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148
The Country of the Pointed Firs
·
Sarah Orne Jewett
120
XIX.
The
Feast's
End
THE
FEAST
was
a
noble
feast,
as
has
already
been
said.
There
was
an
elegant
ingenuity
displayed
in
the
form
of
pies
which
delighted
my
heart.
Once
acknowledge
that
an
American
pie
is
far
to
be
preferred
to
its
humble
ancestor,
the
English
tart,
and
it
is
joyful
to
be
reassured
at
a
Bowden
reunion
that
invention
has
not
yet
failed.
Beside
a
delightful
variety
of
material,
the
decorations
went
beyond
all
my
former
experience;
dates
and
names
were
wrought
in
lines
of
pastry
and
frosting
on
the
tops.
There
was
even
more
elaborate
reading
matter
on
an
excellent
early-apple
pie
which
we
began
to
share
and
eat,
precept
upon
precept.
Mrs.
Todd
helped
me
generously
to
the
whole
word
BOWDEN,
and
consumed
REUNION
herself,
save
an
undecipherable
fragment;
but
the
most
renowned
essay
in
cookery
on
the
tables
was
a
model
of
the
old
Bowden
house
made
of
durable
gingerbread,
with
all
the
windows
and
doors
in
the
right
places,
and
sprigs
of
genuine
lilac
set
at
the
front.
It
must
have
been
baked
in
sections,
in
one
of
the
last
of
the
great
brick
ovens,
and
fastened
together
on
the
morning
of
the
day.
There
was
a
general
sigh
when
this
fell
into
ruin
at
the
feast's
end,
and
it
was
shared
by
a
great
part
of
the
assembly,
not
without
seriousness,
and
as
if
it
were
a
pledge
and
token
of
loyalty.
I
met
the
maker
of
the
gingerbread
house,
which
had
called
up
lively
remembrances
of
a
childish
story.
She
had
the
gleaming
eye
of
an
enthusiast
and
a
look
of
high
ideals.
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