fans spread out behind those things.  On the table in the middle of the room was a kind of a lovely crockery basket that had apples and oranges and peaches and g****s piled up in it, which was much redder and yellower and prettier than real ones is, but they warn't real because you could see where pieces had got chipped off and showed the white chalk, or whatever it was, underneath. This table had a cover made out of beautiful oilcloth, with a red and blue spread-eagle painted on it, and a painted border all around.  It come all the way from Philadelphia, they said.  There was some books, too, piled up perfectly exact, on each corner of the table.  One was a big family Bible full of pictures.  One was Pilgrim's Progress, about a man that left his family, it didn't say why.  I read considerable in it now and then.  The statements was interesting, but tough.  Another was Friendship's Offering, full of beautiful stuff and poetry; but I didn't read the poetry.  Another was Henry Clay's S