaimed Corry dolefully.
"Won't he play fair?"
"Why, yes, he'll be honest enough, I s'pose. But then he pronounces so! Wait till you hear him."
It was about time to begin, and the two boys and Pen found themselves quite a little distance down the line below Vosh and Susie.
"That's Elder Keyser. Oh, but isn't that a big dictionary! Hush! he's giving out a word."
Nobody needed to be told that, for it was given in a deep, very heavy voice, that was heard all over the house; but Port at once understood all about Elder Keyser's pronunciation.
The poor word was in a manner tumbled neck and heels out of the good man's mouth, with a sort of vocal kick to hurry it; and there were chances of serious injury to any syllable that should happen to stumble.
"Hypocrite!" shouted the elder to the curly-headed youngster at the head of the Cobbleville line.
"H-i-p" —
"That'll do. Give an example, and take your seat."
"Example," piped the boy, "puttin' a bad cent in the contribution-box."
"Next. Hypocrite."
The bright little girl at the head of the Benton aisle spelled it correctly, and Elder Evans raised his head high to smile on her.
The words were now given out with something like rapidity; and there was a constant stream of boys and girls walking up the aisles, and of others coming in the opposite directions. Every one of the latter seemed to be muttering, —
"I knew that word just as well!"
It was well that the front pews had been kept for unlucky spellers; but a seat in one of them was hardly looked upon as a prize.
"Port," said Corry gleefully, "they're thinning out fast. Think of a girl and two boys going down on such a word as 'rotation'!"
"Was that it? I thought he said 'rundition;' and I'd never seen it anywhere. He'll stumble me, sure's you live."
It was nearly their turn; and they one after the other felt a ton or so lighter when they were able to march to the front, instead of going to find seats.
Before that, however, Elder Keyser had thrown as hard a word as he could find at the head of Vosh Stebbins.
"Glad he had to say it slow," thought Vosh. "Guess he never tried it before. I can do it."
He was safe for the time, and the next Cobbleville boy went down on an easy word that then came across to Susie. She was conscious of a great deal of red in her face; but she spelled it clearly and correctly, and that sent her to the head, and next to Vosh again.
Twice more around, and the lines of young people in the aisles were not nearly so long as at first.
There had been, moreover, an almost continual roar of laughter over the examples of use given by the unfortunates.
Hardly were Port and Corry safe on the second round, before Elder Keyser blurted out to the next boy a word that sounded like —
"Ber'l."
"Bar'l, b-a-r-r" —
"That'll do. Example?"
"A bar'l of flour."
"Next. Ber'l."
"Ber'l, b-e-r-y-l."
"Down. Wrong. Example?"
"Beryl, a precious stone;" and the blushing damsel sorrowfully slipped aside into one of the front pews.
"Next. Ber'l."
"Berril, b-u-r-r-i-a-l."
"Wrong. Down. Example?"
"Berril, the berril of Surgeon Moore. I've heerd 'em sing it."
That boy sat down; but the young lady opposite spelled "burial" correctly, even if she pronounced it "burriel."
Once more round; and now Cobbleville could show barely twenty, and the Benton district hardly a baker's dozen.
"We're getting 'em," chuckled Corry. "They've lost some of their best spellers on old Keyser's pronunciation."
Alas for Corry! His turn came to him next upon a word the sound of which he was sure he caught.
"Stood, s-t-oo-d."
"Wrong. Down. Example?"
"Stewed, then!" roared Corry in undisguised vexation. "Example: 'The boy stewed on the burning deck.'"
"Next." The word sounded a little shorter this time; and the Cobbleville champion, whose turn it was, began, —
"Stud, s-t-u-d."
"Wrong. Down. Example?"
"One of my shirt-studs;" and down he went in a great roar of laughter, while Porter Hudson took the hint Corry's "example" had given him, and went to the head again on "stewed."
The rounds went by rapidly now; and each one sent down somebody in disgrace, while the excitement of the audience was visibly increasing.
"Susie," whispered Vosh, "we've got as many left standing as they have. Keyser's killing 'em off fast, though."
"That's what I'm afraid of."
"Don't spell a word till you know what it is, even if you have to ask him."
"I'd never dare do that."
"I would, then."
She was just above him, and in another moment her trial came. Vosh saw the puzzled, troubled expression on her face, and he came to the rescue.
"Elder Keyser," he sang out, "was that word 'mystery,' or 'mastery,' or 'monastery,' or was it 'mercy'? There's a difference in the spelling of 'em."
"Silence!"
"Silence, s-i-l-e-n-c-e," gravely spelled Susie, while the whole meeting-house rang with the applause that greeted her.
"Next. Spell 'misery,'" sharply exclaimed Elder Keyser; and a very pretty young lady of Cobbleville was so far disconcerted by the suddenness of it, that she actually began, —
"Misery, m-i-z" —
"Wrong. Down. Example?"
"Misery – ah! nothing to eat."
Susie was safe for that round; and in the next Elder Keyser was almost spitefully slow and correct in uttering the word he gave her.
During all that time, the older people from the farmhouse had been watching the course of events with no small degree of exultation over the success of their young representatives.
Corry had joined them, and about his first remark was, —
"Oh, but won't old Keyser be a popular man in Cobbleville after to-night! He'd better go in for a donation. Half the boys in the village'd like to snowball him on his way home."
The game grew closer. Barely six on a side, when Corry exclaimed, —
"That cross-eyed girl's down! She was the best speller they had last year. Too bad, too. She spelled 'bunch,' when what old Keyser said was 'bench.' It's a good deal too much to have to guess at what's in his mouth, and then spell it."
"Dear, dear!" exclaimed aunt Judith a moment later. "Here comes Pen."
"Such luck she's had!" said Corry. "Nothing harder than 'melon' since she began. Now it's Port's turn. Here he comes."
"Port," said Mrs. Farnham, "what was that word?"
"'Baratry,' and I thought he said 'battery;' and that long-necked Cobbleville boy said 'bartery,' and gave 'swopping jackknives' for an example."
It could not last much longer now.
"There!" exclaimed Mrs. Stebbins, "if my Vosh ain't all alone on our side! O Lavawjer!"
"O Susie!" groaned Port, "to think of her spelling 'elopement' without any middle 'e'!"
She had done it by a slip of the tongue, and, when asked for an example, stammered out, —
"Elopement, a runaway," and left Vosh to fight what there was left of Cobbleville. There would have been three against him, if a bright boy had not forgotten how many "l's" there should be in "traveller," and then given himself for an example as he shot away down the aisle.