The Wichita City Eagle

"WHAT SHALL THE HARVEST BE?"
How a Surprise Party Ended—A Minister's Good Boy Wreaks Vengeance Upon his Father's Persecutors.
The funny man of the New York Times relates the adventures of Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer, a Methodist minister and his wife, and Master Sawyer, in West Brookfield, Vermont.
"In Northern Vermont," he says, "that peculiar form of social outrage known as a surprise party, but of late called a Bulgarian atrocity, is still lamentably frequent. On a cold evening in the first week of the present month, Mr. Sawyer and his family were seated quietly by their social hearth enjoying one another's society. The clergyman was reading aloud the Bishop's pastoral letter; his wife was busily calculating how to cut up her husband's old overcoat so as to supply him with a new waistcoat, herself with a new overskirt, and Master Sawyer with a new pair of trousers, while that excellent small boy was reading the improving adventures of an eminent pirate, and wondering whether he would ever be able to emulate them. Not one of the family was prepared to receive visitors. Mr. Sawyer had on his dressing-gown and slippers; Mrs. Sawyer had let down her back hair to give freedom to her mental processes, and Master Sawyer had temporarily slipped off his trousers to supply his mother with a pattern, while he wrapped the hearth-rug about him. Suddenly, and without the least warning, more than four dozen people of all kinds and sexes, including men, women, reformers, and theological students, burst into the room, carrying cake and devastation with them. The marauders conducted themselves after the usual custom of their kind. They conversed with one another with great hilarity, ignoring the sufferings of the clergyman and his wife. They spread their cake upon the table, and devouring it without plates, scattered the crumbs over the new carpet. One young man having laid a large piece of jelly cake on the sofa, subsequently sat down on it and Mrs. Sawyer felt that she would gladly join the Church of Rome on condition that the medieval tortures of the Inquisition should be revived, and she herself delegated to apply them to that particular young man.
After having reduced the furniture to that state of grease that it was no longer safe to sit down, the miscreants gathered around the piano and sung, "What Shall the Harvest Be," until Mr. Sawyer, mild as he was, regretted that he could not take a sharp scythe and reap an immediate and bloody harvest. While these blood-curdling outrages were in progress in the parlor, the good small boy kept himself carefully out of the room. He was not, however, wasting his time in idle rage. He, too, heard the numerous inquiries as to the harvest, and remarked to himself that they would find out all about the harvest if they would only wait a few minutes. Meanwhile he was busily engaged in carrying pails of water and emptying them on the front step and along the walk leading from the front door gate. The night was cold and the water froze rapidly. Under his admirable management the ice acquired an unusually smooth and slippery character, and when the work was thoroughly done the small boy retired to the second story front window and awaited for the surprise party to break up.
The moon was at its full, and shone brightly when the first pair of miscreants—the young man who sat on the jelly-cake and a heavy young lady to whom he was engaged—issued from the front door and sat down with tremendous emphasis. Close behind them came the rest of the raiders, who with one accord strewed themselves over the ground, until in some places, they were collected three or four deep. The shrieks of the ladies and the stronger remarks of the men, filled the air. No sooner would a struggling wretch regain his feet than he would sit down again with renewed violence. The affrighted clergyman and his wife gazed with wonder at the appalling spectacle, and the good small boy never ceased to sing "What Shall the Harvest Be?" at the very top of his lungs—interspersing that stirring hymn with a wild "whoop" whenever a particularly brilliant pair of stockings waved in the air. Although only three persons sustained fatal injuries, there was scarcely a member of the party who escaped without more or less serious wounds, either of body or clothing. Seventeen legs, two ribs, six arms, and a nose were broken; five ankles and six wrists were sprained, and one shoulder was dislocated. The icy pavement was strewn with fragments of teeth, spectacles, coats, trousers, and skins, and Master Sawyer picked up enough copper and silver change the next morning to enable him to buy twelve tickets in a raffle for a broken shot-gun, and to subscribe handsomely to the missionary fund. It is generally believed that there will never be another surprise party in Brookfield, and it is under contemplation among middle-aged householders to present Master Sawyer with a service of marbles, and a life-membership in the Foreign Missionary Society as a testimony of their esteem and gratitude."