no means so bounteous as that of Deborah Wilder, and Miss Mercy was both an epicure and a gourmand.
The pound-cake was produced, and cut into great golden squares; the nut-cakes, the snap-gingerbread, the pies, and the sweetmeats were all set forth; the rich cream-toast was steaming upon the table; and Molly had filled the two glasses with milk,—the innocent beverage not yet superseded in rural districts by tea or coffee,—when a jingle of bells, a stamping of feet, and the sharp rap of a whip-handle upon the door, announced a visitor.
"It's Reuben, come to take us both home!" exclaimed Mercy confidently: and the next moment proved her prophecy correct; for as Molly opened the door, the shaggy, snow-dropping figure of a man entered the room, and, removing the flapping hat tied over his ears, showed the mean features of Reuben Hetherford.
