"
Again the village folk outdid themselves in applause, while Young Nick
muttered, "Well, I vum!" beneath his breath, and Hattie replied,
antiphonally, "My soul!" These were not the notes of mere surprise.
They were prayers for guidance in this exigency of finding a despised
intelligence exalted.
The celebration went on to a victorious close. Who shall sing the
sweetness of Isabel North, as she sat by the log-cabin door, placidly
spinning flax, or the horror of the moment when, redskins swooping down
on her and settlers on them, the ghost swept in and put them all to
flight? Who will ever forget the exercises in the hall, when the
"Suwanee River" was sung by minstrels, to a set of tableaux
representing the "old folks" at their cabin door, "playin' wid my
brudder" as a game of stick-knife, and the "Swanny" River itself by a
frieze of white pasteboard swans in the background? There were
patriotic songs, accompanied by remarks laudatory of England; since it
was justly felt that our mother-land might be wounded if, on an
occasion of this sort, we fomented international differences by
"America" or the reminiscent triumph of "The Sword of Bunker Hill." A
very noble sentiment pervaded Tiverton when, at twilight, little groups
of tired and very happy people lingered here and there before
"harnessing up" and betaking themselves to their homes.
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