Why, no; to be sure, I _can_ have it, and may be it's the best of any
time, if we can get Black Dinah to come and help about the cakes and
pies. I guess we will, finally."

"I think it's likely you had better," replied the deacon, "and we will
have all the young folks here."

And now let us pass over all the intermediate pounding, and grinding,
and chopping, which for the next week foretold approaching festivity in
the kitchen of the deacon. Let us forbear to provoke the appetite of a
hungry reader by setting in order before him the minced pies, the
cranberry tarts, the pumpkin pies, the doughnuts, the cookies, and other
sweet cakes of every description, that sprang into being at the magic
touch of Black Dinah, the village priestess on all these solemnities.
Suffice it to say that the day had arrived, and the auspicious quilt was
spread.

The invitation had not failed to include the Misses Silence and Susan
Jones--nay, the good deacon had pressed gallantry into the matter so far
as to be the bearer of the message himself; for which he was duly
rewarded by a broadside from Miss Silence, giving him what she termed a
piece of her mind in the matter of the rights of widows and orphans; to
all which the good old man listened with great benignity from the
beginning to the end, and replied with,--

"Well, well, Miss Silence, I expect you will think better of this before
long; there had best not be any hard words about it." So saying, he took
up his hat and walked off, while Miss Silence, who felt extremely
relieved by having blown off steam, declared that "it was of no more use
to hector old Deacon Enos than to fire a gun at a bag of cotton wool.
For all that, though, she shouldn't go to the quilting; nor, more,
should Susan."

"But, sister, why not?" said the little maiden; "I think I _shall_ go."
And Susan said this in a tone so mildly positive that Silence was
amazed.

"What upon 'arth ails you, Susan?" said she, opening her eyes with
astonishment; "haven't you any more spirit than to go to Deacon Enos's
when he is doing all he can to ruin us?"

"I like Deacon Enos," replied Susan; "he was always kind to me when I
was a little girl, and I am not going to believe that he is a bad man
now."

When a young lady states that she is not going to believe a thing, good
judges of human nature generally give up the case; but Miss Silence, to
whom the language of opposition and argument was entirely new, could
scarcely give