easily spare; and for fear Troffater might suffer, and be
tempted again to do what must be so painful to his heart, he filled the
large bag and tied it, saying, "There neighbor Troffater, you are very
welcome to that bag-full."

He insisted, however, that Troffater should go into the house, and see
his folks, and take supper with them. The bolt of a galvanic battery
could not have convulsed the little culprit with a more terrible shock
than such a word; he looked as though he would slink through the floor,
and actually craved a blow to brace up his nerves, and knit his joints,
and rally his skulking spirit. He begged permission to be gone
immediately. But no, he could not get off with so light a punishment.
He must go in and see Mrs. Fabens and Fanny, and take supper with them.
He dared not disobey, and he trudged sneakingly in like a whipped
spaniel.

"O, it is Mr. Troffater come to see us!" said Mrs. Fabens, smiling a
kind welcome as he entered the door. "We were wondering who it could
be with Mr. Fabens in the barn-yard. How do you do, Mr. Troffater?
How is Mrs. Troffater? and how are the family? It is such a pleasant
evening, why did not Mrs. Troffater come over with you and spend the
evening? She has not made me a visit in a long, long while."

"How are Ruth and Josephine? Did I not see them crossing our pasture
towards Mr. Teezle's to-day? I hope they have not forgotten that they
owe me a visit," said Fanny, with a voice more musical than the
meadowlark's, and a smile more gentle and subduing than the moonlight
melting on the wall.

But Troffater was silent. His throat was so dry, and his tongue so
thick, he could utter nothing in return. His silence surprised them,
and they feared he had been injured, or was in a fit, until a glance
from Fabens checked their surprise and inquiries; and then they treated
him as if he had joined in conversation, and nothing unusual had
happened. A good supper was set before him, and a good family took
seats around him, and Mrs. Fabens and Fanny more than once expressed
the wish that Mrs. Troffater and the girls had come along. But
Troffater enjoyed neither conversation, nor comfort, nor supper. He
tried to eat, but he made a pig's mess of the fine and bountiful dishes
they set before him. He crossed and recrossed his earthen eyes. He
sweat, and hitched, and wheezed: he dropped his knife on the floor, and
stuck his elbow in Fanny's butter; he attempted to sever a