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PLEASE PASS THE BUTTER
For several days the wagon train continued on until we had arrived at the
part of country to which we had been directed. Whether they bought or
pressed the corn, I know not, but the old gentleman invited us all to
take supper with him. If I have ever eaten a better supper than that
I have forgotten it. They had biscuit for supper. What! flour bread?
Did my eyes deceive me? Well, there were biscuit--sure enough flour
bread--and sugar and coffee--genuine Rio--none of your rye or potato
coffee, and butter--regular butter--and ham and eggs, and turnip greens,
and potatoes, and fried chicken, and nice clean plates--none of your tin
affairs--and a snow-white table-cloth and napkins, and white-handled
knives and silver forks. At the head of the table was the madam, having
on a pair of golden spectacles, and at the foot the old gentleman.
He said grace. And, to cap the climax, two handsome daughters. I know
that I had never seen two more beautiful ladies. They had on little
white aprons, trimmed with jaconet edging, and collars as clean and white
as snow. They looked good enough to eat, and I think at that time I
would have given ten years of my life to have kissed one of them.
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