"Blest be those feasts with simple plenty crowned,

Where all the ruddy family around

Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail,

Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale."--Goldsmith.

Sanderson's clothes, his manner, his slightly English accent, were all

so many items in a good letter of credit to those simple people. The

Squire was secretly proud at having a city man like young Sanderson for

a neighbor. It would unquestionably add tone to Wakefield society.

Kate regarded him with the frank admiration of a young woman who

appreciates a smart appearance, good manner, and the indefinable

something that goes to make up the ensemble of the man of the world.

He could say nothing, cleverly; he had little subtleties of manner that

put the other men she had met to poor advantage beside him. On the

night in question the Squire was giving a supper in honor of the

berry-pickers who had helped to gather in the crop the week before.

Afterwards, they would sing the sweet, homely songs that all the

village loved, and then troop home by moonlight to the accompaniment of

their own music.

"Well, Mr. Sanderson," said the Squire, "suppose you stay to supper

with us. See, we've lots of good company"--and he waved his hand,

indicating the different groups, "and we'll talk about the stock

afterwards."

He accepted their invitation to supper with flattering alacrity; they

were so good to take pity on a solitaire, and Mrs. Bartlett was such a

famous housekeeper; he had heard of her apple-pies in Boston. Dave

scented patronage in his "citified" air; he and other young men at the

table--young men who helped about the farm--resented everything about

the stranger from the self-satisfied poise of his head to the

aggressive gloss on his riding-boots.

"Why, Dave," said Kate to her cousin in an undertone, "you look

positively fierce. If I had a particle of vanity I should say you were

jealous."

"When I get jealous, Kate, it will be of a man, not of a tailor's sign."

"Say, Miss Kate," said Hi Holler, "they're a couple of old lengths of

stove-pipes out in the loft; I'm going to polish 'em up for leggins.

Darned if I let any city dude get ahead o' me."

"The green-eyed monster is driving you all crazy," laughed Kate, in

great good humor. "The girls don't seem to find any fault with him."

Cynthia and Amelia were both regarding him with admiring glances.




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