garnished the house with plenty of laurels and roses, and Mrs. Aikin and some other kind matrons had sent in a store of provisions, so that Susan spread her tea-table with the abundance and variety that characterize the evening meal in New-England.
Fresh biscuit and cookies, cherry-pie, smoked beef, stewed currants, peppergrass, cheese, and radishes, were on the table—the tea-kettle hissing a welcome over the fire, and Susan and Harry standing at the door and gazing at a turn in the road, where, between two branching elms that imbowered it, appeared Uncle Phil's wagon, and Charlotte was soon folded in the arms of her loving sister, and receiving a welcome nowise less joyful from Harry.
"I declare," said Uncle Phil, after the first salutations were passed, surveying the table with ineffable satisfaction, "you've set out what I call a tea, Susy. You beat 'em all in York—they live dreadful poor down there. To be sure, your Aunt Betsey lives in a brick house, and has a sight of furniture, and a gimcrack of a timepiece on her mantelpiece (it don't go half so true as our old wooden one), and high plated candlesticks, and such knick-knacks; yet she has all her bread to buy by the loaf, and the milk is sky-blue; as to cream, I don't believe they ever heard on't. Cakes and pies are scarce, I tell you. I don't believe peppergrass has come there yet, for I never saw a spear of it on the table, nor a speck of cheese. But the worst of all is the water. Poor Jock would have choked before he would have drank a drop of it; and they live in such a dust and
