228 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS. 
warm supper, as it was wash-day with the women folks.” 
Nearly another hour and supper was announced, and 
“such a supper!” not like Bob Cratchit’s, but still, 
“such asupper!”’ Few words would name the dishes, but 
in the mouth of other than Christians these words would 
necessarily be strong and emphatic. Weonly demurred 
at the tea, and asked for headache’s sake that it be a little 
stronger; it came back still weaker, when we suggested 
to the good woman—who, by the way, was as thick as 
the man was thin—that “ probably she had forgotten to 
put the tea in the pot, and had only steeped the water,” 
but like “ Barmody’s soup,” the liquid seemed to grow 
thin with each additional cooking. The hair-pin look- 
ing man, who had hen-hussied himself into the room, 
catching part of the colloquy, wittily (?) remarked, 
“This is a temperance house, this is, and probably the 
women folks are opposed to anything strong.” The 
sickly-looking butter testified otherwise, but like most 
obituary poetry, the occasion had a ludicrous side that 
partially made amends for physical discomfort. At a 
late hour we were shown the room, which had been 
“put to rights,” and preparations were made for slum- 
ber; they were only preparations, however, for what 
with unaired feather bed and pillows, whose strength 
only rivaled the butter and put to shame the tea, and 
with a swarm of mosquitoes and other hungry little 
inhabitants, the rest and sleep were not quite what 
are “promised to the just.” One was reminded of 
the inscription on a Swedish inn, “ You will find at 
Trolhate excellent beds, bread, meat and wine—pro- 
