had met at a quilting party at ten
o'clock with Mrs. Martin Waddell. There Sarah had had a seat at the
frame and heard all the gossip of the countryside. . . .

So the day passed with them and was interrupted by the noisy entrance of
Joe, soon after candlelight, who climbed on the back of his mother's
chair and kissed her and in breathless eagerness began to relate the
history of his own day.

That ended the quilting party and Sarah and Mrs. Rutledge and her
daughter Ann joined Samson and Abe and Harry Needles who were waiting
outside and walked to the tavern with them.

John McNeil, whom the Traylors had met on the road near Niagara Falls
and who had shared their camp with them, arrived on the stage that
evening. . . . Abe came in, soon after eight o'clock, and was introduced
to the stranger. All noted the contrast between the two young men as
they greeted each other. Abe sat down for a few minutes and looked sadly
into the fire but said nothing. He rose presently, excused himself and
went away.

Soon Samson followed him. Over at Offut's store he did not find Abe, but
Bill Berry was drawing liquor from the spigot of a barrel set on blocks
in a shed connected with the rear end of the store and serving it to a
number of hilarious young Irishmen. The young men asked Samson to join
them.

"No, thank you. I never touch it," he said.

"We'll come over here an' learn ye how to enjoy yerself some day," one
of them said.

"I'm pretty well posted on that subject now," Samson answered.

It is likely that they would have begun his schooling at once but when
they came out into the store and saw the big Vermonter standing in the
candlelight their laughter ceased for a moment. Bill was among them
with a well-filled bottle in his hand.

He and the others got into a wagon which had been waiting at the door
and drove away with a wild Indian whoop from the lips of one of the
young men.

Samson sat down in the candlelight and Abe in a moment arrived.

"I'm getting awful sick o' this business," said Abe.

"I kind o' guess you don't like the whisky part of it," Samson remarked,
as he felt a piece of cloth.

"I hate it," Abe went on. "It don't seem respectable any longer."

"Back in Vermont we don't like the whisky business."

"You're right, it breeds deviltry and disorder. In my youth I was
surrounded by whisky. Everybody drank it. A bottle or a jug of liquor
was thought to be as legitimate a piece of merchandise as a po