The table was neatly spread with a white cloth; there was an empty bowl
and a spoon at each individual's place. In the centre of the table stood
a pitcher of milk and a bowl of sugar. Grandpa Keeler having asked the
blessing after the approved manner of the morning, there was a general
uprising and moving, bowl in hand, towards the cauldron of hulled corn on
the stove. This was lively, and there was a pleasurable excitement about
skimming the swollen kernels of corn out of the boiling, seething liquid
in which they were immersed. Eaten afterwards with milk and sugar and a
little salt, the compound became possessed of a truly "comforting"
nature.
I stood, for the second time, over the kettle with my eye-glasses
securely adjusted, very earnestly and thoughtfully occupied in wielding
the skimmer, when the door of the Ark suddenly opened and a mischievously
smiling young man appeared on the threshold. He was not a Wallencamper, I
saw at a glance. There was about him an unmistakable air of the great
world. He was fashionably dressed and rather good-looking, with a short
upper lip and a decided tinge of red in his hair. He stood staring at me
with such manifest appreciation of the situation in his laughing eyes,
that I felt a barbarous impulse to throw the skimmer of hot corn at him.
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