Many and brilliant lights were flashing from the windows of Mrs.Mason's cottage, which seemed to enlarge its dimensions as one after another the guests came in.

First and foremost was the widow with her rustling silk of silver gray, and the red ribbons which she had sported at Sally Ann's wedding.

After a series of manoeuvres she had succeeded in gaining a view of the supper table, and now in a corner of the room she was detailing the particulars to an attentive group of listeners.
"The queerest things I ever see," said she, "and the queerest names, too.

Why, at one end of the table is a _muslin de laine puddin'_--" "A what ?" asked three or four ladies in the same breath, and the widow replied,--"May-be I didn't get the name right,--let me see:--No, come to think, it's a _Charlotte_ somebody puddin' instead of a muslin de laine.

And then at t'other end of the table is what I should call a dish of _hash_, but Judith says it's 'chicken Sally,' and it took the white meat of six or seven chickens to make it.