“That air shillin o' Meshech's is the fuss money o' his'n I've seen fer flip in more'n a year,” said Widow Bingham, “an thar be them, not a thousan mile from here, nuther, ez I could say the same on, more shame to em, for't, an I a lone widder.” The line of remark adopted by the widow, appeared to exert a depressing influence on the spirits of the company, and this, together with the information volunteered by Obadiah, that it was “arter nine,” presently caused a general break-up. CHAPTER FOURTEENTH PEREZ GOES TO MEETING The very next day, as Squire Edwards and his family were sitting down to dinner, the eldest son Jonathan, a fine young fellow of sixteen, came in late with a blacked eye and torn clothes. “My son,” said Squire Edwards, sternly, “why do you come to the table in such a condition? What have you been doing?” “I've been fighting Obadiah Weeks, sir, and I whipped him, too.” “And I shall whip you, sir, and soundly,” said his father, with the Jove-like frown of the eighteenth century parent. “What have I told you about fighting? Go to your room, and wait for me there. You will have no dinner.” The boy turned on his heel without a word, and went out and up to his room. In the course of the afternoon, Squire Edwards was as good as his word. When he had come downstairs, after the discharge of his parental responsibilities, and gone into the store, Desire slipped up to Jonathan's room with a substantial luncheon under her apron. He was her favorite brother, and it was her habit thus surreptitiously to temper justice with mercy on occasions like the present. The lively satisfaction with which the youth hailed her appearance, gave ground to the suspicion that an empty stomach had been causing him more discomfort than a reproving conscience. As Desire was arranging the viands on the table she expressed a hope that the paternal correction had not been more painful than usual. The boy began to grin. “Don't you fret about father's lickins,” he said, “I'd just as lieve he'd lick me all day if he'll give me a couple o' minutes to get ready in. How many pair o' trowsers do you s'pose I've got on?” “One, of course.” “Four,” replied Jonathan, laying one forefinger by the side of his nose and winking at his sister. “I was sort of sorry for father, he got so tuckered trying to make me cry. Jimmeny, though, that veal pie looks good. I should hated to have lost that. You was real good to fetch it up. “T'was only fair, though, this time,” he continued, with his mouth full, “for t'was on 'count o' you I got to fightin.” “What do you mean?” said she. “Why, Obadiah's been tellin the biggest set o' lies about you I ever heard of. He's been tellin em all over town. He said you went over to Elnathan Hamlin's, Wednesday, and got down on your knees to that Cap'n Hamlin, so's to get him not to have no more o' those horse-fiddles in front of Uncle's and our houses. You better believe I walloped him well, if he is bigger than me.”