Althea had carefully
taken off my shoes, and had covered me over with cloaks and shawls,
without my knowing it. The swarm in the Hive had exemplified the poet's
idea of the tumultuous privacy of storm fairly well as to the tumult,
but as to the privacy, that was what could be had in a house overcrowded
with excited young folk. Frolic and fun were to the fore, and everybody
bore the troubles of that tempestuous evening with high good humor; one
weary, cross and fretful little chap being left out of the account. Left
out he was, for sure. Always at Brook Farm, anyone not strictly in it,
to use a phrase of later date, was absolutely out of it. One had to be
aboard the train or find himself standing alone on the platform.
I was in better case after what had to serve as a morning toilet, as
Mrs. Rykeman had promised to make up for a scanty supper by a treat of
good hot brewis. Brewis was a new word and I was more than ready to test
the merits of the unknown aliment, as, in my experience, anything
commended as good to eat, was sure to prove palatable.
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