Salt River Journal

A MELTING STORY.
One winter evening, a country store-keeper in the Mountain State was about closing doors for the night, and while standing in the snow outside putting up his window shutters, he saw through the glass a lounging, worthless fellow within, grab a pound of fresh butter from the shelf and hastily conceal it in his hat.
The act was no sooner detected than the revenge was hit upon, and a very few moments found the Green Mountain store-keeper at once indulging his appetite for fun to the fullest extent, and paying off the thief with a facetious sort of torture, for which he might have gained a premium from the old inquisition.
'I say, Seth,' said the storekeeper, coming in and closing the door after him, slapping the snow off his shoes.
Seth had his hand upon the door, his hat upon his head, and the roll of new butter in his hat, anxious to make his exit as soon as possible.
'I say, Seth, sit down; I reckon, now, on such an eternal cold night as this, a leetle something warm wouldn't hurt a fellow;— come and sit down.'
Seth felt very uncertain; he had the butter and was exceedingly anxious to be off, but the temptation of 'something warm sadly interfered with his resolution to go.— This hesitation however was soon settled by the right owner of the butter taking Seth by the shoulders and planting him in a seat close to the stove, where he was in such a manner cornered in by barrels and boxes that while the country storekeeper sat before him there was no possibility of his getting out, and right in this very place, sure enough, the store keeper sat down.
'Seth we'll have a little warm Santa Cruz, said the Green Mountain grocer, as he opened the stove door and stuffed in as many sticks as the space would admit. 'Without it you'd freeze going home such a night as this.'
Seth already felt the butter settling down closer to his hair, and jumped up, declaring he must go.
'Not till you have something warm, Seth; come, I've got a story to tell you, too; sit down, now;' and Seth was again pushed into his seat by his cunning tormentor.
'Oh! its too darn'd hot here,' said the petty thief again attempting to rise.
'Set down—don't be in such a plaguey hurry,' retorted the grocer, pushing him in his chair.
'But I've got the cows to fodder, and some wood to split, and I must be a goin,' continued the persecuted chap.
'But you musn't tear yourself away, Seth, in this manner. Set down: let the cows take care of themselves, and keep yourself cool, you appear to be fidgety!' said the roguish grocer with a wicked leer.
The next thing was the production of two smoking glasses of hot rum toddy, the very sight of which, in Seth's present situation, would have made the hair stand erect upon his head had it not been well oiled and kept down by the butter.
Seth, I'll give you a toast now, and you can butter it yourself,' said the grocer, yet with an air of such consummate simplicity that poor Seth still believed himself unsuspected. 'Seth, here's—here's a Christmas goose—(it was about Christmas time)—here's a Christmas goose, well roasted and basted, eh? I tell you, Seth, its the greatest eating in creation. And, Seth don't you never use hog's fat or common cooking butter to baste with; fresh pound butter, jest the same as you see on that shelf yonder, is the only proper thing in nature to baste a goose with; —come take your butter—I mean, Seth, take your toddy.'
Poor Seth now began to smoke, as well as to melt, and his mouth was as hermetically sealed up as if he had been born dumb.— Streak after streak of the butter came pouring from under his hat, and his handkerchief was already soaked with the greasy overflow. Talking away as if nothing was the matter, the grocer kept stuffing the wood into the stove, while poor Seth sat bolt upright; with his back against the counter and his knees almost touching the red hot furnace before him.
Darnation cold night, this,' said the grocer. 'Why, Seth, you seem to perspire as if you was warm! Why don't you take your hat off? Here, let me put your hat away!'
'No!' exclaimed poor Seth at last with a spasmodic effort to get his tongue loose, and clapping both hands upon his hat, 'No! I must go; let me out: I ain't well; let me go!' A greasy cataract was now pouring down the poor fellow's face and neck, and trickling down his body into his very boots, so that he was literally in a perfect bath of oil.
'Well, good night, Seth.' said the humorous Vermonter. 'If you will go;.' adding, as Seth got out into the road, 'neighbor, I reckon the fun I've had out of you is worth a ninepence, so I shan't charge you for that pound of butter.'—[N. O. Pic.