It is very rare in country life, where high days and holidays are few, that any occasion of general interest proves to be less than great. Such is the hidden fire of enthusiasm in the New England nature that, once given an outlet, it shines forth with almost volcanic light and heat. In quiet neighborhoods such inward force does not waste itself upon those petty excitements of every day that belong to cities, but when, at long intervals, the altars to patriotism, to friendship, to the ties of kindred, are reared in our familiar fields, then the fires glow, the flames come up as if from the inexhaustible burning heart of the earth; the primal fires break through the granite dust in which our souls are set. Each heart is warm and every face shines with the ancient light. Such a day as this has transfiguring powers, and easily makes friends of those who have been cold-hearted, and gives to those who are dumb their chance to speak, and lends some beauty to the plainest face. “Oh, I expect I shall meet friends to-day that I haven’t seen in a long while,” said Mrs. Blackett with deep satisfaction. “’Twill bring out a good many of the old folks, ’tis such a lovely day. I’m always glad not to have them disappointed.” “I guess likely the best of ’em ’ll be there,” answered Mrs. Todd with gentle humor, stealing a glance at me. “There’s one thing certain: there’s nothing takes in this whole neighborhood like anything related to the Bowdens. Yes, I do feel that when you call upon the Bowdens you may expect most families to rise up between the Landing and the far end of the Back Cove. Those that aren’t kin by blood are kin by marriage.” “There used to be an old story goin’ about when I was a girl,” said Mrs. Blackett, with much amusement. “There was a great many more Bowdens then than there are now, and the folks was all setting in meeting a dreadful hot Sunday afternoon, and a scatter-witted little bound girl came running to the meetin’-house door all out o’ breath from somewheres in the neighborhood. ‘Mis’ Bowden, Mis’ Bowden!’ says she. ‘Your baby’s in a fit!’ They used to tell that the whole congregation was up on its feet in a minute and right out into the aisles. All the Mis’ Bowdens was setting right out for home; the minister stood there in the pulpit trying’ to keep sober, an’ all at once he burst right out laughin’. He was a very nice man, they said, and he said he’d better give ’em the benediction, and they could hear the sermon next Sunday, so he kept it over. My mother was there, and she thought certain ’twas me.”