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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/2011-0.txt b/2011-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b4726df --- /dev/null +++ b/2011-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7958 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Rudder Grange, by Frank R. Stockton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Rudder Grange + +Author: Frank R. Stockton + +Posting Date: November 7, 2008 [EBook #2011] +Release Date: December, 1999 +Last Updated: March 12, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RUDDER GRANGE *** + + + + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer + + + + + +RUDDER GRANGE + +By Frank R. Stockton + + + + +CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER I. + + Treating of a Novel Style of Dwelling-house + + + CHAPTER II. + + Treating of a Novel Style of Boarder + + + CHAPTER III. + + Treating of a Novel Style of Girl + + + CHAPTER IV. + + Treating of a Novel Style of Burglar + + + CHAPTER V. + + Pomona Produces a Partial Revolution in Rudder Grange + + + CHAPTER VI. + + The New Rudder Grange + + + CHAPTER VII. + + Treating of an Unsuccessful Broker and a Dog + + + CHAPTER VIII. + + Pomona Once More + + + CHAPTER IX. + + We Camp Out + + + CHAPTER X. + + Wet Blankets + + + CHAPTER XI. + + The Boarder's Visit + + + CHAPTER XII. + + Lord Edward and the Tree-man + + + CHAPTER XIII. + + Pomona's Novel + + + CHAPTER XIV. + + Pomona takes a Bridal Trip + + + CHAPTER XV. + + In which two New Friends disport themselves + + + CHAPTER XVI. + + In which an Old Friend appears, and the Bridal Trip takes a Fresh Start + + + CHAPTER XVII. + + In which we take a Vacation and look for David Dutton + + + CHAPTER XVIII. + + Our Tavern + + + CHAPTER XIX. + + The Baby at Rudder Grange + + + CHAPTER XX. + + The Other Baby at Rudder Grange + + + + +RUDDER GRANGE. + + + +CHAPTER I. TREATING OF A NOVEL STYLE OF DWELLING HOUSE. + + +For some months after our marriage, Euphemia and I boarded. But we did +not like it. Indeed, there was no reason why we should like it. Euphemia +said that she never felt at home except when she was out, which feeling, +indicating such an excessively unphilosophic state of mind, was enough +to make me desire to have a home of my own, where, except upon rare and +exceptional occasions, my wife would never care to go out. + +If you should want to rent a house, there are three ways to find one. +One way is to advertise; another is to read the advertisements of other +people. This is a comparatively cheap way. A third method is to apply to +an agent. But none of these plans are worth anything. The proper way +is to know some one who will tell you of a house that will exactly suit +you. Euphemia and I thoroughly investigated this matter, and I know that +what I say is a fact. + +We tried all the plans. When we advertised, we had about a dozen +admirable answers, but in these, although everything seemed to suit, the +amount of rent was not named. (None of those in which the rent was named +would do at all.) And when I went to see the owners, or agents of these +suitable houses, they asked much higher rents than those mentioned in +the unavailable answers--and this, notwithstanding the fact that they +always asserted that their terms were either very reasonable or else +greatly reduced on account of the season being advanced. (It was now the +fifteenth of May.) + +Euphemia and I once wrote a book,--this was just before we were +married,--in which we told young married people how to go to +housekeeping and how much it would cost them. We knew all about it, for +we had asked several people. Now the prices demanded as yearly rental +for small furnished houses, by the owners and agents of whom I have been +speaking, were, in many cases, more than we had stated a house could be +bought and furnished for! + +The advertisements of other people did not serve any better. There was +always something wrong about the houses when we made close inquiries, +and the trouble was generally in regard to the rent. With agents we +had a little better fortune. Euphemia sometimes went with me on my +expeditions to real estate offices, and she remarked that these offices +were always in the basement, or else you had to go up to them in an +elevator. There was nothing between these extremes. And it was a good +deal the same way, she said, with their houses. They were all very low +indeed in price and quality, or else too high. + +One trouble was that we wanted a house in a country place, not very far +from the city, and not very far from the railroad station or steamboat +landing. We also wanted the house to be nicely shaded and fully +furnished, and not to be in a malarial neighborhood, or one infested by +mosquitoes. + +“If we do go to housekeeping,” said Euphemia, “we might as well get a +house to suit us while we are about it. Moving is more expensive than a +fire.” + +There was one man who offered us a house that almost suited us. It was +near the water, had rooms enough, and some--but not very much--ground, +and was very accessible to the city. The rent, too, was quite +reasonable. But the house was unfurnished. The agent, however, did not +think that this would present any obstacle to our taking it. He was +sure that the owner would furnish it if we paid him ten per cent, on the +value of the furniture he put into it. We agreed that if the landlord +would do this and let us furnish the house according to the plans laid +down in our book, that we would take the house. But unfortunately this +arrangement did not suit the landlord, although he was in the habit of +furnishing houses for tenants and charging them ten per cent. on the +cost. + +I saw him myself and talked to him about it. + +“But you see,” said he, when I had shown him our list of articles +necessary for the furnishing of a house, “it would not pay me to buy +all these things, and rent them out to you. If you only wanted heavy +furniture, which would last for years, the plan would answer, but you +want everything. I believe the small conveniences you have on this list +come to more money than the furniture and carpets.” + +“Oh, yes,” said I. “We are not so very particular about furniture +and carpets, but these little conveniences are the things that make +housekeeping pleasant, and,--speaking from a common-sense point of +view,--profitable.” + +“That may be,” he answered, “but I can't afford to make matters pleasant +and profitable for you in that way. Now, then, let us look at one or two +particulars. Here, on your list, is an ice-pick: twenty-five cents. +Now, if I buy that ice-pick and rent it to you at two and a-half cents +a year, I shall not get my money back unless it lasts you ten years. And +even then, as it is not probable that I can sell that ice-pick after +you have used it for ten years, I shall have made nothing at all by +my bargain. And there are other things in that list, such as +feather-dusters and lamp-chimneys, that couldn't possibly last ten +years. Don't you see my position?” + +I saw it. We did not get that furnished house. Euphemia was greatly +disappointed. + +“It would have been just splendid,” she said, “to have taken our book +and have ordered all these things at the stores, one after another, +without even being obliged to ask the price.” + +I had my private doubts in regard to this matter of price. I am afraid +that Euphemia generally set down the lowest price and the best things. +She did not mean to mislead, and her plan certainly made our book +attractive. But it did not work very well in practice. We have a friend +who undertook to furnish her house by our book, and she never could get +the things as cheaply as we had them quoted. + +“But you see,” said Euphemia, to her, “we had to put them down at very +low prices, because the model house we speak of in the book is to be +entirely furnished for just so much.” + +But, in spite of this explanation, the lady was not satisfied. + +We found ourselves obliged to give up the idea of a furnished house. We +would have taken an unfurnished one and furnished it ourselves, but we +had not money enough. We were dreadfully afraid that we should have to +continue to board. + +It was now getting on toward summer, at least there was only a part of +a month of spring left, and whenever I could get off from my business +Euphemia and I made little excursions into the country round about the +city. One afternoon we went up the river, and there we saw a sight that +transfixed us, as it were. On the bank, a mile or so above the city, +stood a canal-boat. I say stood, because it was so firmly imbedded +in the ground by the river-side, that it would have been almost as +impossible to move it as to have turned the Sphinx around. This boat we +soon found was inhabited by an oyster-man and his family. They had lived +there for many years and were really doing quite well. The boat was +divided, inside, into rooms, and these were papered and painted and +nicely furnished. There was a kitchen, a living-room, a parlor and +bedrooms. There were all sorts of conveniences--carpets on the floors, +pictures, and everything, at least so it seemed to us, to make a home +comfortable. This was not all done at once, the oyster-man told me. They +had lived there for years and had gradually added this and that until +the place was as we saw it. He had an oyster-bed out in the river and +he made cider in the winter, but where he got the apples I don't know. +There was really no reason why he should not get rich in time. + +Well, we went all over that house and we praised everything so much that +the oyster-man's wife was delighted, and when we had some stewed oysters +afterward,--eating them at a little table under a tree near by,--I +believe that she picked out the very largest oysters she had, to stew +for us. When we had finished our supper and had paid for it, and were +going down to take our little boat again,--for we had rowed up the +river,--Euphemia stopped and looked around her. Then she clasped her +hands and exclaimed in an ecstatic undertone: + +“We must have a canal-boat!” + +And she never swerved from that determination. + +After I had seriously thought over the matter, I could see no good +reason against adopting this plan. It would certainly be a cheap method +of living, and it would really be housekeeping. I grew more and more in +favor of it. After what the oyster-man had done, what might not we do? +HE had never written a book on housekeeping, nor, in all probability, +had he considered the matter, philosophically, for one moment in all his +life. + +But it was not an easy thing to find a canal-boat. There were none +advertised for rent--at least, not for housekeeping purposes. + +We made many inquiries and took many a long walk along the water-courses +in the vicinity of the city, but all in vain. Of course, we talked a +great deal about our project and our friends became greatly interested +in it, and, of course, too, they gave us a great deal of advice, but we +didn't mind that. We were philosophical enough to know that you can't +have shad without bones. They were good friends and, by being careful in +regard to the advice, it didn't interfere with our comfort. + +We were beginning to be discouraged, at least Euphemia was. Her +discouragement is like water-cresses, it generally comes up in a very +short time after she sows her wishes. But then it withers away rapidly, +which is a comfort. One evening we were sitting, rather disconsolately, +in our room, and I was reading out the advertisements of country board +in a newspaper, when in rushed Dr. Heare--one of our old friends. He was +so full of something that he had to say that he didn't even ask us how +we were. In fact, he didn't appear to want to know. + +“I tell you what it is,” said he, “I have found just the very thing you +want.” + +“A canal-boat?” I cried. + +“Yes,” said he, “a canal-boat.” + +“Furnished?” asked Euphemia, her eyes glistening. + +“Well, no,” answered the doctor, “I don't think you could expect that.” + +“But we can't live on the bare floor,” said Euphemia; “our house MUST be +furnished.” + +“Well, then, I suppose this won't do,” said the doctor, ruefully, “for +there isn't so much as a boot-jack in it. It has most things that +are necessary for a boat, but it hasn't anything that you could call +house-furniture; but, dear me, I should think you could furnish it very +cheaply and comfortably out of your book.” + +“Very true,” said Euphemia, “if we could pick out the cheapest things +and then get some folks to buy a lot of the books.” + +“We could begin with very little,” said I, trying hard to keep calm. + +“Certainly,” said the doctor, “you need make no more rooms, at first, +than you could furnish.” + +“Then there are no rooms,” said Euphemia. + +“No, there is nothing but one vast apartment extending from stem to +stern.” + +“Won't it be glorious!” said Euphemia to me. “We can first make a +kitchen, and then a dining-room, and a bedroom, and then a parlor--just +in the order in which our book says they ought to be furnished.” + +“Glorious!” I cried, no longer able to contain my enthusiasm; “I should +think so. Doctor, where is this canal-boat?” + +The doctor then went into a detailed statement. The boat was stranded +on the shore of the Scoldsbury river not far below Ginx's. We knew where +Ginx's was, because we had spent a very happy day there, during our +honeymoon. + +The boat was a good one, but superannuated. That, however, did not +interfere with its usefulness as a dwelling. We could get it--the doctor +had seen the owner--for a small sum per annum, and here was positively +no end to its capabilities. + +We sat up until twenty minutes past two, talking about that house. We +ceased to call it a boat at about a quarter of eleven. + +The next day I “took” the boat and paid a month's rent in advance. Three +days afterward we moved into it. + +We had not much to move, which was a comfort, looking at it from one +point of view. A carpenter had put up two partitions in it which made +three rooms--a kitchen, a dining-room and a very long bedroom, which +was to be cut up into a parlor, study, spare-room, etc., as soon as +circumstances should allow, or my salary should be raised. Originally, +all the doors and windows were in the roof, so to speak, but our +landlord allowed us to make as many windows to the side of the boat +as we pleased, provided we gave him the wood we cut out. It saved him +trouble, he said, but I did not understand him at the time. Accordingly, +the carpenter made several windows for us, and put in sashes, which +opened on hinges like the hasp of a trunk. Our furniture did not amount +to much, at first. The very thought of living in this independent, +romantic way was so delightful, Euphemia said, that furniture seemed a +mere secondary matter. + +We were obliged indeed to give up the idea of following the plan +detailed in our book, because we hadn't the sum upon which the +furnishing of a small house was therein based. + +“And if we haven't the money,” remarked Euphemia, “it would be of no +earthly use to look at the book. It would only make us doubt our own +calculations. You might as well try to make brick without mortar, as the +children of Israel did.” + +“I could do that myself, my dear,” said I, “but we won't discuss that +subject now. We will buy just what we absolutely need, and then work up +from that.” + +Acting on this plan, we bought first a small stove, because Euphemia +said that we could sleep on the floor, if it were necessary, but we +couldn't make a fire on the floor--at least not often. Then we got +a table and two chairs. The next thing we purchased was some hanging +shelves for our books, and Euphemia suddenly remembered the kitchen +things. These, which were few, with some crockery, nearly brought us to +the end of our resources, but we had enough for a big easy-chair which +Euphemia was determined I should have, because I really needed it when +I came home at night, tired with my long day's work at the office. I had +always been used to an easy-chair, and it was one of her most delightful +dreams to see me in a real nice one, comfortably smoking my pipe in my +own house, after eating my own delicious little supper in company with +my own dear wife. We selected the chair, and then we were about to order +the things sent out to our future home, when I happened to think that we +had no bed. I called Euphemia's attention to the fact. + +She was thunderstruck. + +“I never thought of that,” she said. “We shall have to give up the +stove.” + +“Not at all,” said I, “we can't do that. We must give up the +easy-chair.” + +“Oh, that would be too bad,” said she. “The house would seem like +nothing to me without the chair!” + +“But we must do without it, my dear,” said I, “at least for a while. I +can sit out on deck and smoke of an evening, you know.” + +“Yes,” said Euphemia. “You can sit on the bulwarks and I can sit by you. +That will do very well. I'm sure I'm glad the boat has bulwarks.” + +So we resigned the easy-chair and bought a bedstead and some very plain +bedding. The bedstead was what is sometimes called a “scissors-bed.” + We could shut it up when we did not want to sleep in it, and stand it +against the wall. + +When we packed up our trunks and left the boarding-house Euphemia fairly +skipped with joy. + +We went down to Ginx's in the first boat, having arranged that our +furniture should be sent to us in the afternoon. We wanted to be there +to receive it. The trip was just wildly delirious. The air was charming. +The sun was bright, and I had a whole holiday. When we reached Ginx's we +found that the best way to get our trunks and ourselves to our house was +to take a carriage, and so we took one. I told the driver to drive along +the river road and I would tell him where to stop. + +When we reached our boat, and had alighted, I said to the driver: + +“You can just put our trunks inside, anywhere.” + +The man looked at the trunks and then looked at the boat. Afterward he +looked at me. + +“That boat ain't goin' anywhere,” said he. + +“I should think not,” said Euphemia. “We shouldn't want to live in it, +if it were.” + +“You are going to live in it?” said the man. + +“Yes,” said Euphemia. + +“Oh!” said the man, and he took our trunks on board, without another +word. + +It was not very easy for him to get the trunks into our new home. +In fact it was not easy for us to get there ourselves. There was a +gang-plank, with a rail on one side of it, which inclined from the shore +to the deck of the boat at an angle of forty-five degrees, and when the +man had staggered up this plank with the trunks (Euphemia said I ought +to have helped him, but I really thought that it would be better for one +person to fall off the plank than for two to go over together), and +we had paid him, and he had driven away in a speechless condition, we +scrambled up and stood upon the threshold, or, rather, the after-deck of +our home. + +It was a proud moment. Euphemia glanced around, her eyes full of happy +tears, and then she took my arm and we went down stairs--at least we +tried to go down in that fashion, but soon found it necessary to go one +at a time. We wandered over the whole extent of our mansion and found +that our carpenter had done his work better than the woman whom we had +engaged to scrub and clean the house. Something akin to despair must +have seized upon her, for Euphemia declared that the floors looked +dirtier than on the occasion of her first visit, when we rented the +boat. + +But that didn't discourage us. We felt sure that we should get it clean +in time. + +Early in the afternoon our furniture arrived, together with the other +things we had bought, and the men who brought them over from the +steamboat landing had the brightest, merriest faces I ever noticed among +that class of people. Euphemia said it was an excellent omen to +have such cheerful fellows come to us on the very first day of our +housekeeping. + +Then we went to work. I put up the stove, which was not much trouble, +as there was a place all ready in the deck for the stove-pipe to be run +through. Euphemia was somewhat surprised at the absence of a chimney, +but I assured her that boats were very seldom built with chimneys. My +dear little wife bustled about and arranged the pots and kettles on +nails that I drove into the kitchen walls. Then she made the bed in the +bed-room and I hung up a looking-glass and a few little pictures that we +had brought in our trunks. + +Before four o'clock our house was in order. Then we began to be very +hungry. + +“My dear,” said Euphemia, “we ought to have thought to bring something +to cook.” + +“That is very true,” said I, “but I think perhaps we had better walk +up to Ginx's and get our supper to-night. You see we are so tired and +hungry.” + +“What!” cried Euphemia, “go to a hotel the very first day? I think it +would be dreadful! Why, I have been looking forward to this first meal +with the greatest delight. You can go up to the little store by the +hotel and buy some things and I will cook them, and we will have our +first dear little meal here all alone by ourselves, at our own table and +in our own house.” + +So this was determined upon and, after a hasty counting of the fund I +had reserved for moving and kindred expenses, and which had been sorely +depleted during the day, I set out, and in about an hour returned with +my first marketing. + +I made a fire, using a lot of chips and blocks the carpenter had left, +and Euphemia cooked the supper, and we ate it from our little table, +with two large towels for a table-cloth. + +It was the most delightful meal I ever ate! + +And, when we had finished, Euphemia washed the dishes (the thoughtful +creature had put some water on the stove to heat for the purpose, +while we were at supper) and then we went on deck, or on the piazza, as +Euphemia thought we had better call it, and there we had our smoke. I +say WE, for Euphemia always helps me to smoke by sitting by me, and she +seems to enjoy it as much as I do. + +And when the shades of evening began to gather around us, I hauled in +the gang-plank (just like a delightful old draw-bridge, Euphemia said, +although I hope for the sake of our ancestors that draw-bridges were +easier to haul in) and went to bed. + +It is lucky we were tired and wanted to go to bed early, for we had +forgotten all about lamps or candles. + +For the next week we were two busy and happy people. I rose about +half-past five and made the fire,--we found so much wood on the shore, +that I thought I should not have to add fuel to my expenses,--and +Euphemia cooked the breakfast. I then went to a well belonging to a +cottage near by where we had arranged for water-privileges, and filled +two buckets with delicious water and carried them home for Euphemia's +use through the day. Then I hurried off to catch the train, for, as +there was a station near Ginx's, I ceased to patronize the steamboat, +the hours of which were not convenient. After a day of work and +pleasurable anticipation at the office, I hastened back to my home, +generally laden with a basket of provisions and various household +necessities. Milk was brought to us daily from the above-mentioned +cottage by a little toddler who seemed just able to carry the small tin +bucket which held a lacteal pint. If the urchin had been the child of +rich parents, as Euphemia sometimes observed, he would have been in his +nurse's arms--but being poor, he was scarcely weaned before he began to +carry milk around to other people. + +After I reached home came supper and the delightful evening hours, +when over my pipe (I had given up cigars, as being too expensive and +inappropriate, and had taken to a tall pipe and canaster tobacco) we +talked and planned, and told each other our day's experience. + +One of our earliest subjects of discussion was the name of our +homestead. Euphemia insisted that it should have a name. I was quite +willing, but we found it no easy matter to select an appropriate title. +I proposed a number of appellations intended to suggest the character of +our home. Among these were: “Safe Ashore,” “Firmly Grounded,” and some +other names of that style, but Euphemia did not fancy any of them. She +wanted a suitable name, of course, she said, but it must be something +that would SOUND like a house and BE like a boat. + +“Partitionville,” she objected to, and “Gangplank Terrace,” did not suit +her because it suggested convicts going out to work, which naturally was +unpleasant. + +At last, after days of talk and cogitation, we named our house “Rudder +Grange.” + +To be sure, it wasn't exactly a grange, but then it had such an enormous +rudder that the justice of that part of the title seemed to over-balance +any little inaccuracy in the other portion. + +But we did not spend all our spare time in talking. An hour or two, +every evening was occupied in what we called “fixing the house,” and +gradually the inside of our abode began to look like a conventional +dwelling. We put matting on the floors and cheap but very pretty paper +on the walls. We added now a couple of chairs, and now a table or +something for the kitchen. Frequently, especially of a Sunday, we had +company, and our guests were always charmed with Euphemia's cunning +little meals. The dear girl loved good eating so much that she could +scarcely fail to be a good cook. + +We worked hard, and were very happy. And thus the weeks passed on. + + + +CHAPTER II. TREATING OF A NOVEL STYLE OF BOARDER. + + +In this delightful way of living, only one thing troubled us. We didn't +save any money. There were so many little things that we wanted, and so +many little things that were so cheap, that I spent pretty much all +I made, and that was far from the philosophical plan of living that I +wished to follow. + +We talked this matter over a great deal after we had lived in our new +home for about a month, and we came at last to the conclusion that we +would take a boarder. + +We had no trouble in getting a boarder, for we had a friend, a young man +who was engaged in the flour business, who was very anxious to come +and live with us. He had been to see us two or three times, and had +expressed himself charmed with our household arrangements. + +So we made terms with him. The carpenter partitioned off another room, +and our boarder brought his trunk and a large red velvet arm-chair, and +took up his abode at “Rudder Grange.” + +We liked our boarder very much, but he had some peculiarities. I suppose +everybody has them. Among other things, he was very fond of telling us +what we ought to do. He suggested more improvements in the first three +days of his sojourn with us than I had thought of since we commenced +housekeeping. And what made the matter worse, his suggestions were +generally very good ones. Had it been otherwise I might have borne his +remarks more complacently, but to be continually told what you ought to +do, and to know that you ought to do it, is extremely annoying. + +He was very anxious that I should take off the rudder, which was +certainly useless to a boat situated as ours was, and make an +ironing-table of it. I persisted that the laws of symmetrical propriety +required that the rudder should remain where it was--that the very name +of our home would be interfered with by its removal, but he insisted +that “Ironing-table Grange” would be just as good a name, and that +symmetrical propriety in such a case did not amount to a row of pins. + +The result was, that we did have the ironing-table, and that Euphemia +was very much pleased with it. A great many other improvements were +projected and carried out by him, and I was very much worried. He made +a flower-garden for Euphemia on the extreme forward-deck, and having +borrowed a wheelbarrow, he wheeled dozens of loads of arable dirt up +our gang-plank and dumped them out on the deck. When he had covered +the garden with a suitable depth of earth, he smoothed it off and then +planted flower-seeds. It was rather late in the season, but most of +them came up. I was pleased with the garden, but sorry I had not made it +myself. + +One afternoon I got away from the office considerably earlier than +usual, and I hurried home to enjoy the short period of daylight that I +should have before supper. It had been raining the day before, and as +the bottom of our garden leaked so that earthy water trickled down at +one end of our bed-room, I intended to devote a short time to stuffing +up the cracks in the ceiling or bottom of the deck--whichever seems the +most appropriate. + +But when I reached a bend in the river road, whence I always had the +earliest view of my establishment, I did not have that view. I +hurried on. The nearer I approached the place where I lived, the more +horror-stricken I became. There was no mistaking the fact. + +The boat was not there! + +In an instant the truth flashed upon me. + +The water was very high--the rain had swollen the river--my house had +floated away! + +It was Wednesday. On Wednesday afternoons our boarder came home early. + +I clapped my hat tightly on my head and ground my teeth. + +“Confound that boarder!” I thought. “He has been fooling with the +anchor. He always said it was of no use, and taking advantage of my +absence, he has hauled it up, and has floated away, and has gone--gone +with my wife and my home!” + +Euphemia and “Rudder Grange” had gone off together--where I knew +not,--and with them that horrible suggester! + +I ran wildly along the bank. I called aloud, I shouted and hailed each +passing craft--of which there were only two--but their crews must have +been very inattentive to the woes of landsmen, or else they did not hear +me, for they paid no attention to my cries. + +I met a fellow with an axe on his shoulder. I shouted to him before I +reached him: + +“Hello! did you see a boat--a house, I mean,--floating up the river?” + +“A boat-house?” asked the man. + +“No, a house-boat,” I gasped. + +“Didn't see nuthin' like it,” said the man, and he passed on, to his +wife and home, no doubt. But me! Oh, where was my wife and my home? + +I met several people, but none of them had seen a fugitive canal-boat. + +How many thoughts came into my brain as I ran along that river road! If +that wretched boarder had not taken the rudder for an ironing table he +might have steered in shore! Again and again I confounded--as far as +mental ejaculations could do it--his suggestions. + +I was rapidly becoming frantic when I met a person who hailed me. + +“Hello!” he said, “are you after a canal-boat adrift?” + +“Yes,” I panted. + +“I thought you was,” he said. “You looked that way. Well, I can tell you +where she is. She's stuck fast in the reeds at the lower end o' Peter's +Pint.” + +“Where's that?” said I. + +“Oh, it's about a mile furder up. I seed her a-driftin' up with the +tide--big flood tide, to-day--and I thought I'd see somebody after her, +afore long. Anything aboard?” + +Anything! + +I could not answer the man. Anything, indeed! I hurried on up the river +without a word. Was the boat a wreck? I scarcely dared to think of it. I +scarcely dared to think at all. + +The man called after me and I stopped. I could but stop, no matter what +I might hear. + +“Hello, mister,” he said, “got any tobacco?” + +I walked up to him. I took hold of him by the lapel of his coat. It was +a dirty lapel, as I remember even now, but I didn't mind that. + +“Look here,” said I. “Tell me the truth, I can bear it. Was that vessel +wrecked?” + +The man looked at me a little queerly. I could not exactly interpret his +expression. + +“You're sure you kin bear it?” said he. + +“Yes,” said I, my hand trembling as I held his coat. + +“Well, then,” said he, “it's mor'n I kin,” and he jerked his coat out of +my hand, and sprang away. When he reached the other side of the road, he +turned and shouted at me, as though I had been deaf. + +“Do you know what I think?” he yelled. “I think you're a darned +lunatic,” and with that he went his way. + +I hastened on to Peter's Point. Long before I reached it, I saw the +boat. + +It was apparently deserted. But still I pressed on. I must know the +worst. When I reached the Point, I found that the boat had run aground, +with her head in among the long reeds and mud, and the rest of her hull +lying at an angle from the shore. + +There was consequently no way for me to get on board, but to wade +through the mud and reeds to her bow, and then climb up as well as I +could. + +This I did, but it was not easy to do. Twice I sank above my knees +in mud and water, and had it not been for reeds, masses of which I +frequently clutched when I thought I was going over, I believe I should +have fallen down and come to my death in that horrible marsh. When +I reached the boat, I stood up to my hips in water and saw no way of +climbing up. The gang-plank had undoubtedly floated away, and if it had +not, it would have been of no use to me in my position. + +But I was desperate. I clasped the post that they put in the bow of +canal-boats; I stuck my toes and my finger-nails in the cracks between +the boards--how glad I was that the boat was an old one and had +cracks!--and so, painfully and slowly, slipping part way down once or +twice, and besliming myself from chin to foot, I climbed up that post +and scrambled upon deck. In an instant, I reached the top of the stairs, +and in another instant I rushed below. + +There sat my wife and our boarder, one on each side of the dining-room +table, complacently playing checkers! + +My sudden entrance startled them. My appearance startled them still +more. + +Euphemia sprang to her feet and tottered toward me. + +“Mercy!” she exclaimed; “has anything happened?” + +“Happened!” I gasped. + +“Look here,” cried the boarder, clutching me by the arm, “what a +condition you're in. Did you fall in?” + +“Fall in!” said I. + +Euphemia and the boarder looked at each other. I looked at them. Then I +opened my mouth in earnest. + +“I suppose you don't know,” I yelled, “that you have drifted away!” + +“By George!” cried the boarder, and in two bounds he was on deck. + +Dirty as I was, Euphemia fell into my arms. I told her all. She hadn't +known a bit of it! + +The boat had so gently drifted off, and had so gently grounded among +the reeds, that the voyage had never so much as disturbed their games of +checkers. + +“He plays such a splendid game,” Euphemia sobbed, “and just as you came, +I thought I was going to beat him. I had two kings and two pieces on the +next to last row, and you are nearly drowned. You'll get your death of +cold--and--and he had only one king.” + +She led me away and I undressed and washed myself and put on my Sunday +clothes. + +When I reappeared I went out on deck with Euphemia. The boarder was +there, standing by the petunia bed. His arms were folded and he was +thinking profoundly. As we approached, he turned toward us. + +“You were right about that anchor,” he said, “I should not have hauled +it in; but it was such a little anchor that I thought it would be of +more use on board as a garden hoe.” + +“A very little anchor will sometimes do very well,” said I, cuttingly, +“when it is hooked around a tree.” + +“Yes, there is something in that,” said he. + +It was now growing late, and as our agitation subsided we began to be +hungry. Fortunately, we had everything necessary on board, and, as it +really didn't make any difference in our household economy, where we +happened to be located, we had supper quite as usual. In fact, the +kettle had been put on to boil during the checker-playing. + +After supper, we went on deck to smoke, as was our custom, but there was +a certain coolness between me and our boarder. + +Early the next morning I arose and went upstairs to consider what had +better be done, when I saw the boarder standing on shore, near by. + +“Hello!” he cried, “the tide's down and I got ashore without any +trouble. You stay where you are. I've hired a couple of mules to tow the +boat back. They'll be here when the tide rises. And, hello! I've found +the gang-plank. It floated ashore about a quarter of a mile below here.” + +In the course of the afternoon the mules and two men with a long rope +appeared, and we were then towed back to where we belonged. + +And we are there yet. Our boarder remains with us, as the weather is +still fine, and the coolness between us is gradually diminishing. But +the boat is moored at both ends, and twice a day I look to see if the +ropes are all right. + +The petunias are growing beautifully, but the geraniums do not seem to +flourish. Perhaps there is not a sufficient depth of earth for them. +Several times our boarder has appeared to be on the point of suggesting +something in regard to them, but, for some reason or other, he says +nothing. + + + +CHAPTER III. TREATING OF A NOVEL STYLE OF GIRL. + + +One afternoon, as I was hurrying down Broadway to catch the five o'clock +train, I met Waterford. He is an old friend of mine, and I used to like +him pretty well. + +“Hello!” said he, “where are you going?” + +“Home,” I answered. + +“Is that so?” said he. “I didn't know you had one.” + +I was a little nettled at this, and so I said, somewhat brusquely +perhaps: + +“But you must have known I lived somewhere.” + +“Oh, yes! But I thought you boarded,” said he. “I had no idea that you +had a home.” + +“But I have one, and a very pleasant home, too. You must excuse me for +not stopping longer, as I must catch my train.” + +“Oh! I'll walk along with you,” said Waterford, and so we went down the +street together. + +“Where is your little house?” he asked. + +Why in the world he thought it was a little house I could not at the +time imagine, unless he supposed that two people would not require +a large one. But I know, now, that he lived in a very little house +himself. + +But it was of no use getting angry with Waterford, especially as I saw +he intended walking all the way down to the ferry with me, so I told him +I didn't live in any house at all. + +“Why, where DO you live?” he exclaimed, stopping short. + +“I live in a boat,” said I. + +“A boat! A sort of 'Rob Roy' arrangement, I suppose. Well, I would not +have thought that of you. And your wife, I suppose, has gone home to her +people?” + +“She has done nothing of the kind,” I answered. “She lives with me, and +she likes it very much. We are extremely comfortable, and our boat is +not a canoe, or any such nonsensical affair. It is a large, commodious +canal-boat.” + +Waterford turned around and looked at me. + +“Are you a deck-hand?” he asked. + +“Deck-grandmother!” I exclaimed. + +“Well, you needn't get mad about it,” he said. “I didn't mean to +hurt your feelings; but I couldn't see what else you could be on a +canal-boat. I don't suppose, for instance, that you're captain.” + +“But I am,” said I. + +“Look here!” said Waterford; “this is coming it rather strong, isn't +it?” + +As I saw he was getting angry, I told him all about it,--told him how we +had hired a stranded canal-boat and had fitted it up as a house, and how +we lived so cosily in it, and had called it “Rudder Grange,” and how we +had taken a boarder. + +“Well!” said he, “this is certainly surprising. I'm coming out to see +you some day. It will be better than going to Barnum's.” + +I told him--it is the way of society--that we would be glad to see him, +and we parted. Waterford never did come to see us, and I merely mention +this incident to show how some of our friends talked about Rudder +Grange, when they first heard that we lived there. + +After dinner that evening, when I went up on deck with Euphemia to have +my smoke, we saw the boarder sitting on the bulwarks near the garden, +with his legs dangling down outside. + +“Look here!” said he. + +I looked, but there was nothing unusual to see. + +“What is it?” I asked. + +He turned around and seeing Euphemia, said: + +“Nothing.” + +It would be a very stupid person who could not take such a hint as that, +and so, after a walk around the garden, Euphemia took occasion to go +below to look at the kitchen fire. + +As soon as she had gone, the boarder turned to me and said: + +“I'll tell you what it is. She's working herself sick.” + +“Sick?” said I. “Nonsense!” + +“No nonsense about it,” he replied. + +The truth was, that the boarder was right and I was wrong. We had spent +several months at Rudder Grange, and during this time Euphemia had +been working very hard, and she really did begin to look pale and +thin. Indeed, it would be very wearying for any woman of culture and +refinement, unused to house-work, to cook and care for two men, and to +do all the work of a canal-boat besides. + +But I saw Euphemia so constantly, and thought so much of her, and had +her image so continually in my heart, that I did not notice this until +our boarder now called my attention to it. I was sorry that he had to do +it. + +“If I were in your place,” said he, “I would get her a servant.” + +“If you were in my place,” I replied, somewhat cuttingly, “you would +probably suggest a lot of little things which would make everything very +easy for her.” + +“I'd try to,” he answered, without getting in the least angry. + +Although I felt annoyed that he had suggested it, still I made up my +mind that Euphemia must have a servant. + +She agreed quite readily when I proposed the plan, and she urged me +to go and see the carpenter that very day, and get him to come and +partition off a little room for the girl. + +It was some time, of course, before the room was made (for who ever +heard of a carpenter coming at the very time he was wanted?) and, when +it was finished, Euphemia occupied all her spare moments in getting it +in nice order for the servant when she should come. I thought she was +taking too much trouble, but she had her own ideas about such things. + +“If a girl is lodged like a pig, you must expect her to behave like a +pig, and I don't want that kind.” + +So she put up pretty curtains at the girl's window, and with a box that +she stood on end, and some old muslin and a lot of tacks, she made a +toilet-table so neat and convenient that I thought she ought to take it +into our room and give the servant our wash-stand. + +But all this time we had no girl, and as I had made up my mind about the +matter, I naturally grew impatient, and at last I determined to go and +get a girl myself. + +So, one day at lunch-time, I went to an intelligence office in the city. +There I found a large room on the second floor, and some ladies, and one +or two men, sitting about, and a small room, back of it, crowded with +girls from eighteen to sixty-eight years old. There were also girls upon +the stairs, and girls in the hall below, besides some girls standing on +the sidewalk before the door. + +When I made known my business and had paid my fee, one of the several +proprietors who were wandering about the front room went into the +back apartment and soon returned with a tall Irishwoman with a bony +weather-beaten face and a large weather-beaten shawl. This woman was +told to take a chair by my side. Down sat the huge creature and stared +at me. I did not feel very easy under her scrutinizing gaze, but I bore +it as best I could, and immediately began to ask her all the appropriate +questions that I could think of. Some she answered satisfactorily, and +some she didn't answer at all; but as soon as I made a pause, she began +to put questions herself. + +“How many servants do you kape?” she asked. + +I answered that we intended to get along with one, and if she understood +her business, I thought she would find her work very easy, and the place +a good one. + +She turned sharp upon me and said: + +“Have ye stationary wash-tubs?” + +I hesitated. I knew our wash-tubs were not stationary, for I had helped +to carry them about. But they might be screwed fast and made stationary +if that was an important object. But, before making this answer, +I thought of the great conveniences for washing presented by our +residence, surrounded as it was, at high tide, by water. + +“Why, we live in a stationary wash-tub,” I said, smiling. + +The woman looked at me steadfastly for a minute, and then she rose +to her feet. Then she called out, as if she were crying fish or +strawberries: + +“Mrs. Blaine!” + +The female keeper of the intelligence office, and the male keeper, and +a thin clerk, and all the women in the back room, and all the patrons in +the front room, jumped up and gathered around us. + +Astonished and somewhat disconcerted, I rose to my feet and confronted +the tall Irishwoman, and stood smiling in an uncertain sort of a way, as +if it were all very funny; but I couldn't see the point. I think I must +have impressed the people with the idea that I wished I hadn't come. + +“He says,” exclaimed the woman, as if some other huckster were crying +fish on the other side of the street--“he says he lives in a wash-toob.” + +“He's crazy!” ejaculated Mrs. Blaine, with an air that indicated +“policeman” as plainly as if she had put her thought into words. + +A low murmur ran through the crowd of women, while the thin clerk edged +toward the door. + +I saw there was no time to lose. I stepped back a little from the tall +savage, who was breathing like a hot-air engine in front of me, and made +my explanations to the company. I told the tale of “Rudder Grange,” and +showed them how it was like to a stationary wash-tub--at certain stages +of the tide. + +I was listened to with great attention. When I had finished, the tall +woman turned around and faced the assemblage. + +“An' he wants a cook to make soup! In a canal-boat!” said she, and off +she marched into the back-room, followed closely by all the other women. + +“I don't think we have any one here who would suit you,” said Mrs. +Blaine. + +I didn't think so either. What on earth would Euphemia have done with +that volcanic Irishwoman in her little kitchen! I took up my hat and +bade Mrs. Blaine good morning. + +“Good morning,” said she, with a distressing smile. + +She had one of those mouths that look exactly like a gash in the face. + +I went home without a girl. In a day or two Euphemia came to town and +got one. Apparently she got her without any trouble, but I am not sure. + +She went to a “Home”--Saint Somebody's Home--a place where they keep +orphans to let, so to speak. Here Euphemia selected a light-haired, +medium-sized orphan, and brought her home. + +The girl's name was Pomona. Whether or not her parents gave her this +name is doubtful. At any rate, she did not seem quite decided in her +mind about it herself, for she had not been with us more than two weeks +before she expressed a desire to be called Clare. This longing of her +heart, however, was denied her. So Euphemia, who was always correct, +called her Pomona. I did the same whenever I could think not to say +Bologna--which seemed to come very pat for some reason or other. + +As for the boarder, he generally called her Altoona, connecting her in +some way with the process of stopping for refreshments, in which she was +an adept. + +She was an earnest, hearty girl. She was always in a good humor, and +when I asked her to do anything, she assented in a bright, cheerful way, +and in a loud tone full of good-fellowship, as though she would say: + +“Certainly, my high old cock! To be sure I will. Don't worry about +it--give your mind no more uneasiness on that subject. I'll bring the +hot water.” + +She did not know very much, but she was delighted to learn, and she was +very strong. Whatever Euphemia told her to do, she did instantly with a +bang. What pleased her better than anything else was to run up and +down the gang-plank, carrying buckets of water to water the garden. +She delighted in out-door work, and sometimes dug so vigorously in +our garden that she brought up pieces of the deck-planking with every +shovelful. + +Our boarder took the greatest interest in her, and sometimes watched her +movements so intently that he let his pipe go out. + +“What a whacking girl that would be to tread out grapes in the vineyards +of Italy! She'd make wine cheap,” he once remarked. + +“Then I'm glad she isn't there,” said Euphemia, “for wine oughtn't to be +cheap.” + +Euphemia was a thorough little temperance woman. + +The one thing about Pomona that troubled me more than anything else was +her taste for literature. It was not literature to which I objected, but +her very peculiar taste. She would read in the kitchen every night after +she had washed the dishes, but if she had not read aloud, it would not +have made so much difference to me. But I am naturally very sensitive to +external impressions, and I do not like the company of people who, like +our girl, cannot read without pronouncing in a measured and distinct +voice every word of what they are reading. And when the matter thus read +appeals to one's every sentiment of aversion, and there is no way of +escaping it, the case is hard indeed. + +From the first, I felt inclined to order Pomona, if she could not attain +the power of silent perusal, to cease from reading altogether; but +Euphemia would not hear to this. + +“Poor thing!” said she; “it would be cruel to take from her her only +recreation. And she says she can't read any other way. You needn't +listen if you don't want to.” + +That was all very well in an abstract point of view; but the fact was, +that in practice, the more I didn't want to listen, the more I heard. + +As the evenings were often cool, we sat in our dining-room, and the +partition between this room and the kitchen seemed to have no influence +whatever in arresting sound. So that when I was trying to read or to +reflect, it was by no means exhilarating to my mind to hear from the +next room that: + +“The la dy ce sel i a now si zed the weep on and all though the boor ly +vil ly an re tain ed his vy gor ous hold she drew the blade through his +fin gers and hoorl ed it far be hind her dryp ping with jore.” + +This sort of thing, kept up for an hour or so at a time, used to drive +me nearly wild. But Euphemia did not mind it. I believe that she had +so delicate a sense of what was proper, that she did not hear Pomona's +private readings. + +On one occasion, even Euphemia's influence could scarcely restrain me +from violent interference. + +It was our boarder's night out (when he was detained in town by his +business), and Pomona was sitting up to let him in. This was necessary, +for our front-door (or main-hatchway) had no night-latch, but was +fastened by means of a bolt. Euphemia and I used to sit up for him, but +that was earlier in the season, when it was pleasant to be out on +deck until quite a late hour. But Pomona never objected to sitting (or +getting) up late, and so we allowed this weekly duty to devolve on her. + +On this particular night I was very tired and sleepy, and soon after I +got into bed I dropped into a delightful slumber. But it was not long +before I was awakened by the fact that: + +“Sa rah did not fl inch but gras ped the heat ed i ron in her un in jur +ed hand and when the ra bid an i mal a proach ed she thr ust the lur id +po ker in his--” + +“My conscience!” said I to Euphemia, “can't that girl be stopped?” + +“You wouldn't have her sit there and do nothing, would you?” said she. + +“No; but she needn't read out that way.” + +“She can't read any other way,” said Euphemia, drowsily. + +“Yell af ter yell res oun ded as he wil dly spr rang--” + +“I can't stand that, and I won't,” said I. “Why don't she go into the +kitchen?--the dining-room's no place for her.” + +“She must not sit there,” said Euphemia. “There's a window-pane out. +Can't you cover up your head?” + +“I shall not be able to breathe if I do; but I suppose that's no +matter,” I replied. + +The reading continued. + +“Ha, ha! Lord Mar mont thun der ed thou too shalt suf fer all that this +poor--” + +I sprang out of bed. + +Euphemia thought I was going for my pistol, and she gave one bound and +stuck her head out of the door. + +“Pomona, fly!” she cried. + +“Yes, sma'am,” said Pomona; and she got up and flew--not very fast, I +imagine. Where she flew to I don't know, but she took the lamp with her, +and I could hear distant syllables of agony and blood, until the boarder +came home and Pomona went to bed. + +I think that this made an impression upon Euphemia, for, although she +did not speak to me upon the subject (or any other) that night, the next +time I heard Pomona reading, the words ran somewhat thus: + +“The as ton ish ing che ap ness of land is ac count ed for by the want +of home mar kets, of good ro ads and che ap me ans of trans por ta ti on +in ma ny sec ti ons of the State.” + + + +CHAPTER IV. TREATING OF A NOVEL STYLE OF BURGLAR. + + +I have spoken of my pistol. During the early part of our residence at +Rudder Grange I never thought of such a thing as owning a pistol. + +But it was different now. I kept a Colt's revolver loaded in the bureau +drawer in our bedroom. + +The cause of this change was burglars. Not that any of these unpleasant +persons had visited us, but we much feared they would. Several houses in +the vicinity had been entered during the past month, and we could never +tell when our turn would come. + +To be sure, our boarder suggested that if we were to anchor out a little +further at night, no burglar would risk catching his death of cold by +swimming out to us; but Euphemia having replied that it would be rather +difficult to move a canal-boat every night without paddle-wheels, or +sails, or mules, especially if it were aground, this plan was considered +to be effectually disposed of. + +So we made up our minds that we must fasten up everything very securely, +and I bought a pistol and two burglar-alarms. One of these I affixed to +the most exposed window, and the other to the door which opened on the +deck. These alarms were very simple affairs, but they were good enough. +When they were properly attached to a window or door, and it was opened, +a little gong sounded like a violently deranged clock, striking all the +hours of the day at once. + +The window did not trouble us much, but it was rather irksome to have +to make the attachment to the door every night and to take it off every +morning. However, as Euphemia said, it was better to take a little +trouble than to have the house full of burglars, which was true enough. + +We made all the necessary arrangements in case burglars should make an +inroad upon us. At the first sound of the alarm, Euphemia and the girl +were to lie flat on the floor or get under their beds. Then the boarder +and I were to stand up, back to back, each with pistol in hand, and fire +away, revolving on a common centre the while. In this way, by aiming +horizontally at about four feet from the floor, we could rake the +premises, and run no risk of shooting each other or the women of the +family. + +To be sure, there were some slight objections to this plan. The +boarder's room was at some distance from ours, and he would probably not +hear the alarm, and the burglars might not be willing to wait while +I went forward and roused him up, and brought him to our part of the +house. But this was a minor difficulty. I had no doubt but that, if it +should be necessary, I could manage to get our boarder into position in +plenty of time. + +It was not very long before there was an opportunity of testing the +plan. + +About twelve o'clock one night one of the alarms (that on the kitchen +window) went off with a whirr and a wild succession of clangs. For a +moment I thought the morning train had arrived, and then I woke up. +Euphemia was already under the bed. + +I hurried on a few clothes, and then I tried to find the bureau in the +dark. This was not easy, as I lost my bearings entirely. But I found it +at last, got the top drawer open and took out my pistol. Then I slipped +out of the room, hurried up the stairs, opened the door (setting off the +alarm there, by the way), and ran along the deck (there was a cold night +wind), and hastily descended the steep steps that led into the boarder's +room. The door that was at the bottom of the steps was not fastened, +and, as I opened it, a little stray moonlight illumed the room. I +hastily stepped to the bed and shook the boarder by the shoulder. He +kept HIS pistol under his pillow. + +In an instant he was on his feet, his hand grasped my throat, and +the cold muzzle of his Derringer pistol was at my forehead. It was an +awfully big muzzle, like the mouth of a bottle. + +I don't know when I lived so long as during the first minute that he +held me thus. + +“Rascal!” he said. “Do as much as breathe, and I'll pull the trigger.” + +I didn't breathe. + +I had an accident insurance on my life. Would it hold good in a case +like this? Or would Euphemia have to go back to her father? + +He pushed me back into the little patch of moonlight. + +“Oh! is it you?” he said, relaxing his grasp. “What do you want? A +mustard plaster?” + +He had a package of patent plasters in his room. You took one and dipped +it in hot water, and it was all ready. + +“No,” said I, gasping a little. “Burglars.” + +“Oh!” he said, and he put down his pistol and put on his clothes. + +“Come along,” he said, and away we went over the deck. + +When we reached the stairs all was dark and quiet below. + +It was a matter of hesitancy as to going down. + +I started to go down first, but the boarder held me back. + +“Let me go down,” he said. + +“No,” said I, “my wife is there.” + +“That's the very reason you should not go,” he said. “She is safe enough +yet, and they would fire only at a man. It would be a bad job for her if +you were killed. I'll go down.” + +So he went down, slowly and cautiously, his pistol in one hand, and his +life in the other, as it were. + +When he reached the bottom of the steps I changed my mind. I could not +remain above while the burglar and Euphemia were below, so I followed. + +The boarder was standing in the middle of the dining-room, into which +the stairs led. I could not see him, but I put my hand against him as I +was feeling my way across the floor. + +I whispered to him: + +“Shall we put our backs together and revolve and fire?” + +“No,” he whispered back, “not now; he may be on a shelf by this time, or +under a table. Let's look him up.” + +I confess that I was not very anxious to look him up, but I followed the +boarder, as he slowly made his way toward the kitchen door. As we opened +the door we instinctively stopped. + +The window was open, and by the light of the moon that shone in, we saw +the rascal standing on a chair, leaning out of the window, evidently +just ready to escape. Fortunately, we were unheard. + +“Let's pull him in,” whispered the boarder. + +“No,” I whispered in reply. “We don't want him in. Let's hoist him out.” + +“All right,” returned the boarder. + +We laid our pistols on the floor, and softly approached the window. +Being barefooted, out steps were noiseless. + +“Hoist when I count three,” breathed the boarder into my ear. + +We reached the chair. Each of us took hold of two of its legs. + +“One--two--three!” said the boarder, and together we gave a tremendous +lift and shot the wretch out of the window. + +The tide was high, and there was a good deal of water around the boat. +We heard a rousing splash outside. + +Now there was no need of silence. + +“Shall we run on deck and shoot him as he swims?” I cried. + +“No,” said the boarder, “we'll get the boat-hook, and jab him if he +tries to climb up.” + +We rushed on deck. I seized the boat-hook and looked over the side. But +I saw no one. + +“He's gone to the bottom!” I exclaimed. + +“He didn't go very far then,” said the boarder, “for it's not more than +two feet deep there.” + +Just then our attention was attracted by a voice from the shore. + +“Will you please let down the gang-plank?” We looked ashore, and there +stood Pomona, dripping from every pore. + +We spoke no words, but lowered the gangplank. + +She came aboard. + +“Good night!” said the boarder, and he went to bed. + +“Pomona!” said I, “what have you been doing?” + +“I was a lookin' at the moon, sir, when pop! the chair bounced, and out +I went.” + +“You shouldn't do that,” I said, sternly. + +“Some day you'll be drowned. Take off your wet things and go to bed.” + +“Yes, sma'am--sir, I mean,” said she, as she went down-stairs. + +When I reached my room I lighted the lamp, and found Euphemia still +under the bed. + +“Is it all right?” she asked. + +“Yes,” I answered. “There was no burglar. Pomona fell out of the +window.” + +“Did you get her a plaster?” asked Euphemia, drowsily. + +“No, she did not need one. She's all right now. Were you worried about +me, dear?” + +“No, I trusted in you entirely, and I think I dozed a little under the +bed.” + +In one minute she was asleep. + +The boarder and I did not make this matter a subject of conversation +afterward, but Euphemia gave the girl a lecture on her careless ways, +and made her take several Dover's powders the next day. + +An important fact in domestic economy was discovered about this time by +Euphemia and myself. Perhaps we were not the first to discover it, but +we certainly did find it out,--and this fact was, that housekeeping +costs money. At the end of every week we counted up our expenditures--it +was no trouble at all to count up our receipts--and every week the +result was more unsatisfactory. + +“If we could only get rid of the disagreeable balance that has to +be taken along all the time, and which gets bigger and bigger like a +snow-ball, I think we would find the accounts more satisfactory,” said +Euphemia. + +This was on a Saturday night. We always got our pencils and paper and +money at the end of the week. + +“Yes,” said I, with an attempt to appear facetious and unconcerned, “but +it would be all well enough if we could take that snow-ball to the fire +and melt it down.” + +“But there never is any fire where there are snow-balls,” said Euphemia. + +“No,” said I, “and that's just the trouble.” + +It was on the following Thursday, when I came home in the evening, that +Euphemia met me with a glowing face. It rather surprised me to see her +look so happy, for she had been very quiet and preoccupied for the first +part of the week. So much so, indeed, that I had thought of ordering +smaller roasts for a week or two, and taking her to a Thomas Concert +with the money saved. But this evening she looked as if she did not need +Thomas's orchestra. + +“What makes you so bright, my dear?” said I, when I had greeted her. +“Has anything jolly happened?” + +“No,” said she; “nothing yet, but I am going to make a fire to melt +snow-balls.” + +Of course I was very anxious to know how she was going to do it, but she +would not tell me. It was a plan that she intended to keep to herself +until she saw how it worked. I did not press her, because she had so few +secrets, and I did not hear anything about this plan until it had been +carried out. + +Her scheme was as follows: After thinking over our financial condition +and puzzling her brain to find out some way of bettering it, she +had come to the conclusion that she would make some money by her own +exertions, to help defray our household expenses. She never had made any +money, but that was no reason why she should not begin. It was too bad +that I should have to toil and toil and not make nearly enough money +after all. So she would go to work and earn something with her own +hands. + +She had heard of an establishment in the city, where ladies of limited +means, or transiently impecunious, could, in a very quiet and private +way, get sewing to do. They could thus provide for their needs without +any one but the officers of the institution knowing anything about it. + +So Euphemia went to this place, and she got some work. It was not a very +large bundle, but it was larger than she had been accustomed to carry, +and, what was perfectly dreadful, it was wrapped up in a newspaper! +When Euphemia told me the story, she said that this was too much for her +courage. She could not go on the cars, and perhaps meet people belonging +to our church, with a newspaper bundle under her arm. + +But her genius for expedients saved her from this humiliation. She had +to purchase some sewing-cotton, and some other little things, and when +she had bought them, she handed her bundle to the woman behind the +counter, and asked her if she would not be so good as to have that +wrapped up with the other things. It was a good deal to ask, she knew, +and the woman smiled, for the articles she had bought would not make a +package as large as her hand. However, her request was complied with, +and she took away a very decent package, with the card of the store +stamped on the outside. I suppose that there are not more than half a +dozen people in this country who would refuse Euphemia anything that she +would be willing to ask for. + +So she took the work home, and she labored faithfully at it for about +a week, She did not suppose it would take her so long; but she was not +used to such very plain sewing, and was much afraid that she would not +do it neatly enough. Besides this, she could only work on it in the +daytime--when I was away--and was, of course, interrupted a great +deal by her ordinary household duties, and the necessity of a careful +oversight of Pomona's somewhat erratic methods of doing her work. + +But at last she finished the job and took it into the city. She did not +want to spend any more money on the trip than was absolutely necessary, +and so was very glad to find that she had a remnant of pocket-money +sufficient to pay her fare both ways. + +When she reached the city, she walked up to the place where her work was +to be delivered, and found it much farther when she went on foot than it +had seemed to her riding in the street cars. She handed over her bundle +to the proper person, and, as it was soon examined and approved, she +received her pay therefor. + +It amounted to sixty cents. She had made no bargain, but she was a +little astonished. However, she said nothing, but left the place without +asking for any more work. In fact she forgot all about it. She had an +idea that everything was all wrong, and that idea engrossed her mind +entirely. There was no mistake about the sum paid, for the lady clerk +had referred to the printed table of prices when she calculated the +amount due. But something was wrong, and, at the moment, Euphemia could +not tell what it was. She left the place, and started to walk back to +the ferry. But she was so tired and weak, and hungry--it was now an hour +or two past her regular luncheon time--that she thought she should faint +if she did not go somewhere and get some refreshments. + +So, like a sensible little woman as she was, she went into a restaurant. +She sat down at a table, and a waiter came to her to see what she would +have. She was not accustomed to eating-houses, and perhaps this was +the first time that she had ever visited one alone. What she wanted +was something simple. So she ordered a cup of tea and some rolls, and a +piece of chicken. The meal was a very good one, and Euphemia enjoyed it. +When she had finished, she went up to the counter to settle. Her bill +was sixty cents. She paid the money that she had just received, and +walked down to the ferry--all in a daze, she said. When she got home she +thought it over, and then she cried. + +After a while she dried her eyes, and when I came home she told me all +about it. + +“I give it up,” she said. “I don't believe I can help you any.” + +Poor little thing! I took her in my arms and comforted her, and before +bedtime I had convinced her that she was fully able to help me better +than any one else on earth, and that without puzzling her brains about +business, or wearing herself out by sewing for pay. + +So we went on in our old way, and by keeping our attention on our weekly +balance, we prevented it from growing very rapidly. + +We fell back on our philosophy (it was all the capital we had), and +became as calm and contented as circumstances allowed. + + + +CHAPTER V. POMONA PRODUCES A PARTIAL REVOLUTION IN RUDDER GRANGE. + + +Euphemia began to take a great deal of comfort in her girl. Every +evening she had some new instance to relate of Pomona's inventive +abilities and aptness in adapting herself to the peculiarities of our +method of housekeeping. + +“Only to think!” said she, one afternoon, “Pomona has just done another +VERY smart thing. You know what a trouble it has always been for us +to carry all our waste water upstairs, and throw it over the bulwarks. +Well, she has remedied all that. She has cut a nice little low window +in the side of the kitchen, and has made a shutter of the piece she cut +out, with leather hinges to it, and now she can just open this window, +throw the water out, shut it again, and there it is! I tell you she's +smart.” + +“Yes; there is no doubt of that,” I said; “but I think that there is +danger of her taking more interest in such extraordinary and novel +duties than in the regular work of the house.” + +“Now, don't discourage the girl, my dear,” she said, “for she is of the +greatest use to me, and I don't want you to be throwing cold water about +like some people.” + +“Not even if I throw it out of Pomona's little door, I suppose.” + +“No. Don't throw it at all. Encourage people. What would the world be +if everybody chilled our aspirations and extraordinary efforts? Like +Fulton's steamboat.” + +“All right,” I said; “I'll not discourage her.” + +It was now getting late in the season. It was quite too cool to sit out +on deck in the evening, and our garden began to look desolate. + +Our boarder had wheeled up a lot of fresh earth, and had prepared a +large bed, in which he had planted turnips. They made an excellent fall +crop, he assured us. + +From being simply cool it began to be rainy, and the weather grew +decidedly unpleasant. But our boarder bade us take courage. This was +probably the “equinoctial,” and when it was over there would be a +delightful Indian summer, and the turnips would grow nicely. + +This sounded very well, but the wind blew up cold at night, and there +was a great deal of unpleasant rain. + +One night it blew what Pomona called a “whirlicane,” and we went to +bed very early to keep warm. We heard our boarder on deck in the garden +after we were in bed, and Euphemia said she could not imagine what he +was about, unless he was anchoring his turnips to keep them from blowing +away. + +During the night I had a dream. I thought I was a boy again, and was +trying to stand upon my head, a feat for which I had been famous. But +instead of throwing myself forward on my hands, and then raising my +heels backward over my head, in the orthodox manner, I was on my back, +and trying to get on my head from that position. I awoke suddenly, and +found that the footboard of the bedstead was much higher than our heads. +We were lying on a very much inclined plane, with our heads downward. +I roused Euphemia, and we both got out of bed, when, at almost the same +moment, we slipped down the floor into ever so much water. + +Euphemia was scarcely awake, and she fell down gurgling. It was dark, +but I heard her fall, and I jumped over the bedstead to her assistance. +I had scarcely raised her up, when I heard a pounding at the front door +or main-hatchway, and our boarder shouted: + +“Get up! Come out of that! Open the door! The old boat's turning over!” + +My heart fell within me, but I clutched Euphemia. I said no word, and +she simply screamed. I dragged her over the floor, sometimes in the +water and sometimes out of it. I got the dining-room door open and set +her on the stairs. They were in a topsy-turvy condition, but they were +dry. I found a lantern which hung on a nail, with a match-box under +it, and I struck a light. Then I scrambled back and brought her some +clothes. + +All this time the boarder was yelling and pounding at the door. When +Euphemia was ready I opened the door and took her out. + +“You go dress yourself;” said the boarder. “I'll hold her here until you +come back.” + +I left her and found my clothes (which, chair and all, had tumbled +against the foot of the bed and so had not gone into the water), and +soon reappeared on deck. The wind was blowing strongly, but it did not +now seem to be very cold. The deck reminded me of the gang-plank of a +Harlem steamboat at low tide. It was inclined at an angle of more than +forty-five degrees, I am sure. There was light enough for us to see +about us, but the scene and all the dreadful circumstances made me feel +the most intense desire to wake up and find it all a dream. There was no +doubt, however, about the boarder being wide awake. + +“Now then,” said he, “take hold of her on that side and we'll help her +over here. You scramble down on that side; it's all dry just there. The +boat's turned over toward the water, and I'll lower her down to you. +I'll let a rope over the sides. You can hold on to that as you go down.” + +I got over the bulwarks and let myself down to the ground. Then the +boarder got Euphemia up and slipped her over the side, holding to her +hands, and letting her gently down until I could reach her. She said +never a word, but screamed at times. I carried her a little way up the +shore and set her down. I wanted to take her up to a house near by, +where we bought our milk, but she declined to go until we had saved +Pomona. + +So I went back to the boat, having carefully wrapped up Euphemia, to +endeavor to save the girl. I found that the boarder had so arranged +the gang-plank that it was possible, without a very great exercise of +agility, to pass from the shore to the boat. When I first saw him, +on reaching the shelving deck, he was staggering up the stairs with a +dining-room chair and a large framed engraving of Raphael's Dante--an +ugly picture, but full of true feeling; at least so Euphemia always +declared, though I am not quite sure that I know what she meant. + +“Where is Pomona?” I said, endeavoring to stand on the hill-side of the +deck. + +“I don't know,” said he, “but we must get the things out. The tide's +rising and the wind's getting up. The boat will go over before we know +it.” + +“But we must find the girl,” I said. “She can't be left to drown.” + +“I don't think it would matter much,” said he, getting over the side +of the boat with his awkward load. “She would be of about as much use +drowned as any other way. If it hadn't been for that hole she cut in the +side of the boat, this would never have happened.” + +“You don't think it was that!” I said, holding the picture and the chair +while he let himself down to the gang-plank. + +“Yes, it was,” he replied. “The tide's very high, and the water got over +that hole and rushed in. The water and the wind will finish this old +craft before very long.” + +And then he took his load from me and dashed down the gang-plank. I went +below to look for Pomona. The lantern still hung on the nail, and I took +it down and went into the kitchen. There was Pomona, dressed, and with +her hat on, quietly packing some things in a basket. + +“Come, hurry out of this,” I cried. “Don't you know that this +house--this boat, I mean, is a wreck?” + +“Yes, sma'am--sir, I mean--I know it, and I suppose we shall soon be at +the mercy of the waves.” + +“Well, then, go as quickly as you can. What are you putting in that +basket?” + +“Food,” she said. “We may need it.” + +I took her by the shoulder and hurried her on deck, over the bulwark, +down the gang-plank, and so on to the place where I had left Euphemia. + +I found the dear girl there, quiet and collected, all up in a little +bunch, to shield herself from the wind. I wasted no time, but hurried +the two women over to the house of our milk-merchant. There, with some +difficulty, I roused the good woman, and after seeing Euphemia and +Pomona safely in the house, I left them to tell the tale, and ran back +to the boat. + +The boarder was working like a Trojan. He had already a pile of our +furniture on the beach. + +I set about helping him, and for an hour we labored at this hasty and +toilsome moving. It was indeed a toilsome business. The floors were +shelving, the stairs leaned over sideways, ever so far, and the +gang-plank was desperately short and steep. + +Still, we saved quite a number of household articles. Some things we +broke and some we forgot, and some things were too big to move in this +way; but we did very well, considering the circumstances. + +The wind roared, the tide rose, and the boat groaned and creaked. We +were in the kitchen, trying to take the stove apart (the boarder was +sure we could carry it up, if we could get the pipe out and the legs and +doors off), when we heard a crash. We rushed on deck and found that +the garden had fallen in! Making our way as well as we could toward the +gaping rent in the deck, we saw that the turnip-bed had gone down bodily +into the boarder's room. He did not hesitate, but scrambled down his +narrow stairs. I followed him. He struck a match that he had in his +pocket, and lighted a little lantern that hung under the stairs. His +room was a perfect rubbish heap. The floor, bed, chairs, pitcher, +basin--everything was covered or filled with garden mold and turnips. +Never did I behold such a scene. He stood in the midst of it, holding +his lantern high above his head. At length he spoke. + +“If we had time,” he said, “we might come down here and pick out a lot +of turnips.” + +“But how about your furniture?” I exclaimed. + +“Oh, that's ruined!” he replied. + +So we did not attempt to save any of it, but we got hold of his trunk +and carried that on shore. + +When we returned, we found that the water was pouring through his +partition, making the room a lake of mud. And, as the water was rising +rapidly below, and the boat was keeling over more and more, we thought +it was time to leave, and we left. + +It would not do to go far away from our possessions, which were piled up +in a sad-looking heap on the shore; and so, after I had gone over to the +milk-woman's to assure Euphemia of our safety, the boarder and I passed +the rest of the night--there was not much of it left--in walking up +and down the beach smoking some cigars which he fortunately had in his +pocket. + +In the morning I took Euphemia to the hotel, about a mile away--and +arranged for the storage of our furniture there, until we could find +another habitation. This habitation, we determined, was to be in a +substantial house, or part of a house, which should not be affected by +the tides. + +During the morning the removal of our effects was successfully +accomplished, and our boarder went to town to look for a furnished room. +He had nothing but his trunk to take to it. + +In the afternoon I left Euphemia at the hotel, where she was taking a +nap (she certainly needed it, for she had spent the night in a wooden +rocking-chair at the milk-woman's), and I strolled down to the river to +take a last look at the remains of old Rudder Grange. + +I felt sadly enough as I walked along the well-worn path to the +canal-boat, and thought how it had been worn by my feet more than any +other's, and how gladly I had walked that way, so often during that +delightful summer. I forgot all that had been disagreeable, and thought +only of the happy times we had had. + +It was a beautiful autumn afternoon, and the wind had entirely died +away. When I came within sight of our old home, it presented a doleful +appearance. The bow had drifted out into the river, and was almost +entirely under water. The stern stuck up in a mournful and ridiculous +manner, with its keel, instead of its broadside, presented to the view +of persons on the shore. As I neared the boat I heard a voice. I stopped +and listened. There was no one in sight. Could the sounds come from the +boat? I concluded that it must be so, and I walked up closer. Then I +heard distinctly the words: + +“He grasp ed her by the thro at and yell ed, swear to me thou nev er +wilt re veal my se cret, or thy hot heart's blood shall stain this mar +bel fib or; she gave one gry vy ous gasp and--” + +It was Pomona! + +Doubtless she had climbed up the stern of the boat and had descended +into the depths of the wreck to rescue her beloved book, the reading of +which had so long been interrupted by my harsh decrees. Could I break +in on this one hour of rapture? I had not the heart to do it, and as +I slowly moved away, there came to me the last words that I ever heard +from Rudder Grange: + +“And with one wild shry ik to heav en her heart's blo od spat ter ed +that prynce ly home of woe--” + + + +CHAPTER VI. THE NEW RUDDER GRANGE. + + +I have before given an account of the difficulties we encountered when +we started out house-hunting, and it was this doleful experience which +made Euphemia declare that before we set out on a second search for a +residence, we should know exactly what we wanted. + +To do this, we must know how other people live, we must examine into the +advantages and disadvantages of the various methods of housekeeping, and +make up our minds on the subject. + +When we came to this conclusion we were in a city boarding-house, and +were entirely satisfied that this style of living did not suit us at +all. + +At this juncture I received a letter from the gentleman who had boarded +with us on the canal-boat. Shortly after leaving us the previous fall, +he had married a widow lady with two children, and was now keeping house +in a French flat in the upper part of the city. We had called upon the +happy couple soon after their marriage, and the letter, now received, +contained an invitation for us to come and dine, and spend the night. + +“We'll go,” said Euphemia. “There's nothing I want so much as to see how +people keep house in a French flat. Perhaps we'll like it. And I must +see those children.” So we went. + +The house, as Euphemia remarked, was anything but flat. It was very tall +indeed--the tallest house in the neighborhood. We entered the vestibule, +the outer door being open, and beheld, on one side of us, a row +of bell-handles. Above each of these handles was the mouth of a +speaking-tube, and above each of these, a little glazed frame containing +a visiting-card. + +“Isn't this cute?” said Euphemia, reading over the cards. “Here's his +name and this is his bell and tube! Which would you do first, ring or +blow?” + +“My dear,” said I, “you don't blow up those tubes. We must ring the +bell, just as if it were an ordinary front-door bell, and instead of +coming to the door, some one will call down the tube to us.” + +I rang the bell under the boarder's name, and very soon a voice at the +tube said: + +“Well?” + +Then I told our names, and in an instant the front door opened. + +“Why, their flat must be right here,” whispered Euphemia. “How quickly +the girl came!” + +And she looked for the girl as we entered. But there was no one there. + +“Their flat is on the fifth story,” said I. “He mentioned that in his +letter. We had better shut the door and go up.” + +Up and up the softly carpeted stairs we climbed, and not a soul we saw +or heard. + +“It is like an enchanted cavern,” said Euphemia. “You say the magic +word, the door in the rock opens and you go on, and on, through the +vaulted passages--” + +“Until you come to the ogre,” said the boarder, who was standing at the +top of the stairs. He did not behave at all like an ogre, for he was +very glad to see us, and so was his wife. After we had settled down +in the parlor and the boarder's wife had gone to see about something +concerning the dinner, Euphemia asked after the children. + +“I hope they haven't gone to bed,” she said, “for I do so want to see +the dear little things.” + +The ex-boarder, as Euphemia called him, smiled grimly. + +“They're not so very little,” he said. “My wife's son is nearly grown. +He is at an academy in Connecticut, and he expects to go into a civil +engineer's office in the spring. His sister is older than he is. My wife +married--in the first instance--when she was very young--very young in +deed.” + +“Oh!” said Euphemia; and then, after a pause, “And neither of them is at +home now?” + +“No,” said the ex-boarder. “By the way, what do you think of this dado? +It is a portable one; I devised it myself. You can take it away with you +to another house when you move. But there is the dinner-bell. I'll show +you over the establishment after we have had something to eat.” + +After our meal we made a tour of inspection. The flat, which included +the whole floor, contained nine or ten rooms, of all shapes and sizes. +The corners in some of the rooms were cut off and shaped up into closets +and recesses, so that Euphemia said the corners of every room were in +some other room. + +Near the back of the flat was a dumb-waiter, with bells and +speaking-tubes. When the butcher, the baker, or the kerosene-lamp maker, +came each morning, he rang the bell, and called up the tube to know what +was wanted. The order was called down, and he brought the things in the +afternoon. + +All this greatly charmed Euphemia. It was so cute, so complete. There +were no interviews with disagreeable trades-people, none of the ordinary +annoyances of housekeeping. Everything seemed to be done with a bell, a +speaking-tube or a crank. + +“Indeed,” said the ex-boarder, “if it were not for people tripping +over the wires, I could rig up attachments by which I could sit in the +parlor, and by using pedals and a key-board, I could do all the work of +this house without getting out of my easy-chair.” + +One of the most peculiar features of the establishment was the servant's +room. This was at the rear end of the floor, and as there was not much +space left after the other rooms had been made, it was very small; so +small, indeed, that it would accommodate only a very short bedstead. +This made it necessary for our friends to consider the size of the +servant when they engaged her. + +“There were several excellent girls at the intelligence office where I +called,” said the ex-boarder, “but I measured them, and they were all +too tall. So we had to take a short one, who is only so so. There was +one big Scotch girl who was the very person for us, and I would have +taken her if my wife had not objected to my plan for her accommodation. + +“What was that?” I asked. + +“Well,” said he, “I first thought of cutting a hole in the partition +wall at the foot of the bed, for her to put her feet through.” + +“Never!” said his wife, emphatically. “I would never have allowed that.” + +“And then,” continued he, “I thought of turning the bed around, and +cutting a larger hole, through which she might have put her head into +the little room on this side. A low table could have stood under the +hole, and her head might have rested on a cushion on the table very +comfortably.” + +“My dear,” said his wife, “it would have frightened me to death to go +into that room and see that head on a cushion on a table--” + +“Like John the Baptist,” interrupted Euphemia. + +“Well,” said our ex-boarder, “the plan would have had its advantages.” + +“Oh!” cried Euphemia, looking out of a back window. “What a lovely +little iron balcony! Do you sit out there on warm evenings?” + +“That's a fire-escape,” said the ex-boarder. “We don't go out there +unless it is very hot indeed, on account of the house being on fire. +You see there is a little door in the floor of the balcony and an iron +ladder leading to the balcony beneath, and so on, down to the first +story.” + +“And you have to creep through that hole and go down that dreadful steep +ladder every time there is a fire?” said Euphemia. + +“Well, I guess we would never go down but once,” he answered. + +“No, indeed,” said Euphemia; “you'd fall down and break your neck the +first time,” and she turned away from the window with a very grave +expression on her face. + +Soon after this our hostess conducted Euphemia to the guest-chamber, +while her husband and I finished a bed-time cigar. + +When I joined Euphemia in her room, she met me with a mysterious +expression on her face. She shut the door, and then said in a very +earnest tone: + +“Do you see that little bedstead in the corner? I did not notice it +until I came in just now, and then, being quite astonished, I said, +'Why here's a child's bed; who sleeps here?' 'Oh,' says she, 'that's +our little Adele's bedstead. We have it in our room when she's here.' +'Little Adele!' said I, 'I didn't know she was little--not small enough +for that bed, at any rate.' 'Why, yes,' said she, 'Adele is only four +years old. The bedstead is quite large enough for her.' 'And she is not +here now?' I said, utterly amazed at all this. 'No,' she answered, 'she +is not here now, but we try to have her with us as much as we can, and +always keep her little bed ready for her.' 'I suppose she's with her +father's people,' I said, and she answered, 'Oh yes,' and bade me +good-night. What does all this mean? Our boarder told us that the +daughter is grown up, and here his wife declares that she is only four +years old! I don't know what in the world to make of this mystery!” + +I could give Euphemia no clue. I supposed there was some mistake, and +that was all I could say, except that I was sleepy, and that we could +find out all about it in the morning. But Euphemia could not dismiss the +subject from her mind. She said no more,--but I could see--until I fell +asleep--that she was thinking about it. + +It must have been about the middle of the night, perhaps later, when +I was suddenly awakened by Euphemia starting up in the bed, with the +exclamation: + +“I have it!” + +“What?” I cried, sitting up in a great hurry. “What is it? What have you +got? What's the matter?” + +“I know it!” she said, “I know it. Our boarder is a GRANDFATHER! Little +Adele is the grown-up daughter's child. He was quite particular to say +that his wife married VERY young. Just to think of it! So short a time +ago, he was living with us--a bachelor--and now, in four short months, +he is a grandfather!” + +Carefully propounded inquiries, in the morning, proved Euphemia's +conclusions to be correct. + +The next evening, when we were quietly sitting in our own room, Euphemia +remarked that she did not wish to have anything to do with French flats. + +“They seem to be very convenient,” I said. + +“Oh yes, convenient enough, but I don't like them. I would hate to live +where everything let down like a table-lid, or else turned with a crank. +And when I think of those fire-escapes, and the boarder's grandchild, it +makes me feel very unpleasantly.” + +“But the grandchild don't follow as a matter of course,” said I. + +“No,” she answered, “but I shall never like French flats.” + +And we discussed them no more. + +For some weeks we examined into every style of economic and respectable +housekeeping, and many methods of living in what Euphemia called +“imitation comfort” were set aside as unworthy of consideration. + +“My dear,” said Euphemia, one evening, “what we really ought to do is to +build. Then we would have exactly the house we want.” + +“Very true,” I replied; “but to build a house, a man must have money.” + +“Oh no!” said she, “or at least not much. For one thing, you might join +a building association. In some of those societies I know that you only +have to pay a dollar a week.” + +“But do you suppose the association builds houses for all its members?” + I asked. + +“Of course I suppose so. Else why is it called a building association?” + +I had read a good deal about these organizations, and I explained to +Euphemia that a dollar a week was never received by any of them in +payment for a new house. + +“Then build yourself,” she said; “I know how that can be done.” + +“Oh, it's easy enough,” I remarked, “if you have the money.” + +“No, you needn't have any money,” said Euphemia, rather hastily. “Just +let me show you. Supposing, for instance, that you want to build a house +worth--well, say twenty thousand dollars, in some pretty town near the +city.” + +“I would rather figure on a cheaper house than that for a country +place,” I interrupted. + +“Well then, say two thousand dollars. You get masons, and carpenters, +and people to dig the cellar, and you engage them to build your house. +You needn't pay them until it's done, of course. Then when it's all +finished, borrow two thousand dollars and give the house as security. +After that you see, you have only to pay the interest on the borrowed +money. When you save enough money to pay back the loan, the house is +your own. Now, isn't that a good plan?” + +“Yes,” said I, “if there could be found people who would build your +house and wait for their money until some one would lend you its full +value on a mortgage.” + +“Well,” said Euphemia, “I guess they could be found if you would only +look for them.” + +“I'll look for them, when I go to heaven,” I said. + +We gave up for the present, the idea of building or buying a house, and +determined to rent a small place in the country, and then, as Euphemia +wisely said, if we liked it, we might buy it. After she had dropped her +building projects she thought that one ought to know just how a house +would suit before having it on one's hands. + +We could afford something better than a canal-boat now, and therefore we +were not so restricted as in our first search for a house. But, the +one thing which troubled my wife--and, indeed, caused me much anxious +thought, was that scourge of almost all rural localities--tramps. It +would be necessary for me to be away all day,--and we could not afford +to keep a man,--so we must be careful to get a house somewhere off the +line of ordinary travel, or else in a well-settled neighborhood, where +there would be some one near at hand in case of unruly visitors. + +“A village I don't like,” said Euphemia: “there is always so much +gossip, and people know all about what you have, and what you do. And +yet it would be very lonely, and perhaps dangerous, for us to live +off somewhere, all by ourselves. And there is another objection to a +village. We don't want a house with a small yard and a garden at the +back. We ought to have a dear little farm, with some fields for corn, +and a cow, and a barn and things of that sort. All that would be +lovely. I'll tell you what we want,” she cried, seized with a sudden +inspiration; “we ought to try to get the end-house of a village. Then +our house could be near the neighbors, and our farm could stretch out a +little way into the country beyond us. Let us fix our minds upon such a +house and I believe we can get it.” + +So we fixed our minds, but in the course of a week or two we unfixed +them several times to allow the consideration of places, which otherwise +would have been out of range; and during one of these intervals of +mental disfixment we took a house. + +It was not the end-house of a village, but it was in the outskirts of +a very small rural settlement. Our nearest neighbor was within vigorous +shouting distance, and the house suited us so well in other respects, +that we concluded that this would do. The house was small, but large +enough. There were some trees around it, and a little lawn in front. +There was a garden, a small barn and stable, a pasture field, and land +enough besides for small patches of corn and potatoes. The rent was low, +the water good, and no one can imagine how delighted we were. + +We did not furnish the whole house at first, but what mattered it? We +had no horse or cow, but the pasture and barn were ready for them. We +did not propose to begin with everything at once. + +Our first evening in that house was made up of hours of unalloyed bliss. +We walked from room to room; we looked out on the garden and the lawn; +we sat on the little porch while I smoked. + +“We were happy at Rudder Grange,” said Euphemia; “but that was only +a canal-boat, and could not, in the nature of things, have been a +permanent home.” + +“No,” said I, “it could not have been permanent. But, in many respects, +it was a delightful home. The very name of it brings pleasant thoughts.” + +“It was a nice name,” said Euphemia, “and I'll tell you what we might +do: Let us call this place Rudder Grange--the New Rudder Grange! The +name will do just as well for a house as for a boat.” + +I agreed on the spot, and the house was christened. + +Our household was small; we had a servant--a German woman; and we had +ourselves, that was all. + +I did not do much in the garden; it was too late in the season. The +former occupant had planted some corn and potatoes, with a few other +vegetables, and these I weeded and hoed, working early in the morning +and when I came home in the afternoon. Euphemia tied up the rose-vines, +trimmed the bushes, and with a little rake and hoe she prepared a +flower-bed in front of the parlor-window. This exercise gave us splendid +appetites, and we loved our new home more and more. + +Our German girl did not suit us exactly at first, and day by day she +grew to suit us less. She was a quiet, kindly, pleasant creature, and +delighted in an out-of-door life. She was as willing to weed in the +garden as she was to cook or wash. At first I was very much pleased with +this, because, as I remarked to Euphemia, you can find very few girls +who would be willing to work in the garden, and she might be made very +useful. + +But, after a time, Euphemia began to get a little out of patience with +her. She worked out-of-doors entirely too much. And what she did there, +as well as some of her work in the house, was very much like certain +German literature--you did not know how it was done, or what it was for. + +One afternoon I found Euphemia quite annoyed. + +“Look here,” she said, “and see what that girl has been at work at, +nearly all this afternoon. I was upstairs sewing and thought she was +ironing. Isn't it too provoking?” + +It WAS provoking. The contemplative German had collected a lot of short +ham-bones--where she found them I cannot imagine--and had made of them +a border around my wife's flower-bed. The bones stuck up straight a few +inches above the ground, all along the edge of the bed, and the marrow +cavity of each one was filled with earth in which she had planted seeds. + +“'These,' she says, 'will spring up and look beautiful,'” said Euphemia; +“they have that style of thing in her country.” + +“Then let her take them off with her to her country,” I exclaimed. + +“No, no,” said Euphemia, hurriedly, “don't kick them out. It would only +wound her feelings. She did it all for the best, and thought it +would please me to have such a border around my bed. But she is too +independent, and neglects her proper work. I will give her a week's +notice and get another servant. When she goes we can take these horrid +bones away. But I hope nobody will call on us in the meantime.” + +“Must we keep these things here a whole week?” I asked. + +“Oh, I can't turn her away without giving her a fair notice. That would +be cruel.” + +I saw the truth of the remark, and determined to bear with the bones and +her rather than be unkind. + +That night Euphemia informed the girl of her decision, and the next +morning, soon after I had left, the good German appeared with her bonnet +on and her carpet-bag in her hand, to take leave of her mistress. + +“What!” cried Euphemia. “You are not going to-day?” + +“If it is goot to go at all it is goot to go now,” said the girl. + +“And you will go off and leave me without any one in the house, after my +putting myself out to give you a fair notice? It's shameful!” + +“I think it is very goot for me to go now,” quietly replied the girl. +“This house is very loneful. I will go to-morrow in the city to see your +husband for my money. Goot morning.” And off she trudged to the station. + +Before I reached the house that afternoon, Euphemia rushed out to tell +this story. I would not like to say how far I kicked those ham-bones. + +This German girl had several successors, and some of them suited as +badly and left as abruptly as herself; but Euphemia never forgot the +ungrateful stab given her by this “ham-bone girl,” as she always +called her. It was her first wound of the kind, and it came in the +very beginning of the campaign when she was all unused to this domestic +warfare. + + + +CHAPTER VII. TREATING OF AN UNSUCCESSFUL BROKER AND A DOG. + + +It was a couple of weeks, or thereabouts, after this episode that +Euphemia came down to the gate to meet me on my return from the city. +I noticed a very peculiar expression on her face. She looked both +thoughtful and pleased. Almost the first words she said to me were +these: + +“A tramp came here to-day.” + +“I am sorry to hear that,” I exclaimed. “That's the worst news I have +had yet. I did hope that we were far enough from the line of travel to +escape these scourges. How did you get rid of him? Was he impertinent?” + +“You must not feel that way about all tramps,” said she. “Sometimes they +are deserving of our charity, and ought to be helped. There is a great +difference in them.” + +“That may be,” I said; “but what of this one? When was he here, and when +did he go?” + +“He did not go at all. He is here now.” + +“Here now!” I cried. “Where is he?” + +“Do not call out so loud,” said Euphemia, putting her hand on my arm. +“You will waken him. He is asleep.” + +“Asleep!” said I. “A tramp? Here?” + +“Yes. Stop, let me tell you about him. He told me his story, and it is +a sad one. He is a middle-aged man--fifty perhaps--and has been rich. +He was once a broker in Wall street, but lost money by the failure of +various railroads--the Camden and Amboy, for one.” + +“That hasn't failed,” I interrupted. + +“Well then it was the Northern Pacific, or some other one of them--at +any rate I know it was either a railroad or a bank,--and he soon became +very poor. He has a son in Cincinnati, who is a successful merchant, and +lives in a fine house, with horses and carriages, and all that; and this +poor man has written to his son, but has never had any answer. So now +he is going to walk to Cincinnati to see him. He knows he will not be +turned away if he can once meet his son, face to face. He was very tired +when he stopped here,--and he has ever and ever so far to walk yet, you +know,--and so after I had given him something to eat, I let him lie down +in the outer kitchen, on that roll of rag-carpet that is there. I spread +it out for him. It is a hard bed for one who has known comfort, but he +seems to sleep soundly.” + +“Let me see him,” said I, and I walked back to the outer kitchen. + +There lay the unsuccessful broker fast asleep. His face, which was +turned toward me as I entered, showed that it had been many days since +he had been shaved, and his hair had apparently been uncombed for about +the same length of time. His clothes were very old, and a good deal +torn, and he wore one boot and one shoe. + +“Whew!” said I. “Have you been giving him whisky?” + +“No,” whispered Euphemia, “of course not. I noticed that smell, and he +said he had been cleaning his clothes with alcohol.” + +“They needed it, I'm sure,” I remarked as I turned away. “And now,” said +I, “where's the girl?” + +“This is her afternoon out. What is the matter? You look frightened.” + +“Oh, I'm not frightened, but I find I must go down to the station again. +Just run up and put on your bonnet. It will be a nice little walk for +you.” + +I had been rapidly revolving the matter in my mind. What was I to do +with this wretch who was now asleep in my outer kitchen? If I woke him +up and drove him off,--and I might have difficulty in doing it,--there +was every reason to believe that he would not go far, but return +at night and commit some revengeful act. I never saw a more +sinister-looking fellow. And he was certainly drunk. He must not be +allowed to wander about our neighborhood. I would go for the constable +and have him arrested. + +So I locked the door from the kitchen into the house and then the +outside door of the kitchen, and when my wife came down we hurried off. +On the way I told her what I intended to do, and what I thought of +our guest. She answered scarcely a word, and I hoped that she was +frightened. I think she was. + +The constable, who was also coroner of our township, had gone to a +creek, three miles away, to hold an inquest, and there was nobody to +arrest the man. The nearest police-station was at Hackingford, six miles +away, on the railroad. I held a consultation with the station-master, +and the gentleman who kept the grocery-store opposite. + +They could think of nothing to be done except to shoot the man, and to +that I objected. + +“However,” said I, “he can't stay there;” and a happy thought just then +striking me, I called to the boy who drove the village express-wagon, +and engaged him for a job. The wagon was standing at the station, and to +save time, I got in and rode to my house. Euphemia went over to call on +the groceryman's wife until I returned. + +I had determined that the man should be taken away, although, until I +was riding home, I had not made up my mind where to have him taken. But +on the road I settled this matter. + +On reaching the house, we drove into the yard as close to the kitchen +as we could go. Then I unlocked the door, and the boy--who was a big, +strapping fellow--entered with me. We found the ex-broker still wrapped +in the soundest slumber. Leaving the boy to watch him, I went upstairs +and got a baggage-tag which I directed to the chief of police at the +police station in Hackingford. I returned to the kitchen and fastened +this tag, conspicuously, on the lapel of the sleeper's coat. Then, with +a clothes-line, I tied him up carefully, hand and foot. To all this he +offered not the slightest opposition. When he was suitably packed, with +due regard to the probable tenderness of wrist and ankle in one brought +up in luxury, the boy and I carried him to the wagon. + +He was a heavy load, and we may have bumped him a little, but his sleep +was not disturbed. Then we drove him to the express office. This was at +the railroad station, and the station-master was also express agent. At +first he was not inclined to receive my parcel, but when I assured him +that all sorts of live things were sent by express, and that I could see +no reason for making an exception in this case, he added my arguments +to his own disposition, as a house-holder, to see the goods forwarded to +their destination, and so gave me a receipt, and pasted a label on the +ex-broker's shoulder. I set no value on the package, which I prepaid. + +“Now then,” said the station-master, “he'll go all right, if the express +agent on the train will take him.” + +This matter was soon settled, for, in a few minutes, the train stopped +at the station. My package was wheeled to the express car, and two +porters, who entered heartily into the spirit of the thing, hoisted it +into the car. The train-agent, who just then noticed the character of +the goods, began to declare that he would not have the fellow in his +car; but my friend the station-master shouted out that everything was +all right,--the man was properly packed, invoiced and paid for, and the +train, which was behind time, moved away before the irate agent could +take measures to get rid of his unwelcome freight. + +“Now,” said I, “there'll be a drunken man at the police-station in +Hackingford in about half-an-hour. His offense will be as evident there +as here, and they can do what they please with him. I shall telegraph, +to explain the matter and prepare them for his arrival.” + +When I had done this Euphemia and I went home. The tramp had cost me +some money, but I was well satisfied with my evening's work, and felt +that the township owed me, at least, a vote of thanks. + +But I firmly made up my mind that Euphemia should never again be left +unprotected. I would not even trust to a servant who would agree to have +no afternoons out. I would get a dog. + +The next day I advertised for a fierce watchdog, and in the course of +a week I got one. Before I procured him I examined into the merits, +and price, of about one hundred dogs. My dog was named Pete, but I +determined to make a change in that respect. He was a very tall, bony, +powerful beast, of a dull black color, and with a lower jaw that would +crack the hind-leg of an ox, so I was informed. He was of a varied +breed, and the good Irishman of whom I bought him said he had fine blood +in him, and attempted to refer him back to the different classes of dogs +from which he had been derived. But after I had had him awhile, I made +an analysis based on his appearance and character, and concluded that he +was mainly blood-hound, shaded with wolf-dog and mastiff, and picked out +with touches of bull-dog. + +The man brought him home for me, and chained him up in an unused +wood-shed, for I had no doghouse as yet. + +“Now thin,” said he, “all you've got to do is to keep 'im chained up +there for three or four days till he gets used to ye. An' I'll tell ye +the best way to make a dog like ye. Jist give him a good lickin'. Then +he'll know yer his master, and he'll like ye iver aftherward. There's +plenty of people that don't know that. And, by the way, sir, that +chain's none too strong for 'im. I got it when he wasn't mor'n half +grown. Ye'd bether git him a new one.” + +When the man had gone, I stood and looked at the dog, and could not +help hoping that he would learn to like me without the intervention of a +thrashing. Such harsh methods were not always necessary, I felt sure. + +After our evening meal--a combination of dinner and supper, of which +Euphemia used to say that she did not know whether to call it dinper or +supner--we went out together to look at our new guardian. + +Euphemia was charmed with him. + +“How massive!” she exclaimed. “What splendid limbs! And look at that +immense head! I know I shall never be afraid now. I feel that that is a +dog I can rely upon. Make him stand up, please, so I can see how tall he +is.” + +“I think it would be better not to disturb him,” I answered, “he may +be tired. He will get up of his own accord very soon. And indeed I +hope that he will not get up until I go to the store and get him a new +chain.” + +As I said this I made a step forward to look at his chain, and at that +instant a low growl, like the first rumblings of an earthquake, ran +through the dog. + +I stepped back again and walked over to the village for the chain. The +dog-chains shown me at the store all seemed too short and too weak, and +I concluded to buy two chains such as used for hitching horses and to +join them so as to make a long as well as a strong one of them. I wanted +him to be able to come out of the wood-shed when it should be necessary +to show himself. + +On my way home with my purchase the thought suddenly struck me, How will +you put that chain on your dog? The memory of the rumbling growl was +still vivid. + +I never put the chain on him. As I approached him with it in my hand, he +rose to his feet, his eyes sparkled, his black lips drew back from his +mighty teeth, he gave one savage bark and sprang at me. + +His chain held and I went into the house. That night he broke loose and +went home to his master, who lived fully ten miles away. + +When I found in the morning that he was gone I was in doubt whether it +would be better to go and look for him or not. But I concluded to keep +up a brave heart, and found him, as I expected, at the place where I had +bought him. The Irishman took him to my house again and I had to pay for +the man's loss of time as well as for his fare on the railroad. But the +dog's old master chained him up with the new chain and I felt repaid for +my outlay. + +Every morning and night I fed that dog, and I spoke as kindly and gently +to him as I knew how. But he seemed to cherish a distaste for me, and +always greeted me with a growl. He was an awful dog. + +About a week after the arrival of this animal, I was astonished and +frightened on nearing the house to hear a scream from my wife. I rushed +into the yard and was greeted with a succession of screams from two +voices, that seemed to come from the vicinity of the wood-shed. Hurrying +thither, I perceived Euphemia standing on the roof of the shed in +perilous proximity to the edge, while near the ridge of the roof sat our +hired girl with her handkerchief over her head. + +“Hurry, hurry!” cried Euphemia. “Climb up here! The dog is loose! Be +quick! Be quick! Oh! he's coming, he's coming!” + +I asked for no explanation. There was a rail-fence by the side of the +shed and I sprang on this, and was on the roof just as the dog came +bounding and barking from the barn. + +Instantly Euphemia had me in her arms, and we came very near going off +the roof together. + +“I never feared to have you come home before,” she sobbed. “I thought he +would tear you limb from limb.” + +“But how did all this happen?” said I. + +“Och! I kin hardly remember,” said the girl from under her handkerchief. + +“Well, I didn't ask you,” I said, somewhat too sharply. + +“Oh, I'll tell you,” said Euphemia. “There was a man at the gate and he +looked suspicious and didn't try to come in, and Mary was at the barn +looking for an egg, and I thought this was a good time to see whether +the dog was a good watch-dog or not, so I went and unchained him--” + +“Did you unchain that dog?” I cried. + +“Yes, and the minute he was loose he made a rush at the gate, but the +man was gone before he got there, and as he ran down the road I saw that +he was Mr. Henderson's man, who was coming here on an errand, I expect, +and then I went down to the barn to get Mary to come and help me chain +up the dog, and when she came out he began to chase me and then her; +and we were so frightened that we climbed up here, and I don't know, +I'm sure, how I ever got up that fence; and do you think he can climb up +here?” + +“Oh no! my dear,” I said. + +“An' he's just the beast to go afther a stip-ladder,” said the girl, in +muffled tones. + +“And what are we to do?” asked Euphemia. “We can't eat and sleep up +here. Don't you think that if we were all to shout out together, we +could make some neighbor hear?” + +“Oh yes!” I said, “there is no doubt of it. But then, if a neighbor +came, the dog would fall on him--” + +“And tear him limb from limb,” interrupted Euphemia. + +“Yes, and besides, my dear, I should hate to have any of the neighbors +come and find us all up here. It would look so utterly absurd. Let me +try and think of some other plan.” + +“Well, please be as quick as you can. It's dreadful to be--who's that?” + +I looked up and saw a female figure just entering the yard. + +“Oh, what shall we do” exclaimed Euphemia. “The dog will get her. Call +to her!” + +“No, no,” said I, “don't make a noise. It will only bring the dog. He +seems to have gone to the barn, or somewhere. Keep perfectly quiet, and +she may go up on the porch, and as the front door is not locked, she may +rush into the house, if she sees him coming.” + +“I do hope she will do that,” said Euphemia, anxiously. + +“And yet,” said I, “it's not pleasant to have strangers going into the +house when there's no one there.” + +“But it's better than seeing a stranger torn to pieces before your +eyes,” said Euphemia. + +“Yes,” I replied, “it is. Don't you think we might get down now? The dog +isn't here.” + +“No, no!” cried Euphemia. “There he is now, coming this way. And look at +that woman! She is coming right to this shed.” + +Sure enough, our visitor had passed by the front door, and was walking +toward us. Evidently she had heard our voices. + +“Don't come here!” cried Euphemia. “You'll be killed! Run! run! The dog +is coming! Why, mercy on us! It's Pomona!” + + + +CHAPTER VIII. POMONA ONCE MORE. + + +Sure enough, it was Pomona. There stood our old servant-girl, of the +canal-boat, with a crooked straw bonnet on her head, a faded yellow +parasol in her hand, a parcel done up in newspaper under her arm, and an +expression of astonishment on her face. + +“Well, truly!” she ejaculated. + +“Into the house, quick!” I said. “We have a savage dog!” + +“And here he is!” cried Euphemia. “Oh! she will be torn to atoms.” + +Straight at Pomona came the great black beast, barking furiously. But +the girl did not move; she did not even turn her head to look at the +dog, who stopped before he reached her and began to rush wildly around +her, barking terribly. + +We held our breath. I tried to say “get out!” or “lie down!” but my +tongue could not form the words. + +“Can't you get up here?” gasped Euphemia. + +“I don't want to,” said the girl. + +The dog now stopped barking, and stood looking at Pomona, occasionally +glancing up at us. Pomona took not the slightest notice of him. + +“Do you know, ma'am,” said she to Euphemia, “that if I had come here +yesterday, that dog would have had my life's blood.” + +“And why don't he have it to-day?” said Euphemia, who, with myself, was +utterly amazed at the behavior of the dog. + +“Because I know more to-day than I did yesterday,” answered Pomona. “It +is only this afternoon that I read something, as I was coming here on +the cars. This is it,” she continued, unwrapping her paper parcel, and +taking from it one of the two books it contained. “I finished this part +just as the cars stopped, and I put my scissors in the place; I'll read +it to you.” + +Standing there with one book still under her arm, the newspaper half +unwrapped from it, hanging down and flapping in the breeze, she opened +the other volume at the scissors-place, turned back a page or two, and +began to read as follows: + + +“Lord Edward slowly san-ter-ed up the bro-ad anc-es-tral walk, when +sudden-ly from out a cop-se, there sprang a fur-i-ous hound. The +marsh-man, con-ce-al-ed in a tree expected to see the life's blood of +the young nob-le-man stain the path. But no, Lord Edward did not stop +nor turn his head. With a smile, he strode stead-i-ly on. Well he knew +that if by be-traying no em-otion, he could show the dog that he was +walking where he had a right, the bru-te would re-cog-nize that right +and let him pass un-sca-thed. Thus in this moment of peril his nob-le +courage saved him. The hound, abashed, returned to his cov-ert, and Lord +Edward pass-ed on. + +“Foi-led again,” mutter-ed the marsh-man. + + +“Now, then,” said Pomona, closing the book, “you see I remembered +that, the minute I saw the dog coming, and I didn't betray any emotion. +Yesterday, now, when I didn't know it, I'd 'a been sure to betray +emotion, and he would have had my life's blood. Did he drive you up +there?” + +“Yes,” said Euphemia; and she hastily explained the situation. + +“Then I guess I'd better chain him up,” remarked Pomona; and advancing +to the dog she took him boldly by the collar and pulled him toward the +shed. The animal hung back at first, but soon followed her, and she +chained him up securely. + +“Now you can come down,” said Pomona. + +I assisted Euphemia to the ground, and Pomona persuaded the hired girl +to descend. + +“Will he grab me by the leg?” asked the girl. + +“No; get down, gump,” said Pomona, and down she scrambled. + +We took Pomona into the house with us and asked her news of herself. + +“Well,” said she, “there ain't much to tell. I staid awhile at the +institution, but I didn't get much good there, only I learned to read +to myself, because if I read out loud they came and took the book away. +Then I left there and went to live out, but the woman was awful mean. +She throwed away one of my books and I was only half through it. It was +a real good book, named 'The Bridal Corpse, or Montregor's Curse,' and +I had to pay for it at the circulatin' library. So I left her quick +enough, and then I went on the stage.” + +“On the stage!” cried Euphemia. “What did you do on the stage?” + +“Scrub,” replied Pomona. “You see that I thought if I could get anything +to do at the theayter, I could work my way up, so I was glad to get +scrubbin'. I asked the prompter, one morning, if he thought there was a +chance for me to work up, and he said yes, I might scrub the galleries, +and then I told him that I didn't want none of his lip, and I pretty +soon left that place. I heard you was akeepin' house out here, and so I +thought I'd come along and see you, and if you hadn't no girl I'd like +to live with you again, and I guess you might as well take me, for that +other girl said, when she got down from the shed, that she was goin' +away to-morrow; she wouldn't stay in no house where they kept such a +dog, though I told her I guessed he was only cuttin' 'round because he +was so glad to get loose.” + +“Cutting around!” exclaimed Euphemia. “It was nothing of the kind. If +you had seen him you would have known better. But did you come now to +stay? Where are your things?” + +“On me,” replied Pomona. + +When Euphemia found that the Irish girl really intended to leave, we +consulted together and concluded to engage Pomona, and I went so far as +to agree to carry her books to and from the circulating library to which +she subscribed, hoping thereby to be able to exercise some influence +on her taste. And thus part of the old family of Rudder Grange had come +together again. True, the boarder was away, but, as Pomona remarked, +when she heard about him, “You couldn't always expect to ever regain the +ties that had always bound everybody.” + +Our delight and interest in our little farm increased day by day. In +a week or two after Pomona's arrival I bought a cow. Euphemia was +very anxious to have an Alderney,--they were such gentle, beautiful +creatures,--but I could not afford such a luxury. I might possibly +compass an Alderney calf, but we would have to wait a couple of years +for our milk, and Euphemia said it would be better to have a common cow +than to do that. + +Great was our inward satisfaction when the cow, our OWN cow, walked +slowly and solemnly into our yard and began to crop the clover on our +little lawn. Pomona and I gently drove her to the barn, while Euphemia +endeavored to quiet the violent demonstrations of the dog (fortunately +chained) by assuring him that this was OUR cow and that she was to live +here, and that he was to take care of her and never bark at her. All +this and much more, delivered in the earnest and confidential tone in +which ladies talk to infants and dumb animals, made the dog think that +he was to be let loose to kill the cow, and he bounded and leaped with +delight, tugging at his chain so violently that Euphemia became a little +frightened and left him. This dog had been named Lord Edward, at the +earnest solicitation of Pomona, and he was becoming somewhat reconciled +to his life with us. He allowed me to unchain him at night and I could +generally chain him up in the morning without trouble if I had a good +big plate of food with which to tempt him into the shed. + +Before supper we all went down to the barn to see the milking. Pomona, +who knew all about such things, having been on a farm in her first +youth, was to be the milkmaid. But when she began operations, she did no +more than begin. Milk as industriously as she might, she got no milk. + +“This is a queer cow,” said Pomona. + +“Are you sure that you know how to milk?” asked Euphemia anxiously. + +“Can I milk?” said Pomona. “Why, of course, ma'am. I've seen 'em milk +hundreds of times.” + +“But you never milked, yourself?” I remarked. + +“No, sir, but I know just how it's done.” + +That might be, but she couldn't do it, and at last we had to give up the +matter in despair, and leave the poor cow until morning, when Pomona was +to go for a man who occasionally worked on the place, and engage him to +come and milk for us. + +That night as we were going to bed I looked out of the window at the +barn which contained the cow, and was astonished to see that there was a +light inside of the building. + +“What!” I exclaimed. “Can't we be left in peaceful possession of a cow +for a single night?” And, taking my revolver, I hurried down-stairs and +out-of-doors, forgetting my hat in my haste. Euphemia screamed after me +to be careful and keep the pistol pointed away from me. + +I whistled for the dog as I went out, but to my surprise he did not +answer. + +“Has he been killed?” I thought, and, for a moment, I wished that I was +a large family of brothers--all armed. + +But on my way to the barn I met a person approaching with a lantern and +a dog. It was Pomona, and she had a milk-pail on her arm. + +“See here, sir,” she said, “it's mor'n half full. I just made up my mind +that I'd learn to milk--if it took me all night. I didn't go to bed at +all, and I've been at the barn fur an hour. And there ain't no need of +my goin' after no man in the mornin',” said she, hanging up the barn key +on its nail. + +I simply mention this circumstance to show what kind of a girl Pomona +had grown to be. + +We were all the time at work in some way, improving our little place. +“Some day we will buy it,” said Euphemia. We intended to have some wheat +put in in the fall and next year we would make the place fairly crack +with luxuriance. We would divide the duties of the farm, and, among +other things, Euphemia would take charge of the chickens. She wished to +do this entirely herself, so that there might be one thing that should +be all her own, just as my work in town was all my own. As she wished +to buy the chickens and defray all the necessary expenses out of her own +private funds, I could make no objections, and, indeed, I had no desire +to do so. She bought a chicken-book, and made herself mistress of +the subject. For a week, there was a strong chicken flavor in all our +conversation. + +This was while the poultry yard was building. There was a chicken-house +on the place, but no yard, and Euphemia intended to have a good big one, +because she was going into the business to make money. + +“Perhaps my chickens may buy the place,” she said, and I very much hoped +they would. + +Everything was to be done very systematically. She would have Leghorns, +Brahmas, and common fowls. The first, because they laid so many eggs; +the second, because they were such fine, big fowls, and the third, +because they were such good mothers. + +“We will eat, and sell the eggs of the first and third classes,” she +said, “and set the eggs of the second class, under the hens of the third +class.” + +“There seems to be some injustice in that arrangement,” I said, “for the +first class will always be childless; the second class will have nothing +to do with their offspring, while the third will be obliged to bring up +and care for the children of others.” + +But I really had no voice in this matter. As soon as the carpenter +had finished the yard, and had made some coops and other necessary +arrangements, Euphemia hired a carriage and went about the country to +buy chickens. It was not easy to find just what she wanted, and she was +gone all day. + +However, she brought home an enormous Brahma cock and ten hens, which +number was pretty equally divided into her three classes. She was very +proud of her purchases, and indeed they were fine fowls. In the +evening I made some allusion to the cost of all this carpenter work, +carriage-hire, etc., besides the price of the chickens. + +“O!” said she, “you don't look at the matter in the right light. You +haven't studied it up as I have. Now, just let me show you how this +thing will pay, if carried on properly.” Producing a piece of paper +covered with figures, she continued: “I begin with ten hens--I got +four common ones, because it would make it easier to calculate. After a +while, I set these ten hens on thirteen eggs each; three of these eggs +will probably spoil,--that leaves ten chickens hatched out. Of these, I +will say that half die, that will make five chickens for each hen; you +see, I leave a large margin for loss. This makes fifty chickens, and +when we add the ten hens, we have sixty fowls at the end of the first +year. Next year I set these sixty and they bring up five chickens +each,--I am sure there will be a larger proportion than this, but I want +to be safe,--and that is three hundred chickens; add the hens, and we +have three hundred and sixty at the end of the second year. In the third +year, calculating in the same safe way, we shall have twenty-one hundred +and sixty chickens; in the fourth year there will be twelve thousand +nine hundred and sixty, and at the end of the fifth year, which is as +far as I need to calculate now, we shall have sixty-four thousand and +eight hundred chickens. What do you think of that? At seventy-five cents +apiece,--a very low price,--that would be forty-eight thousand and +six hundred dollars. Now, what is the petty cost of a fence, and a few +coops, by the side of a sum like that?” + +“Nothing at all,” I answered. “It is lost like a drop in the ocean. I +hate, my dear, to interfere in any way with such a splendid calculation +as that, but I would like to ask you one question.” + +“Oh, of course,” she said, “I suppose you are going to say something +about the cost of feeding all this poultry. That is to come out of the +chickens supposed to die. They won't die. It is ridiculous to suppose +that each hen will bring up but five chickens. The chickens that will +live, out of those I consider as dead, will more than pay for the feed.” + +“That is not what I was going to ask you, although of course it ought to +be considered. But you know you are only going to set common hens, and +you do not intend to raise any. Now, are those four hens to do all the +setting and mother-work for five years, and eventually bring up over +sixty-four thousand chickens?” + +“Well, I DID make a mistake there,” she said, coloring a little. “I'll +tell you what I'll do; I'll set every one of my hens every year.” + +“But all those chickens may not be hens. You have calculated that every +one of them would set as soon as it was old enough.” + +She stopped a minute to think this over. + +“Two heads are better than one, I see,” she said, directly. “I'll allow +that one-half of all the chickens are roosters, and that will make the +profits twenty-four thousand three hundred dollars--more than enough to +buy this place.” + +“Ever so much more,” I cried. “This Rudder Grange is ours!” + + + +CHAPTER IX. WE CAMP OUT. + + +My wife and I were both so fond of country life and country pursuits +that month after month passed by at our little farm in a succession of +delightful days. Time flew like a “limited express” train, and it was +September before we knew it. + +I had been working very hard at the office that summer, and was glad to +think of my two weeks' vacation, which were to begin on the first +Monday of the month. I had intended spending these two weeks in +rural retirement at home, but an interview in the city with my family +physician caused me to change my mind. I told him my plan. + +“Now,” said he, “if I were you, I'd do nothing of the kind. You have +been working too hard; your face shows it. You need rest and change. +Nothing will do you so much good as to camp out; that will be fifty +times better than going to any summer resort. You can take your wife +with you. I know she'll like it. I don't care where you go so that it's +a healthy spot. Get a good tent and an outfit, be off to the woods, and +forget all about business and domestic matters for a few weeks.” + +This sounded splendid, and I propounded the plan to Euphemia that +evening. She thought very well of it, and was sure we could do it. +Pomona would not be afraid to remain in the house, under the protection +of Lord Edward, and she could easily attend to the cow and the chickens. +It would be a holiday for her too. Old John, the man who occasionally +worked for us, would come up sometimes and see after things. With her +customary dexterity Euphemia swept away every obstacle to the plan, and +all was settled before we went to bed. + +As my wife had presumed, Pomona made no objections to remaining in +charge of the house. The scheme pleased her greatly. So far, so good. I +called that day on a friend who was in the habit of camping out to talk +to him about getting a tent and the necessary “traps” for a life in the +woods. He proved perfectly competent to furnish advice and everything +else. He offered to lend me all I needed. He had a complete outfit; had +done with them for the year, and I was perfectly welcome. Here was rare +luck. He gave me a tent, camp-stove, dishes, pots, gun, fishing-tackle, +a big canvas coat with dozens of pockets riveted on it, a canvas hat, +rods, reels, boots that came up to my hips, and about a wagon-load of +things in all. He was a real good fellow. + +We laid in a stock of canned and condensed provisions, and I bought +a book on camping out so as to be well posted on the subject. On +the Saturday before the first Monday in September we would have been +entirely ready to start had we decided on the place where we were to go. + +We found it very difficult to make this decision. There were thousands +of places where people went to camp out, but none of them seemed to be +the place for us. Most of them were too far away. We figured up the cost +of taking ourselves and our camp equipage to the Adirondacks, the lakes, +the trout-streams of Maine, or any of those well-known resorts, and we +found that we could not afford such trips, especially for a vacation of +but fourteen days. + +On Sunday afternoon we took a little walk. Our minds were still troubled +about the spot toward which we ought to journey next day, and we needed +the soothing influences of Nature. The country to the north and west of +our little farm was very beautiful. About half a mile from the house +a modest river ran; on each side of it were grass-covered fields and +hills, and in some places there were extensive tracks of woodlands. + +“Look here!” exclaimed Euphemia, stopping short in the little path that +wound along by the river bank. “Do you see this river, those woods, +those beautiful fields, with not a soul in them or anywhere near them; +and those lovely blue mountains over there?”--as she spoke she waved +her parasol in the direction of the objects indicated, and I could not +mistake them. “Now what could we want better than this?” she continued. +“Here we can fish, and do everything that we want to. I say, let us camp +here on our own river. I can take you to the very spot for the tent. +Come on!” And she was so excited about it that she fairly ran. + +The spot she pointed out was one we had frequently visited in our rural +walks. It was a grassy peninsula, as I termed it, formed by a sudden +turn of a creek which, a short distance below, flowed into the river. +It was a very secluded spot. The place was approached through a +pasture-field,--we had found it by mere accident,--and where the +peninsula joined the field (we had to climb a fence just there), there +was a cluster of chestnut and hickory trees, while down near the point +stood a wide-spreading oak. + +“Here, under this oak, is the place for the tent,” said Euphemia, her +face flushed, her eyes sparkling, and her dress a little torn by getting +over the fence in a hurry. “What do we want with your Adirondacks and +your Dismal Swamps? This is the spot for us!” + +“Euphemia,” said I, in as composed a tone as possible, although my whole +frame was trembling with emotion, “Euphemia, I am glad I married you!” + +Had it not been Sunday, we would have set up our tent that night. + +Early the next morning, old John's fifteen-dollar horse drew from +our house a wagon-load of camp-fixtures. There was some difficulty in +getting the wagon over the field, and there were fences to be taken down +to allow of its passage; but we overcame all obstacles, and reached the +camp-ground without breaking so much as a teacup. Old John helped me +pitch the tent, and as neither of us understood the matter very well, +it took us some time. It was, indeed, nearly noon when old John left us, +and it may have been possible that he delayed matters a little so as to +be able to charge for a full half-day for himself and horse. Euphemia +got into the wagon to ride back with him, that she might give some +parting injunctions to Pomona. + +“I'll have to stop a bit to put up the fences, ma'am,” said old John, +“or Misther Ball might make a fuss.” + +“Is this Mr. Ball's land?” I asked. + +“Oh yes, sir, it's Mr. Ball's land.” + +“I wonder how he'll like our camping on it?” I said, thoughtfully. + +“I'd 'a' thought, sir, you'd 'a' asked him that before you came,” said +old John, in a tone that seemed to indicate that he had his doubts about +Mr. Ball. + +“Oh, there'll be no trouble about that,” cried Euphemia. “You can drive +me past Mr. Ball's,--it's not much out of the way,--and I'll ask him.” + +“In that wagon?” said I. “Will you stop at Mr. Ball's door in that?” + +“Certainly,” said she, as she arranged herself on the board which served +as a seat. “Now that our campaign has really commenced, we ought to +begin to rough it, and should not be too proud to ride even in a--in +a--” + +She evidently couldn't think of any vehicle mean enough for her purpose. + +“In a green-grocery cart,” I suggested. + +“Yes, or in a red one. Go ahead, John.” + +When Euphemia returned on foot, I had a fire in the camp-stove and the +kettle was on. + +“Well,” said Euphemia, “Mr. Ball says it's all right, if we keep the +fence up. He don't want his cows to get into the creek, and I'm sure we +don't want 'em walking over us. He couldn't understand, though, why +we wanted to live out here. I explained the whole thing to him very +carefully, but it didn't seem to make much impression on him. I believe +he thinks Pomona has something the matter with her, and that we have +come to stay out here in the fresh air so as not to take it.” + +“What an extremely stupid man Mr. Ball must be!” I said. + +The fire did not burn very well, and while I was at work at it, Euphemia +spread a cloth upon the grass, and set forth bread and butter, cheese, +sardines, potted ham, preserves, biscuits, and a lot of other things. + +We did not wait for the kettle to boil, but concluded to do without tea +or coffee, for this meal, and content ourselves with pure water. For +some reason or other, however, the creek water did not seem to be very +pure, and we did not like it a bit. + +“After lunch,” said I, “we will go and look for a spring; that will be a +good way of exploring the country.” + +“If we can't find one,” said Euphemia, “we shall have to go to the house +for water, for I can never drink that stuff.” + +Soon after lunch we started out. We searched high and low, near and far, +for a spring, but could not find one. + +At length, by merest accident, we found ourselves in the vicinity of old +John's little house. I knew he had a good well, and so we went in to get +a drink, for our ham and biscuits had made us very thirsty. + +We told old John, who was digging potatoes, and was also very much +surprised to see us so soon, about our unexpected trouble in finding a +spring. + +“No,” said he, very slowly, “there is no spring very near to you. Didn't +you tell your gal to bring you water?” + +“No,” I replied; “we don't want her coming down to the camp. She is to +attend to the house.” + +“Oh, very well,” said John; “I will bring you water, morning and +night,--good, fresh water,--from my well, for,--well, for ten cents a +day.” + +“That will be nice,” said Euphemia, “and cheap, too. And then it will be +well to have John come every day; he can carry our letters.” + +“I don't expect to write any letters.” + +“Neither do I,” said Euphemia; “but it will be pleasant to have some +communication with the outer world.” + +So we engaged old John to bring us water twice a day. I was a little +disappointed at this, for I thought that camping on the edge of a stream +settled the matter of water. But we have many things to learn in this +world. + +Early in the afternoon I went out to catch some fish for supper. We +agreed to dispense with dinner, and have breakfast, lunch, and a good +solid supper. + +For some time I had poor luck. There were either very few fish in the +creek, or they were not hungry. + +I had been fishing an hour or more when I saw Euphemia running toward +me. + +“What's the matter?” said I. + +“Oh! nothing. I've just come to see how you were getting along. Haven't +you been gone an awfully long time? And are those all the fish you've +caught? What little bits of things they are! I thought people who camped +out caught big fish and lots of them?” + +“That depends a good deal upon where they go,” said I. + +“Yes, I suppose so,” replied Euphemia; “but I should think a stream as +big as this would have plenty of fish in it. However, if you can't +catch any, you might go up to the road and watch for Mr. Mulligan. He +sometimes comes along on Mondays.” + +“I'm not going to the road to watch for any fish-man,” I replied, a +little more testily than I should have spoken. “What sort of a camping +out would that be? But we must not be talking here or I shall never get +a bite. Those fish are a little soiled from jumping about in the dust. +You might wash them off at that shallow place, while I go a little +further on and try my luck.” + +I went a short distance up the creek, and threw my line into a dark, +shadowy pool, under some alders, where there certainly should be fish. +And, sure enough, in less than a minute I got a splendid bite,--not only +a bite, but a pull. I knew that I had certainly hooked a big fish! The +thing actually tugged at my line so that I was afraid the pole would +break. I did not fear for the line, for that, I knew, was strong. I +would have played the fish until he was tired, and I could pull him out +without risk to the pole, but I did not know exactly how the process +of “playing” was conducted. I was very much excited. Sometimes I gave a +jerk and a pull, and then the fish would give a jerk and a pull. + +Directly I heard some one running toward me, and then I heard Euphemia +cry out: + +“Give him the butt! Give him the butt!” + +“Give him what?” I exclaimed, without having time even to look up at +her. + +“The butt! the butt!” she cried, almost breathlessly. “I know that's +right! I read how Edward Everett Hale did it in the Adirondacks.” + +“No, it wasn't Hale at all,” said I, as I jumped about the bank; “it was +Mr. Murray.” + +“Well, it was one of those fishing ministers, and I know that it caught +the fish.” + +“I know, I know. I read it, but I don't know how to do it.” + +“Perhaps you ought to punch him with it,” said she. + +“No! no!” I hurriedly replied, “I can't do anything like that. I'm going +to try to just pull him out lengthwise. You take hold of the pole and go +in shore as far as you can and I'll try and get hold of the line.” + +Euphemia did as I bade her, and drew the line in so that I could reach +it. As soon as I had a firm hold of it, I pulled in, regardless of +consequences, and hauled ashore an enormous cat-fish. + +“Hurrah!” I shouted, “here is a prize.” + +Euphemia dropped the pole, and ran to me. + +“What a horrid beast!” she exclaimed. “Throw it in again.” + +“Not at all!” said I. “This is a splendid fish, if I can ever get him +off the hook. Don't come near him! If he sticks that back-fin into you, +it will poison you.” + +“Then I should think it would poison us to eat him,” said she. + +“No; it's only his fin.” + +“I've eaten cat-fish, but I never saw one like that,” she said. “Look at +its horrible mouth! And it has whiskers like a cat!” + +“Oh! you never saw one with its head on,” I said. “What I want to do is +to get this hook out.” + +I had caught cat-fish before, but never one so large as this, and I was +actually afraid to take hold of it, knowing, as I did, that you must be +very careful how you clutch a fish of the kind. I finally concluded to +carry it home as it was, and then I could decapitate it, and take out +the hook at my leisure. So back to camp we went, Euphemia picking up the +little fish as we passed, for she did not think it right to catch fish +and not eat them. They made her hands smell, it is true; but she did not +mind that when we were camping. + +I prepared the big fish (and I had a desperate time getting the skin +off), while my wife, who is one of the daintiest cooks in the world, +made the fire in the stove, and got ready the rest of the supper. She +fried the fish, because I told her that was the way cat-fish ought to be +cooked, although she said that it seemed very strange to her to camp out +for the sake of one's health, and then to eat fried food. + +But that fish was splendid! The very smell of it made us hungry. +Everything was good, and when supper was over and the dishes washed, I +lighted my pipe and we sat down under a tree to enjoy the evening. + +The sun had set behind the distant ridge; a delightful twilight was +gently subduing every color of the scene; the night insects were +beginning to hum and chirp, and a fire that I had made under a tree +blazed up gayly, and threw little flakes of light into the shadows under +the shrubbery. + +“Now isn't this better than being cooped up in a narrow, constricted +house?” said I. + +“Ever so much better!” said Euphemia. “Now we know what Nature is. We +are sitting right down in her lap, and she is cuddling us up. Isn't that +sky lovely? Oh! I think this is perfectly splendid,” said she, making a +little dab at her face,--“if it wasn't for the mosquitoes.” + +“They ARE bad,” I said. “I thought my pipe would keep them off, but it +don't. There must be plenty of them down at that creek.” + +“Down there!” exclaimed Euphemia. “Why there are thousands of them here! +I never saw anything like it. They're getting worse every minute.” + +“I'll tell you what we must do,” I exclaimed, jumping up. “We must make +a smudge.” + +“What's that? do you rub it on yourself?” asked Euphemia, anxiously. + +“No, it's only a great smoke. Come, let us gather up dry leaves and make +a smoldering fire of them.” + +We managed to get up a very fair smudge, and we stood to the leeward of +it, until Euphemia began to cough and sneeze, as if her head would +come off. With tears running from her eyes, she declared that she would +rather go and be eaten alive, than stay in that smoke. + +“Perhaps we were too near it,” said I. + +“That may be,” she answered, “but I have had enough smoke. Why didn't +I think of it before? I brought two veils! We can put these over our +faces, and wear gloves.” + +She was always full of expedients. + +Veiled and gloved, we bade defiance to the mosquitoes, and we sat +and talked for half an hour or more. I made a little hole in my veil, +through which I put the mouth-piece of my pipe. + +When it became really dark, I lighted the lantern, and we prepared for a +well-earned night's rest. The tent was spacious and comfortable, and we +each had a nice little cot-bed. + +“Are you going to leave the front-door open all night?” said Euphemia, +as I came in after a final round to see that all was right. + +“I should hardly call this canvas-flap a front-door,” I said, “but I +think it would be better to leave it open; otherwise we should smother. +You need not be afraid. I shall keep my gun here by my bedside, and if +any one offers to come in, I'll bring him to a full stop quick enough.” + +“Yes, if you are awake. But I suppose we ought not to be afraid of +burglars here. People in tents never are. So you needn't shut it.” + +It was awfully quiet and dark and lonely, out there by that creek, when +the light had been put out, and we had gone to bed. For some reason I +could not go to sleep. After I had been lying awake for an hour or two, +Euphemia spoke: + +“Are you awake?” said she, in a low voice, as if she were afraid of +disturbing the people in the next room. + +“Yes,” said I. “How long have you been awake?” + +“I haven't been asleep.” + +“Neither have I.” + +“Suppose we light the lantern,” said she. “Don't you think it would be +pleasanter?” + +“It might be,” I replied; “but it would draw myriads of mosquitoes. +I wish I had brought a mosquito-net and a clock. It seems so lonesome +without the ticking. Good-night! We ought to have a long sleep, if we do +much tramping about to-morrow.” + +In about half an hour more, just as I was beginning to be a little +sleepy, she said: + +“Where is that gun?” + +“Here by me,” I answered. + +“Well, if a man should come in, try and be sure to put it up close to +him before you fire. In a little tent like this, the shot might scatter +everywhere, if you're not careful.” + +“All right,” I said. “Good-night!” + +“There's one thing we never thought of!” she presently exclaimed. + +“What's that,” said I. + +“Snakes,” said she. + +“Well, don't let's think of them. We must try and get a little sleep.” + +“Dear knows! I've been trying hard enough,” she said, plaintively, and +all was quiet again. + +We succeeded this time in going to sleep, and it was broad daylight +before we awoke. + +That morning, old John came with our water before breakfast was ready. +He also brought us some milk, as he thought we would want it. We +considered this a good idea, and agreed with him to bring us a quart a +day. + +“Don't you want some wegetables?” said he. “I've got some nice corn and +some tomatoes, and I could bring you cabbage and peas.” + +We had hardly expected to have fresh vegetables every day, but there +seemed to be no reason why old John should not bring them, as he had to +come every day with the water and milk. So we arranged that he should +furnish us daily with a few of the products of his garden. + +“I could go to the butcher's and get you a steak or some chops, if you'd +let me know in the morning,” said he, intent on the profits of further +commissions. + +But this was going too far. We remembered we were camping out, and +declined to have meat from the butcher. + +John had not been gone more than ten minutes before we saw Mr. Ball +approaching. + +“Oh, I hope he isn't going to say we can't stay!” exclaimed Euphemia. + +“How d'ye do?” said Mr. Ball, shaking hands with us. “Did you stick it +out all night?” + +“Oh yes, indeed,” I replied, “and expect to stick it out for a many more +nights if you don't object to our occupying your land.” + +“No objection in the world,” said he; “but it seems a little queer for +people who have a good house to be living out here in the fields in a +tent, now, don't it?” + +“Oh, but you see,” said I, and I went on and explained the whole thing +to him,--the advice of the doctor, the discussion about the proper place +to go to, and the good reasons for fixing on this spot. + +“Ye-es,” said he, “that's all very well, no doubt. But how's the girl?” + +“What girl?” I asked. + +“Your girl. The hired girl you left at the house.” + +“Oh, she's all right,” said I; “she's always well.” + +“Well,” said Mr. Ball, slowly turning on his heel, “if you say so, I +suppose she is. But you're going up to the house to-day to see about +her, aren't you?” + +“Oh, no,” said Euphemia. “We don't intend to go near the house until our +camping is over.” + +“Just so,--just so,” said Mr. Ball; “I expected as much. But look here, +don't you think it would be well for me to ask Dr. Ames to stop in and +see how she is gettin' along? I dare say you've fixed everything for +her, but that would be safer, you know. He's coming this morning to +vaccinate my baby, and he might stop there, just as well as not, after +he has left my house.” + +Euphemia and I could see no necessity for this proposed visit of the +doctor, but we could not well object to it, and so Mr. Ball said he +would be sure and send him. + +After our visitor had gone, the significance of his remarks flashed on +me. He still thought that Pomona was sick with something catching, and +that we were afraid to stay in the house with her. But I said nothing +about this to Euphemia. It would only worry her, and our vacation was to +be a season of unalloyed delight. + + + +CHAPTER X. WET BLANKETS. + + +We certainly enjoyed our second day in camp. All the morning, and a +great part of the afternoon, we “explored.” We fastened up the tent +as well as we could, and then, I with my gun, and Euphemia with the +fishing-pole, we started up the creek. We did not go very far, for it +would not do to leave the tent too long. I did not shoot anything, but +Euphemia caught two or three nice little fish, and we enjoyed the sport +exceedingly. + +Soon after we returned in the afternoon, and while we were getting +things in order for supper, we had a call from two of our neighbors, +Captain Atkinson and wife. The captain greeted us hilariously. + +“Hello!” he cried. “Why, this is gay. Who would ever have thought of +a domestic couple like you going on such a lark as this. We just heard +about it from old John, and we came down to see what you are up to. +You've got everything very nice. I think I'd like this myself. Why, you +might have a rifle-range out here. You could cut down those bushes on +the other side of the creek, and put up your target over there on that +hill. Then you could lie down here on the grass and bang away all day. +If you'll do that, I'll come down and practice with you. How long are +you going to keep it up?” + +I told him that we expected to spend my two weeks' vacation here. + +“Not if it rains, my boy,” said he. “I know what it is to camp out in +the rain.” + +Meanwhile, Mrs. Atkinson had been with Euphemia examining the tent, and +our equipage generally. + +“It would be very nice for a day's picnic,” she said; “but I wouldn't +want to stay out-of-doors all night.” + +And then, addressing me, she asked: + +“Do you have to breathe the fresh air all the time, night as well as +day? I expect that is a very good prescription, but I would not like to +have to follow it myself.” + +“If the fresh air is what you must have,” said the captain, “you might +have got all you wanted of that without taking the trouble to come out +here. You could have sat out on your back porch night and day for the +whole two weeks, and breathed all the fresh air that any man could +need.” + +“Yes,” said I, “and I might have gone down cellar and put my head in the +cold-air box of the furnace. But there wouldn't have been much fun in +that.” + +“There are a good many things that there's no fun in,” said the captain. +“Do you cook your own meals, or have them sent from the house?” + +“Cook them ourselves, of course,” said Euphemia. “We are going to have +supper now. Won't you wait and take some?” + +“Thank you,” said Mrs. Atkinson, “but we must go.” + +“Yes, we must be going,” said the captain. “Good-bye. If it rains I'll +come down after you with an umbrella.” + +“You need not trouble yourself about that,” said I. “We shall rough it +out, rain or shine.” + +“I'd stay here now,” said Euphemia, when they had gone, “if it rained +pitch.” + +“You mean pitchforks,” I suggested. + +“Yes, anything,” she answered. + +“Well, I don't know about the pitchforks,” I said, looking over the +creek at the sky; “but am very much afraid that it is going to rain +rain-water to-morrow. But that won't drive us home, will it?” + +“No, indeed!” said she. “We're prepared for it. But I wish they'd staid +at home.” + +Sure enough, it commenced to rain that night, and we had showers all +the next day. We staid in camp during the morning, and I smoked and +we played checkers, and had a very cosy time, with a wood fire burning +under a tree near by. We kept up this fire, not to dry the air, but to +make things look comfortable. In the afternoon I dressed myself up in +water-proof coat, boots and hat, and went out fishing. I went down to +the water and fished along the banks for an hour, but caught nothing of +any consequence. This was a great disappointment, for we had expected to +live on fresh fish for a great part of the time while we were camping. +With plenty of fish, we could do without meat very well. + +We talked the matter over on my return, and we agreed that as it seemed +impossible to depend upon a supply of fish, from the waters about our +camp, it would be better to let old John bring fresh meat from the +butcher, and as neither of us liked crackers, we also agreed that he +should bring bread. + +Our greatest trouble, that evening, was to make a fire. The wood, of +which there was a good deal lying about under the trees, was now all wet +and would not burn. However, we managed to get up a fire in the stove, +but I did not know what we were going to do in the morning. We should +have stored away some wood under shelter. + +We set our little camp-table in the tent, and we had scarcely finished +our supper, when a very heavy rain set in, accompanied by a violent +wind. The canvas at one end of our tent must have been badly fastened, +for it was blown in, and in an instant our beds were deluged. I rushed +out to fasten up the canvas, and got drenched almost to the skin, and +although Euphemia put on her waterproof cloak as soon as she could, she +was pretty wet, for the rain seemed to dash right through the tent. + +This gust of wind did not last long, and the rain soon settled down into +a steady drizzle, but we were in a sad plight. It was after nine o'clock +before we had put things into tolerable order. + +“We can't sleep in those beds,” said Euphemia. + +“They're as wet as sop, and we shall have to go up to the house and get +something to spread over them. I don't want to do it, but we mustn't +catch our deaths of cold.” + +There was nothing to be said against this, and we prepared to start out. +I would have gone by myself, but Euphemia would not consent to be left +alone. It was still raining, though not very hard, and I carried an +umbrella and a lantern. Climbing fences at night with a wife, a lantern, +and an umbrella to take care of, is not very agreeable, but we managed +to reach the house, although once or twice we had an argument in regard +to the path, which seemed to be very different at night from what it was +in the day-time. + +Lord Edward came bounding to the gate to meet us, and I am happy to say +that he knew me at once, and wagged his tail in a very sociable way. + +I had the key of a side-door in my pocket, for we had thought it wise to +give ourselves command of this door, and so we let ourselves in without +ringing or waking Pomona. + +All was quiet within, and we went upstairs with the lantern. Everything +seemed clean and in order, and it is impossible to convey any idea of +the element of comfort which seemed to pervade the house, as we quietly +made our way upstairs, in our wet boots and heavy, damp clothes. + +The articles we wanted were in a closet, and while I was making a bundle +of them, Euphemia went to look for Pomona. She soon returned, walking +softly. + +“She's sound asleep,” said she, “and I didn't think there was any need +of waking her. We'll send word by John that we've been here. And oh! +you can't imagine how snug and happy she did look, lying there in her +comfortable bed, in that nice, airy room. I'll tell you what it is, if +it wasn't for the neighbors, and especially the Atkinsons, I wouldn't go +back one step.” + +“Well,” said I, “I don't know that I care so particularly about it, +myself. But I suppose I couldn't stay here and leave all Thompson's +things out there to take care of themselves.” + +“Oh no!” said Euphemia. “And we're not going to back down. Are you +ready?” + +On our way down-stairs we had to pass the partly open door of our own +room. I could not help holding up the lantern to look in. There was the +bed, with its fair white covering and its smooth, soft pillows; there +were the easy-chairs, the pretty curtains, the neat and cheerful carpet, +the bureau, with Euphemia's work-basket on it; there was the little +table with the book that we had been reading together, turned face +downward upon it; there were my slippers; there was-- + +“Come!” said Euphemia, “I can't bear to look in there. It's like a dead +child.” + +And so we hurried out into the night and the rain. We stopped at the +wood-shed and got an armful of dry kindling, which Euphemia was obliged +to carry, as I had the bundle of bed-clothing, the umbrella, and the +lantern. + +Lord Edward gave a short, peculiar bark as we shut the gate behind us, +but whether it was meant as a fond farewell, or a hoot of derision, I +cannot say. + +We found everything as we left it at the camp, and we made our beds +apparently dry. But I did not sleep well. I could not help thinking that +it was not safe to sleep in a bed with a substratum of wet mattress, and +I worried Euphemia a little by asking her several times if she felt the +dampness striking through. + +To our great delight, the next day was fine and clear, and I thought I +would like, better than anything else, to take Euphemia in a boat up the +river and spend the day rowing about, or resting in shady places on the +shore. + +But what could we do about the tent? It would be impossible to go away +and leave that, with its contents, for a whole day. + +When old John came with our water, milk, bread, and a basket of +vegetables, we told him of our desired excursion, and the difficulty in +the way. This good man, who always had a keen scent for any advantage +to himself, warmly praised the boating plan, and volunteered to send his +wife and two of his younger children to stay with the tent while we were +away. + +The old woman, he said, could do her sewing here as well as anywhere, +and she would stay all day for fifty cents. + +This plan pleased us, and we sent for Mrs. Old John, who came with three +of her children,--all too young to leave behind, she said,--and took +charge of the camp. + +Our day proved to be as delightful as we had anticipated, and when we +returned, hungry and tired, we were perfectly charmed to find that Mrs. +Old John had our supper ready for us. + +She charged a quarter, extra, for this service, and we did not begrudge +it to her, though we declined her offer to come every day and cook and +keep the place in order. + +“However,” said Euphemia, on second thoughts, “you may come on Saturday +and clean up generally.” + +The next day, which was Friday, I went out in the morning with the +gun. As yet I had shot nothing, for I had seen no birds about the camp, +which, without breaking the State laws, I thought I could kill, and so I +started off up the river-road. + +I saw no game, but after I had walked about a mile, I met a man in a +wagon. + +“Hello,” said he, pulling up; “you'd better be careful how you go +popping around here on the public roads, frightening horses.” + +As I had not yet fired a single shot, I thought this was a very impudent +speech, and I think so still. + +“You had better wait until I begin to pop,” said I, “before you make +such a fuss about it.” + +“No,” said he, “I'd rather make the fuss before you begin. My horse is +skittish,” and he drove off. + +This man annoyed me; but as I did not, of course, wish to frighten +horses, I left the road and made my way back to the tent over some very +rough fields. It was a poor day for birds, and I did not get a shot. + +“What a foolish man!” said Euphemia, when I told her the above incident, +“to talk that way when you stood there with a gun in your hand. You +might have raked his wagon, fore and aft.” + +That afternoon, as Euphemia and I were sitting under a tree by the +tent, we were very much surprised to see Pomona come walking down the +peninsula. + +I was annoyed and provoked at this. We had given Pomona positive orders +not to leave the place, under any pretense, while we were gone. If +necessary to send for anything, she could go to the fence, back of the +barn, and scream across a small field to some of the numerous members +of old John's family. Under this arrangement, I felt that the house was +perfectly safe. + +Before she could reach us, I called out: + +“Why did you leave the house, Pomona? Don't you know you should never +come away and leave the house empty? I thought I had made you understand +that.” + +“It isn't empty,” said Pomona, in an entirely unruffled tone. “Your old +boarder is there, with his wife and child.” + +Euphemia and I looked at each other in dismay. + +“They came early this afternoon,” continued Pomona, “by the 1:14 train, +and walked up, he carrying the child.” + +“It can't be,” cried Euphemia. “Their child's married.” + +“It must have married very young, then,” said Pomona, “for it isn't over +four years old now.” + +“Oh!” said Euphemia, “I know! It's his grandchild.” + +“Grandchild!” repeated Pomona, with her countenance more expressive of +emotion than I had ever yet seen it. + +“Yes,” said Euphemia; “but how long are they going to stay? Where did +you tell them we were?” + +“They didn't say how long they was goin' to stay,” answered Pomona. “I +told them you had gone to be with some friends in the country, and that +I didn't know whether you'd be home to-night or not.” + +“How could you tell them such a falsehood?” cried Euphemia. + +“That was no falsehood,” said Pomona; “it was true as truth. If you're +not your own friends, I don't know who is. And I wasn't a-goin' to tell +the boarder where you was till I found out whether you wanted me to do +it or not. And so I left 'em and run over to old John's, and then down +here.” + +It was impossible to find fault with the excellent management of Pomona. + +“What were they doing?” asked Euphemia. + +“I opened the parlor, and she was in there with the child,--putting it +to sleep on the sofa, I think. The boarder was out in the yard, tryin' +to teach Lord Edward some tricks.” + +“He had better look out!” I exclaimed. + +“Oh, the dog's chained and growlin' fearful! What am I to do with 'em?” + +This was a difficult point to decide. If we went to see them, we might +as well break up our camp, for we could not tell when we should be able +to come back to it. + +We discussed the matter very anxiously, and finally concluded that +under the circumstances, and considering what Pomona had said about +our whereabouts, it would be well for us to stay where we were and for +Pomona to take charge of the visitors. If they returned to the city that +evening, she was to give them a good supper before they went, sending +John to the store for what was needed. If they stayed all night, she +could get breakfast for them. + +“We can write,” said Euphemia, “and invite them to come and spend some +days with us, when we are at home and everything is all right. I want +dreadfully to see that child, but I don't see how I can do it now.” + +“No,” said I. “They're sure to stay all night if we go up to the house, +and then I should have to have the tent and things hauled away, for I +couldn't leave them here.” + +“The fact is,” said Euphemia, “if we were miles away, in the woods +of Maine, we couldn't leave our camp to see anybody. And this is +practically the same.” + +“Certainly,” said I; and so Pomona went away to her new charge. + + + +CHAPTER XI. THE BOARDER'S VISIT. + + +For the rest of the afternoon, and indeed far into the night, our +conversation consisted almost entirely of conjectures regarding the +probable condition of things at the house. We both thought we had done +right, but we felt badly about it. It was not hospitable, to be sure; +but then I should have no other holiday until next year, and our friends +could come at any time to see us. + +The next morning old John brought a note from Pomona. It was written +with pencil on a small piece of paper torn from the margin of a +newspaper, and contained the words, “Here yit.” + +“So you've got company,” said old John, with a smile. “That's a queer +gal of yourn. She says I mustn't tell 'em you're here. As if I'd tell +'em!” + +We knew well enough that old John was not at all likely to do anything +that would cut off the nice little revenue he was making out of our +camp, and so we felt no concern on that score. + +But we were very anxious for further news, and we told old John to go to +the house about ten o'clock and ask Pomona to send us another note. + +We waited, in a very disturbed condition of mind, until nearly eleven +o'clock, when old John came with a verbal message from Pomona: + +“She says she's a-comin' herself as soon as she can get a chance to slip +off.” + +This was not pleasant news. It filled our minds with a confused mass of +probabilities, and it made us feel mean. How contemptible it seemed to +be a party to this concealment and in league with a servant-girl who has +to “slip off!” + +Before long, Pomona appeared, quite out of breath. + +“In all my life,” said she, “I never see people like them two. I thought +I was never goin' to get away.” + +“Are they there yet?” cried Euphemia. + +“How long are they going to stay?” + +“Dear knows!” replied Pomona. “Their valise came up by express last +night.” + +“Oh, we'll have to go up to the house,” said Euphemia. “It won't do to +stay away any longer.” + +“Well,” said Pomona, fanning herself with her apron, “if you know'd all +I know, I don't think you'd think so.” + +“What do you mean?” said Euphemia. + +“Well, ma'am, they've just settled down and taken possession of the +whole place. He says to me that he know'd you'd both want them to make +themselves at home, just as if you was there, and they thought they'd +better do it. He asked me did I think you would be home by Monday, and +I said I didn't know, but I guessed you would. So says he to his wife, +'Won't that be a jolly lark? We'll just keep house for them here till +they come. And he says he would go down to the store and order some +things, if there wasn't enough in the house, and he asked her to see +what would be needed, which she did, and he's gone down for 'em now. And +she says that, as it was Saturday, she'd see that the house was all put +to rights; and after breakfast she set me to sweepin'; and it's only by +way of her dustin' the parlor and givin' me the little girl to take for +a walk that I got off at all.” + +“But what have you done with the child?” exclaimed Euphemia. + +“Oh, I left her at old Johnses.” + +“And so you think they're pleased with having the house to themselves?” + I said. + +“Pleased, sir?” replied Pomona; “they're tickled to death.” + +“But how do you like having strangers telling you what to do?” asked +Euphemia. + +“Oh, well,” said Pomona, “he's no stranger, and she's real pleasant, and +if it gives you a good camp out, I don't mind.” + +Euphemia and I looked at each other. Here was true allegiance. We would +remember this. + +Pomona now hurried off, and we seriously discussed the matter, and soon +came to the conclusion that while it might be the truest hospitality to +let our friends stay at our house for a day or two and enjoy themselves, +still it would not do for us to allow ourselves to be governed by a too +delicate sentimentality. We must go home and act our part of host and +hostess. + +Mrs. Old John had been at the camp ever since breakfast-time, giving the +place a Saturday cleaning. What she had found to occupy her for so +long a time I could not imagine, but in her efforts to put in a full +half-day's work, I have no doubt she scrubbed some of the trees. We had +been so fully occupied with our own affairs that we had paid very little +attention to her, but she had probably heard pretty much all that had +been said. + +At noon we paid her (giving her, at her suggestion, something extra in +lieu of the midday meal, which she did not stay to take), and told her +to send her husband, with his wagon, as soon as possible, as we intended +to break up our encampment. We determined that we would pack everything +in John's wagon, and let him take the load to his house, and keep +it there until Monday, when I would have the tent and accompaniments +expressed to their owner. We would go home and join our friends. It +would not be necessary to say where we had been. + +It was hard for us to break up our camp. In many respects we had enjoyed +the novel experience, and we had fully expected, during the next week, +to make up for all our short-comings and mistakes. It seemed like losing +all our labor and expenditure, to break up now, but there was no help +for it. Our place was at home. + +We did not wish to invite our friends to the camp. They would certainly +have come had they known we were there, but we had no accommodations for +them, neither had we any desire for even transient visitors. Besides, +we both thought that we would prefer that our ex-boarder and his wife +should not know that we were encamped on that little peninsula. + +We set to work to pack up and get ready for moving, but the afternoon +passed away without bringing old John. Between five and six o'clock +along came his oldest boy, with a bucket of water. + +“I'm to go back after the milk,” he said. + +“Hold up!” I cried. “Where is your father and his wagon? We've been +waiting for him for hours.” + +“The horse is si---- I mean he's gone to Ballville for oats.” + +“And why didn't he send and tell me?” I asked. + +“There wasn't nobody to send,” answered the boy. + +“You are not telling the truth,” exclaimed Euphemia; “there is always +some one to send, in a family like yours.” + +To this the boy made no answer, but again said that he would go after +the milk. + +“We want you to bring no milk,” I cried, now quite angry. “I want you to +go down to the station, and tell the driver of the express-wagon to come +here immediately. Do you understand? Immediately.” + +The boy declared he understood, and started off quite willingly. We +did not prefer to have the express-wagon, for it was too public a +conveyance, and, besides, old John knew exactly how to do what was +required. But we need not have troubled ourselves. The express-wagon did +not come. + +When it became dark, we saw that we could not leave that night. Even if +a wagon did come, it would not be safe to drive over the fields in +the darkness. And we could not go away and leave the camp-equipage. I +proposed that Euphemia should go up to the house, while I remained in +camp. But she declined. We would keep together, whatever happened, she +said. + +We unpacked our cooking-utensils and provisions, and had supper. There +was no milk for our coffee, but we did not care. The evening did +not pass gayly. We were annoyed by the conduct of old John and the +express-boy, though, perhaps, it was not their fault. I had given them +no notice that I should need them. + +And we were greatly troubled at the continuance of the secrecy and +subterfuge which now had become really necessary, if we did not wish to +hurt our friends' feelings. + +The first thing that I thought of, when I opened my eyes in the morning, +was the fact that we would have to stay there all day, for we could not +move on Sunday. + +But Euphemia did not agree with me. After breakfast (we found that the +water and the milk had been brought very early, before we were up) she +stated that she did not intend to be treated in this way. She was going +up to old John's house herself; and away she went. + +In less than half an hour, she returned, followed by old John and his +wife, both looking much as if they had been whipped. + +“These people,” said she, “have entered into a conspiracy against us. I +have questioned them thoroughly, and have made them answer me. The horse +was at home yesterday, and the boy did not go after the express-wagon. +They thought that if they could keep us here, until our company had +gone, we would stay as long as we originally intended, and they would +continue to make money out of us. But they are mistaken. We are going +home immediately.” + +At this point I could not help thinking that Euphemia might have +consulted me in regard to her determination, but she was very much in +earnest, and I would not have any discussion before these people. + +“Now, listen!” said Euphemia, addressing the down-cast couple, “we are +going home, and you two are to stay here all this day and to-night, and +take care of these things. You can't work to-day, and you can shut up +your house, and bring your whole family here if you choose. We will pay +you for the service,--although you do not deserve a cent,--and we will +leave enough here for you to eat. You must bring your own sheets and +pillowcases, and stay here until we see you on Monday morning.” + +Old John and his wife agreed to this plan with the greatest alacrity, +apparently well pleased to get off so easily; and, having locked up the +smaller articles of camp-furniture, we filled a valise with our personal +baggage and started off home. + +Our house and grounds never looked prettier than they did that morning, +as we stood at the gate. Lord Edward barked a welcome from his shed, and +before we reached the door, Pomona came running out, her face radiant. + +“I'm awful glad to see you back,” she said; “though I'd never have said +so while you was in camp.” + +I patted the dog and looked into the garden. Everything was growing +splendidly. Euphemia rushed to the chicken-yard. It was in first-rate +order, and there were two broods of little yellow puffy chicks. + +Down on her knees went my wife, to pick up the little creatures, one +by one, press their downy bodies to her cheek, and call them +tootsy-wootsies, and away went I to the barn, followed by Pomona, and +soon afterward by Euphemia. + +The cow was all right. + +“I've been making butter,” said Pomona, “though it don't look exactly +like it ought to, yet, and the skim-milk I didn't know what to do with, +so I gave it to old John. He came for it every day, and was real mad +once because I had given a lot of it to the dog, and couldn't let him +have but a pint.” + +“He ought to have been mad,” said I to Euphemia, as we walked up to the +house. “He got ten cents a quart for that milk.” + +We laughed, and didn't care. We were too glad to be at home. + +“But where are our friends?” I asked Pomona. We had actually forgotten +them. + +“Oh! they're gone out for a walk,” said she. “They started off right +after breakfast.” + +We were not sorry for this. It would be so much nicer to see our dear +home again when there was nobody there but ourselves. In-doors we +rushed. Our absence had been like rain on a garden. Everything now +seemed fresher and brighter and more delightful. We went from room to +room, and seemed to appreciate better than ever what a charming home we +had. + +We were so full of the delights of our return that we forgot all about +the Sunday dinner and our guests, but Pomona, whom my wife was training +to be an excellent cook, did not forget, and Euphemia was summoned to a +consultation in the kitchen. + +Dinner was late; but our guests were later. We waited as long as the +state of the provisions and our appetites would permit, and then we sat +down to the table and began to eat slowly. But they did not come. We +finished our meal, and they were still absent. We now became quite +anxious, and I proposed to Euphemia that we should go and look for them. + +We started out, and our steps naturally turned toward the river. An +unpleasant thought began to crowd itself into my mind, and perhaps the +same thing happened to Euphemia, for, without saying anything to each +other, we both turned toward the path that led to the peninsula. We +crossed the field, climbed the fence, and there, in front of the tent +sat our old boarder splitting sticks with the camp-hatchet. + +“Hurrah!” he cried, springing to his feet when he saw us. “How glad I am +to see you back! When did you return? Isn't this splendid?” + +“What?” I said, as we shook hands. + +“Why this,” he cried, pointing to the tent. “Don't you see? We're +camping out.” + +“You are?” I exclaimed, looking around for his wife, while Euphemia +stood motionless, actually unable to make a remark. + +“Certainly we are. It's the rarest bit of luck. My wife and Adele will +be here directly. They've gone to look for water-cresses. But I must +tell you how I came to make this magnificent find. We started out for a +walk this morning, and we happened to hit on this place, and here we saw +this gorgeous tent with nobody near but a little tow-headed boy.” + +“Only a boy?” cried Euphemia. + +“Yes, a young shaver of about nine or ten. I asked him what he was doing +here, and he told me that this tent belonged to a gentleman who had gone +away, and that he was here to watch it until he came back. Then I asked +him how long the owner would probably be away, and he said he supposed +for a day or two. Then a splendid idea struck me. I offered the boy +a dollar to let me take his place: I knew that any sensible man would +rather have me in charge of his tent, than a young codger like that. The +boy agreed as quick as lightning, and I paid him and sent him off. You +see how little he was to be trusted! The owner of this tent will be +under the greatest obligations to me. Just look at it!” he cried. “Beds, +table, stove,--everything anybody could want. I've camped out lots of +times, but never had such a tent as this. I intended coming up this +afternoon after my valise, and to tell your girl where we are. But here +is my wife and little Adele.” + +In the midst of the salutations and the mutual surprise, Euphemia cried: + +“But you don't expect to camp out, now? You are coming back to our +house?” + +“You see,” said the ex-boarder, “we should never have thought of doing +anything so rude, had we supposed you would have returned so soon. But +your girl gave us to understand that you would not be back for days, and +so we felt free to go at any time; and I did not hesitate to make this +arrangement. And now that I have really taken the responsibility of the +tent and fixtures on myself, I don't think it would be right to go away +and leave the place, especially as I don't know where to find that boy. +The owner will be back in a day or two, and I would like to explain +matters to him and give up the property in good order into his hands. +And, to tell the truth, we both adore camping-out, and we may never have +such a chance again. We can live here splendidly. I went out to forage +this morning, and found an old fellow living near by who sold me a lot +of provisions--even some coffee and sugar--and he's to bring us some +milk. We're going to have supper in about an hour; won't you stay and +take a camp-meal with us? It will be a novelty for you, at any rate.” + +We declined this invitation, as we had so lately dined. I looked at +Euphemia with a question in my eye. She understood me, and gently shook +her head. It would be a shame to make any explanations which might put +an end to this bit of camp-life, which evidently was so eagerly enjoyed +by our old friend. But we insisted that they should come up to the +house and see us, and they agreed to dine with us the next evening. On +Tuesday, they must return to the city. + +“Now, this is what I call real hospitality,” said the ex-boarder, warmly +grasping my hand. I could not help agreeing with him. + +As we walked home, I happened to look back and saw old John going over +the fields toward the camp, carrying a little tin-pail and a water +bucket. + +The next day, toward evening, a storm set in, and at the hour fixed for +our dinner, the rain was pouring down in such torrents that we did not +expect our guests. After dinner the rain ceased, and as we supposed that +they might not have made any preparations for a meal, Euphemia packed up +some dinner for them in a basket, and I took it down to the camp. + +They were glad to see me, and said they had a splendid time all day. +They were up before sunrise, and had explored, tramped, boated, and I +don't know what else. + +My basket was very acceptable, and I would have stayed awhile with them, +but as they were obliged to eat in the tent, there was no place for me +to sit, it being too wet outside, and so I soon came away. + +We were in doubt whether or not to tell our friends the true history +of the camp. I thought that it was not right to keep up the deception, +while Euphemia declared that if they were sensitive people, they would +feel very badly at having broken up our plans by their visit, and then +having appropriated our camp to themselves. She thought it would be the +part of magnanimity to say nothing about it. + +I could not help seeing a good deal of force in her arguments, although +I wished very much to set the thing straight, and we discussed the +matter again as we walked down to the camp, after breakfast next +morning. + +There we found old John sitting on a stump. He said nothing, but handed +me a note written in lead-pencil on a card. It was from our ex-boarder, +and informed me that early that morning he had found that there was a +tug lying in the river, which would soon start for the city. He also +found that he could get passage on her for his party, and as this was +such a splendid chance to go home without the bother of getting up to +the station, he had just bundled his family and his valise on board, and +was very sorry they did not have time to come up and bid us good-bye. +The tent he left in charge of a very respectable man, from whom he had +had supplies. + +That morning I had the camp-equipage packed up and expressed to its +owner. We did not care to camp out any more that season, but thought it +would be better to spend the rest of my vacation at the sea-shore. + +Our ex-boarder wrote to us that he and his wife were anxious that we +should return their visit during my holidays; but as we did not see +exactly how we could return a visit of the kind, we did not try to do +it. + + + +CHAPTER XII. LORD EDWARD AND THE TREE-MAN. + + +It was winter at Rudder Grange. The season was the same at other places, +but that fact did not particularly interest Euphemia and myself. It was +winter with us, and we were ready for it. That was the great point, +and it made us proud to think that we had not been taken unawares, +notwithstanding the many things that were to be thought of on a little +farm like ours. + +It is true that we had always been prepared for winter, wherever we had +lived; but this was a different case. In other days it did not matter +much whether we were ready or not; but now our house, our cow, our +poultry, and indeed ourselves, might have suffered,--there is no way +of finding out exactly how much,--if we had not made all possible +preparations for the coming of cold weather. + +But there was a great deal yet to be thought of and planned out, +although we were ready for winter. The next thing to think of was +spring. + +We laid out the farm. We decided where we would have wheat, corn, +potatoes, and oats. We would have a man by the day to sow and reap. The +intermediate processes I thought I could attend to myself. + +Everything was talked over, ciphered over, and freely discussed by +my wife and myself, except one matter, which I planned and worked out +alone, doing most of the necessary calculations at the office, so as not +to excite Euphemia's curiosity. + +I had determined to buy a horse. This would be one of the most important +events of our married life, and it demanded a great deal of thought, +which I gave it. + +The horse was chosen for me by a friend. He was an excellent beast (the +horse), excelling, as my friend told me, in muscle and wit. Nothing +better than this could be said about a horse. He was a sorrel animal, +quite handsome, gentle enough for Euphemia to drive, and not too +high-minded to do a little farm-work, if necessary. He was exactly the +animal I needed. + +The carriage was not quite such a success. The horse having cost a good +deal more than I expected to pay, I found that I could only afford a +second-hand carriage. I bought a good, serviceable vehicle, which would +hold four persons, if necessary, and there was room enough to pack all +sorts of parcels and baskets. It was with great satisfaction that +I contemplated this feature of the carriage, which was a rather +rusty-looking affair, although sound and strong enough. The harness was +new, and set off the horse admirably. + +On the afternoon when my purchases were completed, I did not come home +by the train. I drove home in my own carriage, drawn by my own horse! +The ten miles' drive was over a smooth road, and the sorrel traveled +splendidly. If I had been a line of kings a mile long, all in their +chariots of state, with gold and silver, and outriders, and music, and +banners waving in the wind, I could not have been prouder than when I +drew up in front of my house. + +There was a wagon-gate at one side of the front fence which had never +been used except by the men who brought coal, and I got out and opened +this, very quietly, so as not to attract the attention of Euphemia. It +was earlier than I usually returned, and she would not be expecting +me. I was then about to lead the horse up a somewhat grass-grown +carriage-way to the front door, but I reflected that Euphemia might be +looking out of some of the windows and I had better drive up. So I got +in and drove very slowly to the door. + +However, she heard the unaccustomed noise of wheels, and looked out of +the parlor window. She did not see me, but immediately came around +to the door. I hurried out of the carriage so quickly that, not being +familiar with the steps, I barely escaped tripping. + +When she opened the front door she was surprised to see me standing by +the horse. + +“Have you hired a carriage?” she cried. “Are we going to ride?” + +“My dear,” said I, as I took her by the hand, “we are going to ride. But +I have not hired a carriage. I have bought one. Do you see this horse? +He is ours--our own horse.” + +If you could have seen the face that was turned up to me,--all you other +men in the world,--you would have torn your hair in despair. + +Afterward she went around and around that horse; she patted his smooth +sides; she looked, with admiration, at his strong, well-formed legs; she +stroked his head; she smoothed his mane; she was brimful of joy. + +When I had brought the horse some water in a bucket--and what a pleasure +it was to water one's own horse!--Euphemia rushed into the house and got +her hat and cloak, and we took a little drive. + +I doubt if any horse ever drew two happier people. Euphemia said but +little about the carriage. That was a necessary adjunct, and it was good +enough for the present. But the horse! How nobly and with what vigor +he pulled us up the hills and how carefully and strongly he held the +carriage back as we went down! How easily he trotted over the level +road, caring nothing for the ten miles he had gone that afternoon! What +a sensation of power it gave us to think that all that strength and +speed and endurance was ours, that it would go where we wished, that it +would wait for us as long as we chose, that it was at our service day +and night, that it was a horse, and we owned it! + +When we returned, Pomona saw us drive in,--she had not known of our +ride,--and when she heard the news she was as wild with proud delight as +anybody. She wanted to unharness him, but this I could not allow. We did +not wish to be selfish, but after she had seen and heard what we thought +was enough for her, we were obliged to send her back to the kitchen for +the sake of the dinner. + +Then we unharnessed him. I say we, for Euphemia stood by and I explained +everything, for some day, she said, she might want to do it herself. +Then I led him into the stable. How nobly he trod, and how finely his +hoofs sounded on the stable floor! + +There was hay in the mow and I had brought a bag of oats under the seat +of the carriage. + +“Isn't it just delightful,” said Euphemia, “that we haven't any man? +If we had a man he would take the horse at the door, and we should be +deprived of all this. It wouldn't be half like owning a horse.” + +In the morning I drove down to the station, Euphemia by my side. She +drove back and Old John came up and attended to the horse. This he was +to do, for the present, for a small stipend. In the afternoon Euphemia +came down after me. How I enjoyed those rides! Before this I had thought +it ever so much more pleasant and healthful to walk to and from the +station than to ride, but then I did not own a horse. At night I +attended to everything, Euphemia generally following me about the stable +with a lantern. When the days grew longer we would have delightful rides +after dinner, and even now we planned to have early breakfasts, and go +to the station by the longest possible way. + +One day, in the following spring, I was riding home from the station +with Euphemia,--we seldom took pleasure-drives now, we were so busy +on the place,--and as we reached the house I heard the dog barking +savagely. He was loose in the little orchard by the side of the house. +As I drove in, Pomona came running to the carriage. + +“Man up the tree!” she shouted. + +I helped Euphemia out, left the horse standing by the door, and ran to +the dog, followed by my wife and Pomona. Sure enough, there was a man +up the tree, and Lord Edward was doing his best to get at him, springing +wildly at the tree and fairly shaking with rage. + +I looked up at the man, he was a thoroughbred tramp, burly, dirty, +generally unkempt, but, unlike most tramps, he looked very much +frightened. His position, on a high crotch of an apple-tree, was not +altogether comfortable, and although, for the present, it was safe, the +fellow seemed to have a wavering faith in the strength of apple-tree +branches, and the moment he saw me, he earnestly besought me to take +that dog away, and let him down. + +I made no answer, but turning to Pomona, I asked her what this all +meant. + +“Why, sir, you see,” said she, “I was in the kitchen bakin' pies, and +this fellow must have got over the fence at the side of the house, for +the dog didn't see him, and the first thing I know'd he was stickin' his +head in the window, and he asked me to give him somethin' to eat. And +when I said I'd see in a minute if there was anything for him, he says +to me, 'Gim me a piece of one of them pies,'--pies I'd just baked and +was settin' to cool on the kitchen table! 'No, sir,' says I, 'I'm +not goin' to cut one of them pies for you, or any one like you.' 'All +right!' says he. 'I'll come in and help myself.' He must have known +there was no man about, and, comin' the way he did, he hadn't seen the +dog. So he come round to the kitchen door, but I shot out before he got +there and unchained Lord Edward. I guess he saw the dog, when he got to +the door, and at any rate he heard the chain clankin', and he didn't go +in, but just put for the gate. But Lord Edward was after him so quick +that he hadn't no time to go to no gates. It was all he could do to +scoot up this tree, and if he'd been a millionth part of a minute later +he'd 'a' been in another world by this time.” + +The man, who had not attempted to interrupt Pomona's speech, now began +again to implore me to let him down, while Euphemia looked pitifully at +him, and was about, I think, to intercede with me in his favor, but my +attention was drawn off from her, by the strange conduct of the dog. +Believing, I suppose, that he might leave the tramp for a moment, now +that I had arrived, he had dashed away to another tree, where he was +barking furiously, standing on his hind legs and clawing at the trunk. + +“What's the matter over there?” I asked. + +“Oh, that's the other fellow,” said Pomona. “He's no harm.” And then, +as the tramp made a movement as if he would try to come down, and make +a rush for safety, during the absence of the dog, she called out, “Here, +boy! here, boy!” and in an instant Lord Edward was again raging at his +post, at the foot of the apple-tree. + +I was grievously puzzled at all this, and walked over to the other tree, +followed, as before, by Euphemia and Pomona. + +“This one,” said the latter, “is a tree-man--” + +“I should think so,” said I, as I caught sight of a person in gray +trowsers standing among the branches of a cherry-tree not very far from +the kitchen door. The tree was not a large one, and the branches were +not strong enough to allow him to sit down on them, although they +supported him well enough, as he stood close to the trunk just out of +reach of Lord Edward. + +“This is a very unpleasant position, sir,” said he, when I reached +the tree. “I simply came into your yard, on a matter of business, and +finding that raging beast attacking a person in a tree, I had barely +time to get up into this tree myself, before he dashed at me. Luckily +I was out of his reach; but I very much fear I have lost some of my +property.” + +“No, he hasn't,” said Pomona. “It was a big book he dropped. I picked +it up and took it into the house. It's full of pictures of pears and +peaches and flowers. I've been lookin' at it. That's how I knew what he +was. And there was no call for his gittin' up a tree. Lord Edward never +would have gone after him if he hadn't run as if he had guilt on his +soul.” + +“I suppose, then,” said I, addressing the individual in the cherry-tree, +“that you came here to sell me some trees.” + +“Yes, sir,” said he quickly, “trees, shrubs, vines, +evergreens,--everything suitable for a gentleman's country villa. I +can sell you something quite remarkable, sir, in the way of +cherry-trees,--French ones, just imported; bear fruit three times +the size of anything that could be produced on a tree like this. And +pears--fruit of the finest flavor and enormous size--” + +“Yes,” said Pomona. “I seen them in the book. But they must grow on a +ground-vine. No tree couldn't hold such pears as them.” + +Here Euphemia reproved Pomona's forwardness, and I invited the +tree-agent to get down out of the tree. + +“Thank you,” said he; “but not while that dog is loose. If you will +kindly chain him up, I will get my book, and show you specimens of some +of the finest small fruit in the world, all imported from the first +nurseries of Europe--the Red-gold Amber Muscat grape,--the--” + +“Oh, please let him down!” said Euphemia, her eyes beginning to sparkle. + +I slowly walked toward the tramp-tree, revolving various matters in my +mind. We had not spent much money on the place during the winter, and +we now had a small sum which we intended to use for the advantage of the +farm, but had not yet decided what to do with it. It behooved me to be +careful. + +I told Pomona to run and get me the dog-chain, and I stood under the +tree, listening, as well as I could, to the tree-agent talking to +Euphemia, and paying no attention to the impassioned entreaties of the +tramp in the crotch above me. When the chain was brought, I hooked one +end of it in Lord Edward's collar, and then I took a firm grasp of the +other. Telling Pomona to bring the tree-agent's book from the house, I +called to that individual to get down from his tree. He promptly obeyed, +and taking the book from Pomona, began to show the pictures to Euphemia. + +“You had better hurry, sir,” I called out. “I can't hold this dog very +long.” And, indeed, Lord Edward had made a run toward the agent, which +jerked me very forcibly in his direction. But a movement by the tramp +had quickly brought the dog back to his more desired victim. + +“If you will just tie up that dog, sir,” said the agent, “and come this +way, I would like to show you the Meltinagua pear,--dissolves in the +mouth like snow, sir; trees will bear next year.” + +“Oh, come look at the Royal Sparkling Ruby grape!” cried Euphemia. “It +glows in the sun like a gem.” + +“Yes,” said the agent, “and fills the air with fragrance during the +whole month of September--” + +“I tell you,” I shouted, “I can't hold this dog another minute! The +chain is cutting the skin off my hands. Run, sir, run! I'm going to let +go!” + +“Run! run!” cried Pomona. “Fly for your life!” + +The agent now began to be frightened, and shut up his book. + +“If you only could see the plates, sir, I'm sure--” + +“Are you ready?” I cried, as the dog, excited by Pomona's wild shouts, +made a bolt in his direction. + +“Good-day, if I must--” said the agent, as he hurried to the gate. But +there he stopped. + +“There is nothing, sir,” he said, “that would so improve your place as +a row of the Spitzenberg Sweet-scented Balsam fir along this fence. I'll +sell you three-year-old trees--” + +“He's loose!” I shouted, as I dropped the chain. + +In a second the agent was on the other side of the gate. Lord Edward +made a dash toward him; but, stopping suddenly, flew back to the tree of +the tramp. + +“If you should conclude, sir,” said the tree-agent, looking over the +fence, “to have a row of those firs along here--” + +“My good sir,” said I, “there is no row of firs there now, and the fence +is not very high. My dog, as you see, is very much excited and I cannot +answer for the consequences if he takes it into his head to jump over.” + +The tree-agent turned and walked slowly away. + +“Now, look-a-here,” cried the tramp from the tree, in the voice of a +very ill-used person, “ain't you goin' to fasten up that dog, and let me +git down?” + +I walked up close to the tree and addressed him. + +“No,” said I, “I am not. When a man comes to my place, bullies a young +girl who was about to relieve his hunger, and then boldly determines +to enter my house and help himself to my property, I don't propose to +fasten up any dog that may happen to be after him. If I had another dog, +I'd let him loose, and give this faithful beast a rest. You can do as +you please. You can come down and have it out with the dog, or you can +stay up there, until I have had my dinner. Then I will drive down to the +village and bring up the constable, and deliver you into his hands. We +want no such fellows as you about.” + +With that, I unhooked the chain from Lord Edward, and walked off to put +up the horse. The man shouted after me, but I paid no attention. I did +not feel in a good humor with him. + +Euphemia was much disturbed by the various occurrences of the afternoon. +She was sorry for the man in the tree; she was sorry that the agent for +the Royal Ruby grape had been obliged to go away; and I had a good deal +of trouble during dinner to make her see things in the proper light. But +I succeeded at last. + +I did not hurry through dinner, and when we had finished I went to my +work at the barn. Tramps are not generally pressed for time, and Pomona +had been told to give our captive something to eat. + +I was just locking the door of the carriage-house, when Pomona came +running to me to tell me that the tramp wanted to see me about something +very important--just a minute, he said. I put the key in my pocket and +walked over to the tree. It was now almost dark, but I could see that +the dog, the tramp, and the tree still kept their respective places. + +“Look-a-here,” said the individual in the crotch, “you don't know how +dreadful oneasy these limbs gits after you've been settin up here +as long as I have. And I don't want to have nuthin to do with no +constables. I'll tell you what I'll do if you'll chain up that dog, and +let me go, I'll fix things so that you'll not be troubled no more by no +tramps.” + +“How will you do that?” I asked. + +“Oh, never you mind,” said he. “I'll give you my word of honor I'll do +it. There's a reg'lar understandin' among us fellers, you know.” + +I considered the matter. The word of honor of a fellow such as he was +could not be worth much, but the merest chance of getting rid of +tramps should not be neglected. I went in to talk to Euphemia about it, +although I knew what she would say. I reasoned with myself as much as +with her. + +“If we put this one fellow in prison for a few weeks,” I said, “the +benefit is not very great. If we are freed from all tramps, for the +season, the benefit is very great. Shall we try for the greatest good?” + +“Certainly,” said Euphemia; “and his legs must be dreadfully stiff.” + +So I went out, and after a struggle of some minutes, I chained Lord +Edward to a post at a little distance from the apple-tree. When he was +secure, the tramp descended nimbly from his perch, notwithstanding his +stiff legs, and hurried out of the gate. He stopped to make no remarks +over the fence. With a wild howl of disappointed ambition, Lord Edward +threw himself after him. But the chain held. + +A lane of moderate length led from our house to the main road, and the +next day, as we were riding home, I noticed, on the trunk of a large +tree, which stood at the corner of the lane and road, a curious mark. I +drew up to see what it was, but we could not make it out. It was a very +rude device, cut deeply into the tree, and somewhat resembled a square, +a circle, a triangle, and a cross, with some smaller marks beneath it. I +felt sure that our tramp had cut it, and that it had some significance, +which would be understood by the members of his fraternity. + +And it must have had, for no tramps came near us all that summer. We +were visited by a needy person now and then, but by no member of the +regular army of tramps. + +One afternoon, that fall, I walked home, and at the corner of the lane +I saw a tramp looking up at the mark on the tree, which was still quite +distinct. + +“What does that mean?” I said, stepping up to him. + +“How do I know?” said the man, “and what do you want to know fur?” + +“Just out of curiosity,” I said; “I have often noticed it. I think +you can tell me what it means, and if you will do so, I'll give you a +dollar.” + +“And keep mum about it?” said the man. + +“Yes,” I replied, taking out the dollar. + +“All right!” said the tramp. “That sign means that the man that lives up +this lane is a mean, stingy cuss, with a wicked dog, and it's no good to +go there.” + +I handed him the dollar and went away, perfectly satisfied with my +reputation. + +I wish here to make some mention of Euphemia's methods of work in her +chicken-yard. She kept a book, which she at first called her “Fowl +Record,” but she afterward changed the name to “Poultry Register.” I +never could thoroughly understand this book, although she has often +explained every part of it to me. She had pages for registering the age, +description, time of purchase or of birth, and subsequent performances +of every fowl in her yard. She had divisions of the book for expenses, +profits, probable losses and positive losses; she noted the number of +eggs put under each setting hen; the number of eggs cracked per day, the +number spoiled, and finally, the number hatched. Each chick, on emerging +from its shell, was registered, and an account kept of its subsequent +life and adventures. There were frequent calculations regarding the +advantages of various methods of treatment, and there were statements of +the results of a great many experiments--something like this: “Set Toppy +and her sister Pinky, April 2nd 187-; Toppy with twelve eggs,--three +Brahma, four common, and five Leghorn; Pinky with thirteen eggs (as she +weighs four ounces more than her sister), of which three were Leghorn, +five common, and five Brahma. During the twenty-second and twenty-third +of April (same year) Toppy hatched out four Brahmas, two commons, and +three Leghorns, while her sister, on these days and the morning of the +day following, hatched two Leghorns, six commons, and only one Brahma. +Now, could Toppy, who had only three Brahma eggs, and hatched out four +of that breed, have exchanged eggs with her sister, thus making it +possible for her to hatch out six common chickens, when she only had +five eggs of that kind? Or, did the eggs get mixed up in some way before +going into the possession of the hens? Look into probabilities.” + +These probabilities must have puzzled Euphemia a great deal, but +they never disturbed her equanimity. She was always as tranquil and +good-humored about her poultry-yard as if every hen laid an egg every +day, and a hen-chick was hatched out of every egg. + +For it may be remembered that the principle underlying Euphemia's +management of her poultry was what might be designated as the +“cumulative hatch.” That is, she wished every chicken hatched in her +yard to become the mother of a brood of her own during the year, and +every one of this brood to raise another brood the next year, and so on, +in a kind of geometrical progression. This plan called for a great many +mother-fowls, and so Euphemia based her highest hopes on a great annual +preponderance of hens. + +We ate a good many young roosters that fall, for Euphemia would not +allow all the products of her yard to go to market, and, also, a great +many eggs and fowls were sold. She had not contented herself with her +original stock of poultry, but had bought fowls during the winter, and +she certainly had extraordinary good luck, or else her extraordinary +system worked extraordinarily well. + + + +CHAPTER XIII. POMONA'S NOVEL. + + +It was in the latter part of August of that year that it became +necessary for some one in the office in which I was engaged to go to St. +Louis to attend to important business. Everything seemed to point to me +as the fit person, for I understood the particular business better than +any one else. I felt that I ought to go, but I did not altogether like +to do it. I went home, and Euphemia and I talked over the matter far +into the regulation sleeping-hours. + +There were very good reasons why we should go (for, of course, I would +not think of taking such a journey without Euphemia). In the first +place, it would be of advantage to me, in my business connection, to +take the trip, and then it would be such a charming journey for us. We +had never been west of the Alleghanies, and nearly all the country we +would see would be new to us. We would come home by the great lakes +and Niagara, and the prospect was delightful to both of us. But then +we would have to leave Rudder Grange for at least three weeks, and how +could we do that? + +This was indeed a difficult question to answer. Who could take care of +our garden, our poultry, our horse and cow, and all their complicated +belongings? The garden was in admirable condition. Our vegetables +were coming in every day in just that fresh and satisfactory +condition--altogether unknown to people who buy vegetables--for which +I had labored so faithfully, and about which I had had so many cheerful +anticipations. As to Euphemia's chicken-yard,--with Euphemia away,--the +subject was too great for us. We did not even discuss it. But we would +give up all the pleasures of our home for the chance of this most +desirable excursion, if we could but think of some one who would come +and take care of the place while we were gone. Rudder Grange could not +run itself for three weeks. + +We thought of every available person. Old John would not do. We did not +feel that we could trust him. We thought of several of our friends; +but there was, in both our minds, a certain shrinking from the idea of +handing over the place to any of them for such a length of time. For my +part, I said, I would rather leave Pomona in charge than any one else; +but, then, Pomona was young and a girl. Euphemia agreed with me that she +would rather trust her than any one else, but she also agreed in +regard to the disqualifications. So, when I went to the office the next +morning, we had fully determined to go on the trip, if we could find +some one to take charge of our place while we were gone. When I returned +from the office in the afternoon, I had agreed to go to St. Louis. By +this time, I had no choice in the matter, unless I wished to interfere +very much with my own interests. We were to start in two days. If in +that time we could get any one to stay at the place, very well; if not, +Pomona must assume the charge. We were not able to get any one, and +Pomona did assume the charge. It is surprising how greatly relieved we +felt when we were obliged to come to this conclusion. The arrangement +was exactly what we wanted, and now that there was no help for it, our +consciences were easy. + +We felt sure that there would be no danger to Pomona. Lord Edward would +be with her, and she was a young person who was extraordinarily well +able to take care of herself. Old John would be within call in case she +needed him, and I borrowed a bull-dog to be kept in the house at night. +Pomona herself was more than satisfied with the plan. + +We made out, the night before we left, a long and minute series of +directions for her guidance in household, garden and farm matters, and +directed her to keep a careful record of everything note worthy that +might occur. She was fully supplied with all the necessaries of life, +and it has seldom happened that a young girl has been left in such a +responsible and independent position as that in which we left Pomona. +She was very proud of it. + +Our journey was ten times more delightful than we had expected it would +be, and successful in every way; and yet, although we enjoyed every hour +of the trip, we were no sooner fairly on our way home than we became so +wildly anxious to get there, that we reached Rudder Grange on Wednesday, +whereas we had written that we would be home on Thursday. We arrived +early in the afternoon and walked up from the station, leaving our +baggage to be sent in the express wagon. As we approached our dear home, +we wanted to run, we were so eager to see it. + +There it was, the same as ever. I lifted the gate-latch; the gate was +locked. We ran to the carriage-gate; that was locked too. Just then I +noticed a placard on the fence; it was not printed, but the lettering +was large, apparently made with ink and a brush. It read: + + + TO BE SOLD + + For TAXES. + + +We stood and looked at each other. Euphemia turned pale. + +“What does this mean?” said I. “Has our landlord--” + +I could say no more. The dreadful thought arose that the place might +pass away from us. We were not yet ready to buy it. But I did not put +the thought in words. There was a field next to our lot, and I got over +the fence and helped Euphemia over. Then we climbed our side-fence. This +was more difficult, but we accomplished it without thinking much about +its difficulties; our hearts were too full of painful apprehensions. +I hurried to the front door; it was locked. All the lower windows +were shut. We went around to the kitchen. What surprised us more than +anything else was the absence of Lord Edward. Had HE been sold? + +Before we reached the back part of the house, Euphemia said she felt +faint and must sit down. I led her to a tree near by, under which I had +made a rustic chair. The chair was gone. She sat on the grass and I ran +to the pump for some water. I looked for the bright tin dipper which +always hung by the pump. It was not there. But I had a traveling-cup in +my pocket, and as I was taking it out I looked around me. There was an +air of bareness over everything. I did not know what it all meant, but +I know that my hand trembled as I took hold of the pump-handle and began +to pump. + +At the first sound of the pump-handle I heard a deep bark in the +direction of the barn, and then furiously around the corner came Lord +Edward. Before I had filled the cup he was bounding about me. I believe +the glad welcome of the dog did more to revive Euphemia than the water. +He was delighted to see us, and in a moment up came Pomona, running from +the barn. Her face was radiant, too. We felt relieved. Here were two +friends who looked as if they were neither sold nor ruined. + +Pomona quickly saw that we were ill at ease, and before I could put a +question to her, she divined the cause. Her countenance fell. + +“You know,” said she, “you said you wasn't comin' till to-morrow. If +you only HAD come then--I was goin' to have everything just exactly +right--an' now you had to climb in--” + +And the poor girl looked as if she might cry, which would have been a +wonderful thing for Pomona to do. + +“Tell me one thing,” said I. “What about--those taxes?” + +“Oh, that's all right,” she cried. “Don't think another minute about +that. I'll tell you all about it soon. But come in first, and I'll get +you some lunch in a minute.” + +We were somewhat relieved by Pomona's statement that it was “all right” + in regard to the tax-poster, but we were very anxious to know all +about the matter. Pomona, however, gave us little chance to ask her any +questions. As soon as she had made ready our lunch, she asked us, as a +particular favor, to give her three-quarters of an hour to herself, +and then, said she, “I'll have everything looking just as if it was +to-morrow.” + +We respected her feelings, for, of course, it was a great disappointment +to her to be taken thus unawares, and we remained in the dining-room +until she appeared, and announced that she was ready for us to go about. +We availed ourselves quickly of the privilege, and Euphemia hurried to +the chicken-yard, while I bent my steps toward the garden and barn. As +I went out I noticed that the rustic chair was in its place, and passing +the pump I looked for the dipper. It was there. I asked Pomona about the +chair, but she did not answer as quickly as was her habit. + +“Would you rather,” said she, “hear it all together, when you come in, +or have it in little bits, head and tail, all of a jumble?” + +I called to Euphemia and asked her what she thought, and she was so +anxious to get to her chickens that she said she would much rather wait +and hear it all together. We found everything in perfect order,--the +garden was even free from weeds, a thing I had not expected. If it had +not been for that cloud on the front fence, I should have been happy +enough. Pomona had said it was all right, but she could not have paid +the taxes--however, I would wait; and I went to the barn. + +When Euphemia came in from the poultry-yard, she called me and said she +was in a hurry to hear Pomona's account of things. So I went in, and we +sat on the side porch, where it was shady, while Pomona, producing some +sheets of foolscap paper, took her seat on the upper step. + +“I wrote down the things of any account what happened,” said she, “as +you told me to, and while I was about it, I thought I'd make it like a +novel. It would be jus' as true, and p'r'aps more amusin'. I suppose you +don't mind?” + +No, we didn't mind. So she went on. + +“I haven't got no name for my novel. I intended to think one out +to-night. I wrote this all of nights. And I don't read the first +chapters, for they tell about my birth and my parentage and my early +adventures. I'll just come down to what happened to me while you was +away, because you'll be more anxious to hear about that. All that's +written here is true, jus' the same as if I told it to you, but I've put +it into novel language because it seems to come easier to me.” + +And then, in a voice somewhat different from her ordinary tones, as if +the “novel language” demanded it, she began to read: + +“Chapter Five. The Lonely house and the Faithful friend. Thus was I left +alone. None but two dogs to keep me com-pa-ny. I milk-ed the lowing kine +and water-ed and fed the steed, and then, after my fru-gal repast, I +clos-ed the man-si-on, shutting out all re-collections of the past and +also foresights into the future. That night was a me-mor-able one. I +slept soundly until the break of morn, but had the events transpired +which afterward occur-red, what would have hap-pen-ed to me no tongue +can tell. Early the next day nothing hap-pened. Soon after breakfast, +the vener-able John came to bor-row some ker-osene oil and a half +a pound of sugar, but his attempt was foil-ed. I knew too well the +in-sid-ious foe. In the very out-set of his vil-li-an-y I sent him +home with a empty can. For two long days I wander-ed amid the ver-dant +pathways of the gar-den and to the barn, whenever and anon my du-ty +call-ed me, nor did I ere neg-lect the fowlery. No cloud o'er-spread +this happy pe-ri-od of my life. But the cloud was ri-sing in the horizon +although I saw it not. + +“It was about twenty-five minutes after eleven, on the morning of a +Thursday, that I sat pondering in my mind the ques-ti-on what to do with +the butter and the veg-et-ables. Here was butter, and here was green +corn and lima-beans and trophy tomats, far more than I ere could use. +And here was a horse, idly cropping the fol-i-age in the field, for as +my employer had advis-ed and order-ed I had put the steed to grass. And +here was a wagon, none too new, which had it the top taken off, or even +the curtains roll-ed up, would do for a li-cen-ced vender. With the +truck and butter, and mayhap some milk, I could load that wagon--” + +“O, Pomona,” interrupted Euphemia. “You don't mean to say that you were +thinking of doing anything like that?” + +“Well, I was just beginning to think of it,” said Pomona, “but of course +I couldn't have gone away and left the house. And you'll see I didn't do +it.” And then she continued her novel. “But while my thoughts were thus +employ-ed, I heard Lord Edward burst into bark-ter--” + +At this Euphemia and I could not help bursting into laughter. Pomona did +not seem at all confused, but went on with her reading. + +“I hurried to the door, and, look-ing out, I saw a wagon at the gate. +Re-pair-ing there, I saw a man. Said he, 'Wilt open this gate?' I had +fasten-ed up the gates and remov-ed every steal-able ar-ticle from the +yard.” + +Euphemia and I looked at each other. This explained the absence of the +rustic seat and the dipper. + +“Thus, with my mind at ease, I could let my faith-ful fri-end, the dog +(for he it was), roam with me through the grounds, while the fi-erce +bull-dog guard-ed the man-si-on within. Then said I, quite bold, unto +him, 'No. I let in no man here. My em-ploy-er and employ-er-ess are now +from home. What do you want?' Then says he, as bold as brass, 'I've +come to put the light-en-ing rods upon the house. Open the gate.' 'What +rods?' says I. 'The rods as was ordered,' says he, 'open the gate.' I +stood and gaz-ed at him. Full well I saw through his pinch-beck mask. I +knew his tricks. In the ab-sence of my em-ployer, he would put up rods, +and ever so many more than was wanted, and likely, too, some miser-able +trash that would attrack the light-ening, instead of keep-ing it off. +Then, as it would spoil the house to take them down, they would be kept, +and pay demand-ed. 'No, sir,' says I. 'No light-en-ing rods upon this +house whilst I stand here,' and with that I walk-ed away, and let Lord +Edward loose. The man he storm-ed with pas-si-on. His eyes flash-ed +fire. He would e'en have scal-ed the gate, but when he saw the dog he +did forbear. As it was then near noon, I strode away to feed the fowls; +but when I did return, I saw a sight which froze the blood with-in my +veins--” + +“The dog didn't kill him?” cried Euphemia. + +“Oh no, ma'am!” said Pomona. “You'll see that that wasn't it. At one +corn-er of the lot, in front, a base boy, who had accompa-ni-ed this +man, was bang-ing on the fence with a long stick, and thus attrack-ing +to hisself the rage of Lord Edward, while the vile intrig-er of a +light-en-ing rod-der had brought a lad-der to the other side of the +house, up which he had now as-cend-ed, and was on the roof. What horrors +fill-ed my soul! How my form trembl-ed! This,” continued Pomona, “is the +end of the novel,” and she laid her foolscap pages on the porch. + +Euphemia and I exclaimed, with one voice, against this. We had just +reached the most exciting part, and, I added, we had heard nothing yet +about that affair of the taxes. + +“You see, sir,” said Pomona, “it took me so long to write out the +chapters about my birth, my parentage, and my early adventures, that +I hadn't time to finish up the rest. But I can tell you what happened +after that jus' as well as if I had writ it out.” And so she went on, +much more glibly than before, with the account of the doings of the +lightning-rod man. + +“There was that wretch on top of the house, a-fixin' his old rods and +hammerin' away for dear life. He'd brought his ladder over the side +fence, where the dog, a-barkin' and plungin' at the boy outside, +couldn't see him. I stood dumb for a minute, an' then I know'd I had +him. I rushed into the house, got a piece of well-rope, tied it to the +bull-dog's collar, an' dragged him out and fastened him to the bottom +rung of the ladder. Then I walks over to the front fence with Lord +Edward's chain, for I knew that if he got at that bull-dog there'd be +times, for they'd never been allowed to see each other yet. So says I to +the boy, 'I'm goin' to tie up the dog, so you needn't be afraid of his +jumpin' over the fence,'--which he couldn't do, or the boy would have +been a corpse for twenty minutes, or may be half an hour. The boy kinder +laughed, and said I needn't mind, which I didn't. Then I went to the +gate, and I clicked to the horse which was standin' there, an' off +he starts, as good as gold, an' trots down the road. The boy, he said +somethin' or other pretty bad, an' away he goes after him; but the horse +was a-trottin' real fast, an' had a good start.” + +“How on earth could you ever think of doing such things?” said +Euphemia. “That horse might have upset the wagon and broken all the +lightning-rods, besides running over I don't know how many people.” + +“But you see, ma'am, that wasn't my lookout,” said Pomona. “I was +a-defendin' the house, and the enemy must expect to have things happen +to him. So then I hears an awful row on the roof, and there was the man +just coming down the ladder. He'd heard the horse go off, and when +he got about half-way down an' caught a sight of the bull-dog, he was +madder than ever you seed a lightnin'-rodder in all your born days. +'Take that dog off of there!' he yelled at me. 'No, I wont, says I. 'I +never see a girl like you since I was born,' he screams at me. 'I guess +it would 'a' been better fur you if you had,' says I; an' then he was +so mad he couldn't stand it any longer, and he comes down as low as he +could, and when he saw just how long the rope was,--which was pretty +short,--he made a jump, and landed clear of the dog. Then he went on +dreadful because he couldn't get at his ladder to take it away; and I +wouldn't untie the dog, because if I had he'd 'a' torn the tendons out +of that fellow's legs in no time. I never see a dog in such a boiling +passion, and yet never making no sound at all but blood-curdlin' grunts. +An' I don't see how the rodder would 'a' got his ladder at all if the +dog hadn't made an awful jump at him, and jerked the ladder down. It +just missed your geranium-bed, and the rodder, he ran to the other end +of it, and began pullin' it away, dog an' all. 'Look-a-here,' says I, +'we can fix him now; and so he cooled down enough to help me, and I +unlocked the front door, and we pushed the bottom end of the ladder +in, dog and all; an' then I shut the door as tight as it would go, an' +untied the end of the rope, an' the rodder pulled the ladder out while I +held the door to keep the dog from follerin', which he came pretty near +doin', anyway. But I locked him in, and then the man began stormin' +again about his wagon; but when he looked out an' see the boy comin' +back with it,--for somebody must 'a' stopped the horse,--he stopped +stormin' and went to put up his ladder ag'in. 'No, you don't,' says I; +'I'll let the big dog loose next time, and if I put him at the foot of +your ladder, you'll never come down.' 'But I want to go and take down +what I put up,' he says; 'I aint a-goin' on with this job.' 'No,' says +I, 'you aint; and you can't go up there to wrench off them rods and make +rain-holes in the roof, neither.' He couldn't get no madder than he was +then, an' fur a minute or two he couldn't speak, an' then he says, 'I'll +have satisfaction for this.' An' says I, 'How? 'An' says he, 'You'll see +what it is to interfere with a ordered job.' An' says I, 'There wasn't +no order about it;' an' says he, 'I'll show you better than that;' an' +he goes to his wagon an' gits a book. 'There,' says he, 'read that.' +'What of it? 'says I 'there's nobody of the name of Ball lives here.' +That took the man kinder aback, and he said he was told it was the only +house on the lane, which I said was right, only it was the next lane he +oughter 'a' gone to. He said no more after that, but just put his ladder +in his wagon, and went off. But I was not altogether rid of him. He left +a trail of his baleful presence behind him. + +“That horrid bull-dog wouldn't let me come into the house! No matter +what door I tried, there he was, just foamin' mad. I let him stay till +nearly night, and then went and spoke kind to him; but it was no good. +He'd got an awful spite ag'in me. I found something to eat down cellar, +and I made a fire outside an' roasted some corn and potatoes. That night +I slep' in the barn. I wasn't afraid to be away from the house, for I +knew it was safe enough, with that dog in it and Lord Edward outside. +For three days, Sunday an' all, I was kep' out of this here house. I got +along pretty well with the sleepin' and the eatin', but the drinkin' +was the worst. I couldn't get no coffee or tea; but there was plenty of +milk.” + +“Why didn't you get some man to come and attend to the dog?” I asked. +“It was dreadful to live that way.” + +“Well, I didn't know no man that could do it,” said Pomona. “The dog +would 'a' been too much for Old John, and besides, he was mad about the +kerosene. Sunday afternoon, Captain Atkinson and Mrs. Atkinson and their +little girl in a push-wagon, come here, and I told 'em you was gone +away; but they says they would stop a minute, and could I give them a +drink; an' I had nothin' to give it to them but an old chicken-bowl that +I had washed out, for even the dipper was in the house, an' I told 'em +everything was locked up, which was true enough, though they must 'a' +thought you was a queer kind of people; but I wasn't a-goin' to say +nothin' about the dog, fur, to tell the truth, I was ashamed to do it. +So as soon as they'd gone, I went down into the cellar,--and it's lucky +that I had the key for the outside cellar door,--and I got a piece of +fat corn-beef and the meat-axe. I unlocked the kitchen door and went in, +with the axe in one hand and the meat in the other. The dog might take +his choice. I know'd he must be pretty nigh famished, for there was +nothin' that he could get at to eat. As soon as I went in, he came +runnin' to me; but I could see he was shaky on his legs. He looked a +sort of wicked at me, and then he grabbed the meat. He was all right +then.” + +“Oh, my!” said Euphemia, “I am so glad to hear that. I was afraid you +never got in. But we saw the dog--is he as savage yet?” + +“Oh no!” said Pomona; “nothin' like it.” + +“Look here, Pomona,” said I, “I want to know about those taxes. When do +they come into your story?” + +“Pretty soon, sir,” said she, and she went on: + +“After that, I know'd it wouldn't do to have them two dogs so that +they'd have to be tied up if they see each other. Just as like as not +I'd want them both at once, and then they'd go to fightin', and leave me +to settle with some blood-thirsty lightnin'-rodder. So, as I know'd if +they once had a fair fight and found out which was master, they'd be +good friends afterwards, I thought the best thing to do would be to let +'em fight it out, when there was nothin' else for 'em to do. So I fixed +up things for the combat.” + +“Why, Pomona!” cried Euphemia, “I didn't think you were capable of such +a cruel thing.” + +“It looks that way, ma'am, but really it aint,” replied the girl. “It +seemed to me as if it would be a mercy to both of 'em to have the +thing settled. So I cleared away a place in front of the wood-shed and +unchained Lord Edward, and then I opened the kitchen door and called the +bull. Out he came, with his teeth a-showin', and his blood-shot eyes, +and his crooked front legs. Like lightnin' from the mount'in blast, he +made one bounce for the big dog, and oh! what a fight there was! They +rolled, they gnashed, they knocked over the wood-horse and sent chips +a-flyin' all ways at wonst. I thought Lord Edward would whip in a minute +or two; but he didn't, for the bull stuck to him like a burr, and they +was havin' it, ground and lofty, when I hears some one run up behind me, +and turnin' quick, there was the 'Piscopalian minister, 'My! my! my!' +he hollers; 'what a awful spectacle! Aint there no way of stoppin' it?' +'No, sir,' says I, and I told him how I didn't want to stop it, and the +reason why. Then says he, 'Where's your master?' and I told him how you +was away. 'Isn't there any man at all about?' says he. 'No,' says +I. 'Then,' says he, 'if there's nobody else to stop it, I must do it +myself.' An' he took off his coat. 'No,' says I, 'you keep back, sir. If +there's anybody to plunge into that erena, the blood be mine;' an' I +put my hand, without thinkin', ag'in his black shirt-bosom, to hold him +back; but he didn't notice, bein' so excited. 'Now,' says I, 'jist wait +one minute, and you'll see that bull's tail go between his legs. He's +weakenin'.' An' sure enough, Lord Edward got a good grab at him, and was +a-shakin' the very life out of him, when I run up and took Lord Edward +by the collar. 'Drop it!' says I, and he dropped it, for he know'd he'd +whipped, and he was pretty tired hisself. Then the bull-dog, he trotted +off with his tail a-hangin' down. 'Now, then,' says I, 'them dogs will +be bosom friends forever after this.' 'Ah me!' says he, 'I'm sorry +indeed that your employer, for who I've always had a great respect, +should allow you to get into such habits.' That made me feel real bad, +and I told him, mighty quick, that you was the last man in the world to +let me do anything like that, and that, if you'd 'a' been here, you'd +'a' separated them dogs, if they'd a-chawed your arms off; that you was +very particular about such things; and that it would be a pity if he was +to think you was a dog-fightin' gentleman, when I'd often heard you say +that, now you was fixed an' settled, the one thing you would like most +would be to be made a vestryman.” + +I sat up straight in my chair. + +“Pomona!” I exclaimed, “you didn't tell him that?” + +“That's what I said, sir, for I wanted him to know what you really was; +an' he says, 'Well, well, I never knew that. It might be a very good +thing. I'll speak to some of the members about it. There's two vacancies +now in our vestry.” + +I was crushed; but Euphemia tried to put the matter into the brightest +light. + +“Perhaps it may all turn out for the best,” she said, “and you may be +elected, and that would be splendid. But it would be an awfully funny +thing for a dog-fight to make you a vestry-man.” + +I could not talk on this subject. “Go on, Pomona,” I said, trying to +feel resigned to my shame, “and tell us about that poster on the fence.” + +“I'll be to that almost right away,” she said. “It was two or three days +after the dog-fight that I was down at the barn, and happenin' to look +over to Old John's, I saw that tree-man there. He was a-showin' his +book to John, and him and his wife and all the young ones was a-standin' +there, drinkin' down them big peaches and pears as if they was all real. +I know'd he'd come here ag'in, for them fellers never gives you up; and +I didn't know how to keep him away, for I didn't want to let the dogs +loose on a man what, after all, didn't want to do no more harm than to +talk the life out of you. So I just happened to notice, as I came to the +house, how kind of desolate everything looked, and I thought perhaps +I might make it look worse, and he wouldn't care to deal here. So I +thought of puttin' up a poster like that, for nobody whose place was +a-goin' to be sold for taxes would be likely to want trees. So I run in +the house, and wrote it quick and put it up. And sure enough, the man he +come along soon, and when he looked at that paper, and tried the gate, +an' looked over the fence an' saw the house all shut up an' not a livin' +soul about,--for I had both the dogs in the house with me,--he shook his +head an' walked off, as much as to say, 'If that man had fixed his place +up proper with my trees, he wouldn't 'a' come to this!' An' then, as I +found the poster worked so good, I thought it might keep other people +from comin' a-botherin' around, and so I left it up; but I was a-goin' +to be sure and take it down before you came.” + +As it was now pretty late in the afternoon, I proposed that Pomona +should postpone the rest of her narrative until evening. She said that +there was nothing else to tell that was very particular; and I did not +feel as if I could stand anything more just now, even if it was very +particular. + +When we were alone, I said to Euphemia: + +“If we ever have to go away from this place again--” + +“But we wont go away,” she interrupted, looking up to me with as bright +a face as she ever had, “at least not for a long, long, long time to +come. And I'm so glad you're to be a vestryman.” + + + +CHAPTER XIV. POMONA TAKES A BRIDAL TRIP. + + +Our life at Rudder Grange seemed to be in no way materially changed by +my becoming a vestryman. The cow gave about as much milk as before, and +the hens laid the usual number of eggs. Euphemia went to church with a +little more of an air, perhaps, but as the wardens were never absent, +and I was never, therefore, called upon to assist in taking up the +collection, her sense of my position was not inordinately manifested. + +For a year or two, indeed, there was no radical change in anything about +Rudder Grange, except in Pomona. In her there was a change. She grew up. + +She performed this feat quite suddenly. She was a young girl when she +first came to us, and we had never considered her as anything else, when +one evening she had a young man to see her. Then we knew she had grown +up. + +We made no objections to her visitors,--she had several, from time to +time,--“for,” said Euphemia, “suppose my parents had objected to your +visits.” I could not consider the mere possibility of anything like +this, and we gave Pomona all the ordinary opportunities for entertaining +her visitors. To tell the truth, I think we gave her more than the +ordinary opportunities. I know that Euphemia would wait on herself to +almost any extent, rather than call upon Pomona, when the latter was +entertaining an evening visitor in the kitchen or on the back porch. + +“Suppose my mother,” she once remarked, in answer to a mild remonstrance +from me in regard to a circumstance of this nature,--“suppose my mother +had rushed into our presence when we were plighting our vows, and had +told me to go down into the cellar and crack ice!” + +It was of no use to talk to Euphemia on such subjects; she always had an +answer ready. + +“You don't want Pomona to go off and be married, do you?” I asked, one +day as she was putting up some new muslin curtains in the kitchen. “You +seem to be helping her to do this all you can, and yet I don't know +where on earth you will get another girl who will suit you so well.” + +“I don't know, either,” replied Euphemia, with a tack in her mouth, “and +I'm sure I don't want her to go. But neither do I want winter to come, +or to have to wear spectacles; but I suppose both of these things will +happen, whether I like it or not.” + +For some time after this Pomona had very little company, and we began to +think that there was no danger of any present matrimonial engagement on +her part,--a thought which was very gratifying to us, although we +did not wish in any way to interfere with her prospects,--when, one +afternoon, she quietly went up into the village and was married. + +Her husband was a tall young fellow, a son of a farmer in the county, +who had occasionally been to see her, but whom she must have frequently +met on her “afternoons out.” + +When Pomona came home and told us this news we were certainly well +surprised. + +“What on earth are we to do for a girl?” cried Euphemia. + +“You're to have me till you can get another one,” said Pomona quietly. +“I hope you don't think I'd go 'way, and leave you without anybody.” + +“But a wife ought to go to her husband,” said Euphemia, “especially so +recent a bride. Why didn't you let me know all about it? I would have +helped to fit you out. We would have given you the nicest kind of a +little wedding.” + +“I know that,” said Pomona; “you're jus' good enough. But I didn't want +to put you to all that trouble--right in preserving-time too. An' he +wanted it quiet, for he's awful backward about shows. An' as I'm to +go to live with his folks,--at least in a little house on the farm,--I +might as well stay here as anywhere, even if I didn't want to, for I +can't go there till after frost.” + +“Why not?” I asked. + +“The chills and fever,” said she. “They have it awful down in that +valley. Why, he had a chill while we was bein' married, right at the +bridal altar.” + +“You don't say so!” exclaimed Euphemia. “How dreadful!” + +“Yes, indeed,” said Pomona. “He must 'a' forgot it was his chill-day, +and he didn't take his quinine, and so it come on him jus' as he was +apromisin' to love an' pertect. But he stuck it out, at the minister's +house, and walked home by his-self to finish his chill.” + +“And you didn't go with him?” cried Euphemia, indignantly. + +“He said, no. It was better thus. He felt it weren't the right thing +to mingle the agur with his marriage vows. He promised to take sixteen +grains to-morrow, and so I came away. He'll be all right in a month or +so, an' then we'll go an' keep house. You see it aint likely I could +help him any by goin' there an' gettin' it myself.” + +“Pomona,” said Euphemia, “this is dreadful. You ought to go and take a +bridal tour and get him rid of those fearful chills.” + +“I never thought of that,” said Pomona, her face lighting up +wonderfully. + +Now that Euphemia had fallen upon this happy idea, she never dropped +it until she had made all the necessary plans, and had put them into +execution. In the course of a week she had engaged another servant, and +had started Pomona and her husband off on a bridal-tour, stipulating +nothing but that they should take plenty of quinine in their trunk. + +It was about three weeks after this, and Euphemia and I were sitting on +our front steps,--I had come home early, and we had been potting some +of the tenderest plants,--when Pomona walked in at the gate. She looked +well, and had on a very bright new dress. Euphemia noticed this the +moment she came in. We welcomed her warmly, for we felt a great interest +in this girl, who had grown up in our family and under our care. + +“Have you had your bridal trip?” asked Euphemia. + +“Oh yes!” said Pomona. “It's all over an' done with, an' we're settled +in our house.” + +“Well, sit right down here on the steps and tell us all about it,” said +Euphemia, in a glow of delightful expectancy, and Pomona, nothing loth, +sat down and told her tale. + +“You see,” said she, untying her bonnet strings, to give an easier +movement to her chin, “we didn't say where we was goin' when we started +out, for the truth was we didn't know. We couldn't afford to take no big +trip, and yet we wanted to do the thing up jus' as right as we could, +seein' as you had set your heart on it, an' as we had, too, for that +matter. Niagery Fall was what I wanted, but he said that it cost so much +to see the sights there that he hadn't money to spare to take us there +an' pay for all the sight-seein', too. We might go, he said, without +seein' the sights, or, if there was any way of seein' the sights without +goin', that might do, but he couldn't do both. So we give that up, and +after thinkin' a good deal, we agreed to go to some other falls, which +might come cheaper, an' may-be be jus' as good to begin on. So we +thought of Passaic Falls, up to Paterson, an' we went there, an' took a +room at a little hotel, an' walked over to the falls. But they wasn't +no good, after all, for there wasn't no water runnin' over em. There +was rocks and precipicers, an' direful depths, and everything for a good +falls, except water, and that was all bein' used at the mills. 'Well, +Miguel,' says I, 'this is about as nice a place for a falls as ever I +see,' but--” + +“Miguel!” cried Euphemia. “Is that your husband's name?” + +“Well, no,” said Pomona, “it isn't. His given name is Jonas, but I hated +to call him Jonas, an' on a bridal trip, too. He might jus' as well have +had a more romantic-er name, if his parents had 'a' thought of it. So +I determined I'd give him a better one, while we was on our journey, +anyhow, an' I changed his name to Miguel, which was the name of a +Spanish count. He wanted me to call him Jiguel, because, he said, that +would have a kind of a floating smell of his old name, but I didn't +never do it. Well, neither of us didn't care to stay about no dry falls, +so we went back to the hotel and got our supper, and begun to wonder +what we should do next day. He said we'd better put it off and dream +about it, and make up our minds nex' mornin', which I agreed to, an', +that evenin', as we was sittin' in our room I asked Miguel to tell me +the story of his life. He said, at first, it hadn't none, but when I +seemed a kinder put out at this, he told me I mustn't mind, an' he would +reveal the whole. So he told me this story: + +“'My grandfather,' said he, 'was a rich and powerful Portugee, a-livin' +on the island of Jamaica. He had heaps o' slaves, an' owned a black +brigantine, that he sailed in on secret voyages, an', when he come +back, the decks an' the gunnels was often bloody, but nobody knew why or +wherefore. He was a big man with black hair an' very violent. He could +never have kept no help, if he hadn't owned 'em, but he was so rich, +that people respected him, in spite of all his crimes. My grandmother +was a native o' the Isle o' Wight. She was a frail an' tender woman, +with yeller hair, and deep blue eyes, an' gentle, an' soft, an' good to +the poor. She used to take baskits of vittles aroun' to sick folks, an' +set down on the side o' their beds an' read “The Shepherd o' Salisbury +Plains” to 'em. She hardly ever speaked above her breath, an' always +wore white gowns with a silk kerchief a-folded placidly aroun' her +neck.' 'Them was awful different kind o' people,' I says to him, 'I +wonder how they ever come to be married.' 'They never was married,' says +he. 'Never married!' I hollers, a-jumpin' up from my chair, 'and you sit +there carmly an' look me in the eye.' 'Yes,' says he, 'they was never +married. They never met; one was my mother's father, and the other one +my father's mother. 'Twas well they did not wed.' 'I should think so,' +said I, 'an' now, what's the good of tellin' me a thing like that?' + +“'It's about as near the mark as most of the stories of people's lives, +I reckon,' says he, 'an' besides I'd only jus' begun it.' + +“'Well, I don't want no more,' says I, an' I jus' tell this story of his +to show what kind of stories he told about that time. He said they was +pleasant fictions, but I told him that if he didn't look out he'd hear +'em called by a good deal of a worse kind of a name than that. The nex' +mornin' he asked me what was my dream, an' I told him I didn't have +exactly no dream about it, but my idea was to have somethin' real +romantic for the rest of our bridal days. + +“'Well,' says he, 'what would you like? I had a dream, but it wasn't no +ways romantic, and I'll jus' fall in with whatever you'd like best.' + +“'All right,' says I, 'an' the most romantic-est thing that I can +think of is for us to make-believe for the rest of this trip. We can +make-believe we're anything we please, an' if we think so in real +earnest it will be pretty much the same thing as if we really was. We +aint likely to have no chance ag'in of being jus' what we've a mind to, +an' so let's try it now.' + +“'What would you have a mind to be?' says he. + +“'Well,' says I, 'let's be an earl an' a earl-ess.' + +“'Earl-ess'? says he, 'there's no such a person.' + +“'Why, yes there is, of course,' I says to him. 'What's a she-earl if +she isn't a earl-ess?' + +“'Well, I don't know,' says he, 'never havin' lived with any of 'em, but +we'll let it go at that. An' how do you want to work the thing out?' + +“'This way,' says I. 'You, Miguel--' + +“'Jiguel,' says he. + +“'The earl,' says I, not mindin' his interruption, 'an' me, your noble +earl-ess, will go to some good place or other--it don't matter much jus' +where, and whatever house we live in we'll call our castle an' we'll +consider it's got draw-bridges an' portcullises an' moats an' secrit +dungeons, an' we'll remember our noble ancesters, an' behave accordin'. +An' the people we meet we can make into counts and dukes and princes, +without their knowin' anything about it; an' we can think our clothes is +silk an' satin an' velwet, all covered with dimuns an' precious stones, +jus' as well as not.' + +“'Jus' as well,' says he. + +“'An' then,' I went on, 'we can go an' have chi-VAL-rous adventures,--or +make believe we're havin' 'em,--an' build up a atmosphere of +romanticness aroun' us that'll carry us back--' + +“'To ole Virginny,' says he. + +“'No,' says I, 'for thousands of years, or at least enough back for the +times of tournaments and chi-VAL-ry.' + +“'An' so your idea is that we make believe all these things, an' don't +pay for none of 'em, is it?' says he. + +“'Yes,' says I; 'an' you, Miguel--' + +“'Jiguel,' says he. + +“'Can ask me, if you don't know what chi-VAL-ric or romantic thing you +ought to do or to say so as to feel yourself truly an' reely a earl, for +I've read a lot about these people, an' know jus' what ought to be did.' + +“Well, he set himself down an' thought a while, an' then he says, 'All +right. We'll do that, an' we'll begin to-morrow mornin', for I've got +a little business to do in the city which wouldn't be exactly the right +thing for me to stoop to after I'm a earl, so I'll go in an' do it while +I'm a common person, an' come back this afternoon, an you can walk about +an' look at the dry falls, an' amuse yourself gen'rally, till I come +back.' + +“'All right,' says I, an' off he goes. + +“He come back afore dark, an' the nex' mornin' we got ready to start +off. + +“'Have you any particular place to go?' says he. + +“'No,' says I, 'one place is as likely to be as good as another for our +style o' thing. If it don't suit, we can imagine it does.' + +“'That'll do,' says he, an' we had our trunk sent to the station, and +walked ourselves. When we got there, he says to me, + +“Which number will you have, five or seven?' + +“'Either one will suit me, Earl Miguel,' says I. + +“'Jiguel,' says he, 'an' we'll make it seven. An' now I'll go an' look +at the time-table, an' we'll buy tickets for the seventh station from +here. The seventh station,' says he, comin' back, 'is Pokus. We'll go to +Pokus.' + +“So when the train come we got in, an' got out at Pokus. It was a pretty +sort of a place, out in the country, with the houses scattered a long +ways apart, like stingy chicken-feed. + +“'Let's walk down this road,' says he, 'till we come to a good house for +a castle, an' then we can ask 'em to take us to board, an' if they wont +do it we'll go to the next, an' so on.' + +“'All right,' says I, glad enough to see how pat he entered into the +thing. + +“We walked a good ways, an' passed some little houses that neither of us +thought would do, without more imaginin' than would pay, till we came to +a pretty big house near the river, which struck our fancy in a minute. +It was a stone house, an' it had trees aroun' it, there was a garden +with a wall, an' things seemed to suit first-rate, so we made up our +minds right off that we'd try this place. + +“'You wait here under this tree,' says he, 'an' I'll go an' ask 'em if +they'll take us to board for a while.' + +“So I waits, an' he goes up to the gate, an' pretty soon he comes out +an' says, 'All right, they'll take us, an' they'll send a man with a +wheelbarrer to the station for our trunk.' So in we goes. The man was +a country-like lookin' man, an' his wife was a very pleasant woman. The +house wasn't furnished very fine, but we didn't care for that, an' +they gave us a big room that had rafters instid of a ceilin', an' a big +fire-place, an' that, I said, was jus' exac'ly what we wanted. The room +was almos' like a donjon itself, which he said he reckoned had once +been a kitchin, but I told him that a earl hadn't nothin' to do with +kitchins, an' that this was a tapestry chamber, an' I'd tell him all +about the strange figgers on the embroidered hangin's, when the shadders +begun to fall. + +“It rained a little that afternoon, an' we stayed in our room, an' hung +our clothes an' things about on nails an' hooks, an' made believe +they was armor an' ancient trophies an' portraits of a long line of +ancesters. I did most of the make-believin' but he agreed to ev'rything. +The man who kep' the house's wife brought us our supper about dark, +because she said she thought we might like to have it together cozy, an' +so we did, an' was glad enough of it; an' after supper we sat before the +fire-place, where we made-believe the flames was a-roarin' an' cracklin' +an' a-lightin' up the bright places on the armor a-hangin' aroun', while +the storm--which we made-believe--was a-ragin' an' whirlin' outside. I +told him a long story about a lord an' a lady, which was two or three +stories I had read, run together, an' we had a splendid time. It all +seemed real real to me.” + + + +CHAPTER XV. IN WHICH TWO NEW FRIENDS DISPORT THEMSELVES. + + +“The nex' mornin' was fine an' nice,” continued Pomona, “an' after our +breakfast had been brought to us, we went out in the grounds to take a +walk. There was lots of trees back of the house, with walks among 'em, +an' altogether it was so ole-timey an' castleish that I was as happy as +a lark. + +“'Come along, Earl Miguel,' I says; 'let us tread a measure 'neath these +mantlin' trees.' + +“'All right,' says he. 'Your Jiguel attends you. An' what might our +noble second name be? What is we earl an' earl-ess of?' + +“'Oh, anything,' says I. 'Let's take any name at random.' + +“'All right,' says he. 'Let it be random. Earl an' Earl-ess Random. Come +along.' + +“So we walks about, I feelin' mighty noble an' springy, an' afore long +we sees another couple a-walkin' about under the trees. + +“'Who's them?' says I. + +“'Don't know,' says he, 'but I expect they're some o' the other +boarders. The man said he had other boarders when I spoke to him about +takin' us.' + +“'Let's make-believe they're a count an' count says I. 'Count an' +Countess of--' + +“'Milwaukee,' says he. + +“I didn't think much of this for a noble name, but still it would do +well enough, an' so we called 'em the Count an' Countess of Milwaukee, +an' we kep' on a meanderin'. Pretty soon he gets tired an' says he was +agoin' back to the house to have a smoke because he thought it was time +to have a little fun which weren't all imaginations, an' I says to him +to go along, but it would be the hardest thing in this world for me to +imagine any fun in smokin'. He laughed an' went back, while I walked on, +a-makin'-believe a page, in blue puffed breeches, was a-holdin' up my +train, which was of light-green velvet trimmed with silver lace. +Pretty soon, turnin' a little corner, I meets the Count and Countess of +Milwaukee. She was a small lady, dressed in black, an' he was a big fat +man about fifty years old, with a grayish beard. They both wore little +straw hats, exac'ly alike, an' had on green carpet-slippers. + +“They stops when they sees me, an' the lady she bows and says +'good-mornin',' an' then she smiles, very pleasant, an' asks if I was +a-livin' here, an' when I said I was, she says she was too, for the +present, an' what was my name. I had half a mind to say the Earl-ess +Random, but she was so pleasant and sociable that I didn't like to seem +to be makin' fun, an' so I said I was Mrs. De Henderson. + +“'An' I,' says she, 'am Mrs. General Andrew Jackson, widow of the +ex-President of the United States. I am staying here on business +connected with the United States Bank. This is my brother,' says she, +pointin' to the big man. + +“'How d'ye do?' says he, a-puttin' his hands together, turnin' his toes +out an' makin' a funny little bow. 'I am General Tom Thumb,' he says +in a deep, gruff voice, 'an' I've been before all the crown-ed heads of +Europe, Asia, Africa, America an' Australia,--all a's but one,--an' I'm +waitin' here for a team of four little milk-white oxen, no bigger than +tall cats, which is to be hitched to a little hay-wagon, which I am to +ride in, with a little pitch-fork an' real farmer's clothes, only +small. This will come to-morrow, when I will pay for it an' ride away to +exhibit. It may be here now, an' I will go an' see. Good-bye.' + +“'Good-bye, likewise,' says the lady. 'I hope you'll have all you're +thinkin' you're havin', an' more too, but less if you'd like it. +Farewell.' An' away they goes. + +“Well, you may be sure, I stood there amazed enough, an' mad too when I +heard her talk about my bein' all I was a-thinkin' I was. I was sure my +husband--scarce two weeks old, a husband--had told all. It was too bad. +I wished I had jus' said I was the Earl-ess of Random an' brassed it +out. + +“I rushed back an' foun' him smokin' a pipe on a back porch. I charged +him with his perfidy, but he vowed so earnest that he had not told these +people of our fancies, or ever had spoke to 'em, that I had to believe +him. + +“'I expec',' says he, 'that they're jus' makin'-believe--as we are. +There aint no patent on make-believes.' + +“This didn't satisfy me, an' as he seemed to be so careless about it I +walked away, an' left him to his pipe. I determined to go take a walk +along some of the country roads an' think this thing over for myself. +I went aroun' to the front gate, where the woman of the house was +a-standin' talkin' to somebody, an' I jus' bowed to her, for I didn't +feel like sayin' anything, an' walked past her. + +“'Hello!' said she, jumpin' in front of me an' shuttin' the gate. +'You can't go out here. If you want to walk you can walk about in the +grounds. There's lots of shady paths.' + +“'Can't go out!' says I. 'Can't go out! What do you mean by that?' + +“'I mean jus' what I say,' said she, an' she locked the gate. + +“I was so mad that I could have pushed her over an' broke the gate, but +I thought that if there was anything of that kind to do I had a husband +whose business it was to attend to it, an' so I runs aroun' to him to +tell him. He had gone in, but I met Mrs. Jackson an' her brother. + +“'What's the matter?' said she, seein' what a hurry I was in. + +“'That woman at the gate,' I said, almost chokin' as I spoke, 'wont let +me out.' + +“'She wont?' said Mrs. Jackson. 'Well, that's a way she has. Four times +the Bank of the United States has closed its doors before I was able to +get there, on account of that woman's obstinacy about the gate. Indeed, +I have not been to the Bank at all yet, for of course it is of no use to +go after banking hours.' + +“'An' I believe, too,' said her brother in his heavy voice, 'that she +has kept out my team of little oxen. Otherwise it would be here now.' + +“I couldn't stand any more of this an' ran into our room where my +husband was. When I told him what had happened, he was real sorry. + +“'I didn't know you thought of going out,' he said, 'or I would have +told you all about it. An' now sit down an' quiet yourself, an' I'll +tell you jus' how things is.' So down we sits, an' says he, jus' as +carm as a summer cloud, 'My dear, this is a lunertic asylum. Now, don't +jump,' he says; 'I didn't bring you here, because I thought you was +crazy, but because I wanted you to see what kind of people they was who +imagined themselves earls and earl-esses, an' all that sort o' thing, +an' to have an idea how the thing worked after you'd been doing it a +good while an' had got used to it. I thought it would be a good thing, +while I was Earl Jiguel and you was a noble earl-ess, to come to a place +where people acted that way. I knowed you had read lots o' books about +knights and princes an' bloody towers, an' that you knowed all about +them things, but I didn't suppose you did know how them same things +looked in these days, an' a lunertic asylum was the only place where +you could see 'em. So I went to a doctor I knowed,' he says, 'an' got +a certificate from him to this private institution, where we could stay +for a while an' get posted on romantics.' + +“'Then,' says I, 'the upshot was that you wanted to teach a lesson.' + +“'Jus' that,' says he. + +“'All right,' says I; 'it's teached. An' now let's get out of this as +quick as we kin.' + +“'That'll suit me,' he says, 'an' we'll leave by the noon train. I'll go +an' see about the trunk bein' sent down.' + +“So off he went to see the man who kept the house, while I falls to +packin' up the trunk as fast as I could.” + +“Weren't you dreadfully angry at him?” asked Euphemia, who, having a +romantic streak in her own composition, did not sympathize altogether +with this heroic remedy for Pomona's disease. + +“No, ma'am,” said Pomona, “not long. When I thought of Mrs. General +Jackson and Tom Thumb, I couldn't help thinkin' that I must have looked +pretty much the same to my husband, who, I knowed now, had only been +makin'-believe to make-believe. An' besides, I couldn't be angry very +long for laughin, for when he come back in a minute, as mad as a March +hare, an' said they wouldn't let me out nor him nuther, I fell to +laughin' ready to crack my sides. + +“'They say,' said he, as soon as he could speak straight, 'that we can't +go out without another certificate from the doctor. I told 'em I'd go +myself an' see him about it but they said no, I couldn't, for if they +did that way everybody who ever was sent here would be goin' out the +next day to see about leavin'. I didn't want to make no fuss, so I told +them I'd write a letter to the doctor and tell him to send an order +that would soon show them whether we could go out or not. They said +that would be the best thing to do, an so I'm goin' to write it this +minute,'--which he did. + +“'How long will we have to wait?' says I, when the letter was done. + +“'Well,' says he, 'the doctor can't get this before to-morrow mornin', +an' even if he answers right away, we won't get our order to go out +until the next day. So we'll jus' have to grin an' bear it for a day an' +a half.' + +“'This is a lively old bridal-trip,' said I,--'dry falls an' a lunertic +asylum.' + +“'We'll try to make the rest of it better,' said he. + +“But the next day wasn't no better. We staid in our room all day, for we +didn't care to meet Mrs. Jackson an' her crazy brother, an' I'm sure we +didn't want to see the mean creatures who kept the house. We knew well +enough that they only wanted us to stay so that they could get more +board-money out of us.” + +“I should have broken out,” cried Euphemia. “I would never have staid +an hour in that place, after I found out what it was, especially on a +bridal trip.” + +“If we'd done that,” said Pomona, “they'd have got men after us, an' +then everybody would have thought we was real crazy. We made up our +minds to wait for the doctor's letter, but it wasn't much fun. An' I +didn't tell no romantic stories to fill up the time. We sat down an' +behaved like the commonest kind o' people. You never saw anybody sicker +of romantics than I was when I thought of them two loons that called +themselves Mrs. Andrew Jackson and General Tom Thumb. I dropped Miguel +altogether, an' he dropped Jiguel, which was a relief to me, an' I took +strong to Jonas, even callin' him Jone, which I consider a good deal +uglier an' commoner even than Jonas. He didn't like this much, but said +that if it would help me out of the Miguel, he didn't care. + +“Well, on the mornin' of the next day I went into the little front room +that they called the office, to see if there was a letter for us yet, +an' there wasn't nobody there to ask. But I saw a pile of letters under +a weight on the table, an' I jus' looked at these to see if one of 'em +was for us, an' if there wasn't the very letter Jone had written to the +doctor! They'd never sent it! I rushes back to Jone an' tells him, an' +he jus' set an' looked at me without sayin' a word. I didn't wonder he +couldn't speak. + +“'I'll go an' let them people know what I think of 'em,' says I. + +“'Don't do that,' said Jone, catchin' me by the sleeve. 'It wont do no +good. Leave the letter there, an' don't say nothin' about it. We'll stay +here till afternoon quite quiet, an' then we'll go away. That garden +wall isn't high.' + +“'An' how about the trunk?' says I. + +“'Oh, we'll take a few things in our pockets, an' lock up the trunk, an' +ask the doctor to send for it when we get to the city.' + +“'All right,' says I. An' we went to work to get ready to leave. + +“About five o'clock in the afternoon, when it was a nice time to take a +walk under the trees, we meandered quietly down to a corner of the back +wall, where Jone thought it would be rather convenient to get over. He +hunted up a short piece of board which he leaned up ag'in the wall, an' +then he put his foot on the top of that an' got hold of the top of the +wall an' climbed up, as easy as nuthin'. Then he reached down to help me +step onto the board. But jus' as he was agoin' to take me by the hand: +'Hello!' says he. 'Look a-there!' An' I turned round an' looked, an' if +there wasn't Mrs. Andrew Jackson an' General Tom Thumb a-walkin' down +the path. + +“'What shall we do?' says I. + +“'Come along,' says he. 'We aint a-goin' to stop for them. Get up, all +the same.' + +“I tried to get up as he said, but it wasn't so easy for me on account +of my not bein' such a high stepper as Jone, an' I was a good while +a-gettin' a good footin' on the board. + +“Mrs. Jackson an' the General, they came right up to us an' set down on +a bench which was fastened between two trees near the wall. An' there +they set, a-lookin' steady at us with their four little eyes, like four +empty thimbles. + +“'You appear to be goin' away,' says Mrs. Jackson. + +“'Yes,' says Jone from the top of the wall. We're a-goin' to take a +slight stroll outside, this salu-brious evenin'.' + +“'Do you think,' says she, 'that the United States Bank would be open +this time of day?' + +“'Oh no,' says Jone, 'the banks all close at three o'clock. It's a good +deal after that now.' + +“'But if I told the officers who I was, wouldn't that make a +difference?' says she. 'Wouldn't they go down an' open the bank?' + +“'Not much,' says Jone, givin' a pull which brought me right up to the +top o' the wall an' almost clean down the other side, with one jerk. 'I +never knowed no officers that would do that. But,' says he, a kind o' +shuttin' his eyes so that she shouldn't see he was lyin', 'we'll talk +about that when we come back.' + +“'If you see that team of little oxen,' says the big man, 'send 'em +'round to the front gate.' + +“'All right,' says Jone; an' he let me down the outside of the wall as +if I had been a bag o' horse-feed. + +“'But if the bank isn't open you can't pay for it when it does come,' we +heard the old lady a-sayin' as we hurried off. + +“We didn't lose no time agoin' down to that station, an' it's lucky we +didn't, for a train for the city was comin' jus' as we got there, an' we +jumped aboard without havin' no time to buy tickets. There wasn't many +people in our car, an we got a seat together. + +“'Now then,' says Jone, as the cars went abuzzin' along, 'I feel as if +I was really on a bridal-trip, which I mus' say I didn't at that there +asylum.' + +“An' then I said: 'I should think not,' an' we both bust out a-laughin', +as well we might, feelin' sich a change of surroundin's. + +“'Do you think,' says somebody behind us, when we'd got through +laughin', 'that if I was to send a boy up to the cashier he would either +come down or send me the key of the bank?' + +“We both turned aroun' as quick as lightnin', an' if there wasn't them +two lunertics in the seat behind us! + +“It nearly took our breaths away to see them settin' there, staring at +us with their thimble eyes, an' a-wearin' their little straw hats, both +alike. + +“'How on the livin' earth did you two got here?' says I, as soon as I +could speak. + +“'Oh, we come by the same way you come--by the tem-per-ary stairs,' says +Mrs. Jackson. 'We thought if it was too late to draw any money to-night, +it might be well to be on hand bright an' early in the mornin'. An' so +we follered you two, as close as we could, because we knew you could +take us right to the very bank doors, an' we didn't know the way +ourselves, not never havin' had no occasion to attend to nothin' of this +kind before.' + +“Jone an' I looked at each other, but we didn't speak for a minute. + +“'Then,' says I, 'here's a pretty kittle o' fish.' + +“'I should kinder say so,' says Jone. 'We've got these here two +lunertics on our hands, sure enough, for there ain't no train back to +Pokus tonight, an' I wouldn't go back with 'em if there was. We must +keep an eye on 'em till we can see the doctor to-morrow.' + +“'I suppose we must,' said I, 'but this don't seem as much like a +bridal-trip as it did a while ago.' + +“'You're right there,' says Jone. + +“When the conductor came along we had to pay the fare of them two +lunertics, besides our own, for neither of 'em had a cent about 'em. +When we got to town we went to a smallish hotel, near the ferry, where +Jone knowed the man who kep' it, who wouldn't bother about none of us +havin' a scrap of baggage, knowin' he'd get his money all the same, out +of either Jone or his father. The General an' his sister looked a kind +o' funny in their little straw hats an' green carpet-slippers, an' the +clerk didn't know whether he hadn't forgot how to read writin' when the +big man put down the names of General Tom Thumb and Mrs. ex-President +Andrew Jackson, which he wasn't ex-President anyway, bein' dead; but +Jone he whispered they was travelin' under nommys dess plummys (I told +him to say that), an' he would fix it all right in the mornin'. An' then +we got some supper, which it took them two lunertics a long time to eat, +for they was all the time forgettin' what particular kind o' business +they was about, an' then we was showed to our rooms. They had two rooms +right across the hall from ours. We hadn't been inside our room five +minutes before Mrs. General Jackson come a-knockin' at the door. + +“'Look a-here,' she says to me, 'there's a unforeseen contingency in my +room. An' it smells.' + +“So I went right in, an' sure enough it did smell, for she had turned on +all the gases, besides the one that was lighted. + +“'What did you do that for?' says I, a-turnin' them off as fast as I +could. + +“'I'd like to know what they're made for,' says she, 'if they isn't to +be turned on.' + +“When I told Jone about this he looked real serious, an' jus' then a +waiter came upstairs an' went into the big man's room. In a minute he +come out an' says to Jone an' me, a-grinnin': + +“'We can't suit him no better in this house.' + +“'What does he want?' asks Jone. + +“'Why, he wants a smaller bed,' says the waiter. 'He says he can't sleep +in a bed as big as that, an' we haven't none smaller in this house, +which he couldn't get into if we had, in my opinion,' says he. + +“'All right,' says Jone. 'Jus' you go downstairs, an' I'll fix him.' So +the man goes off, still a-grinnin'. 'I tell you what it is,' says Jone, +'it wont do to let them two lunertics have rooms to themselves. They'll +set this house afire or turn it upside down in the middle of the night, +if they has. There's nuthin' to be done but for you to sleep with the +woman an' for me to sleep with the man, an' to keep 'em from cuttin' up +till mornin'.' + +“So Jone he went into the room where General Tom Thumb was a-settin' +with his hat on, a-lookin' doleful at the bed, an' says he: + +“'What's the matter with the bed?' + +“'Oh, it's too large entirely,' says the General. 'It wouldn't do for +me to sleep in a bed like that. It would ruin my character as a genuine +Thumb.' + +“'Well,' says Jone, 'it's nearly two times too big for you, but if you +an' me was both to sleep in it, it would be about right, wouldn't it?' + +“'Oh yes,' says the General. An' he takes off his hat, an' Jone says +good-night to me an' shuts the door. Our room was better than Mrs. +General Jackson's, so I takes her in there, an' the fust thing she does +is to turn on all the gases. + +“'Stop that!' I hollers. 'If you do that again,--I'll--I'll break the +United States Bank tomorrow!' + +“'How'll you do that?' says she. + +“'I'll draw out all my capital,' says I. + +“'I hope really you wont,' says she, 'till I've been there,' an' she +leans out of the open winder to look into the street, but while she +was a-lookin' out I see her left hand a-creepin' up to the gas by the +winder, that wasn't lighted. I felt mad enough to take her by the feet +an' pitch her out, as you an the boarder,” said Pomona, turning to me, +“h'isted me out of the canal-boat winder.” + +This, by the way, was the first intimation we had had that Pomona knew +how she came to fall out of that window. + +“But I didn't do it,” she continued, “for there wasn't no soft water +underneath for her to fall into. After we went to bed I kep' awake for +a long time, bein' afraid she'd get up in the night an' turn on all the +gases and smother me alive. But I fell asleep at last, an' when I woke +up, early in the mornin', the first thing I did was to feel for that +lunertic. But she was gone!” + + + +CHAPTER XVI. IN WHICH AN OLD FRIEND APPEARS AND THE BRIDAL TRIP TAKES A +FRESH START. + + +“Gone?” cried Euphemia, who, with myself, had been listening most +intently to Pomona's story. + +“Yes,” continued Pomona, “she was gone. I give one jump out of bed +and felt the gases, but they was all right. But she was gone, an' her +clothes was gone. I dressed, as pale as death, I do expect, an' hurried +to Jone's room, an' he an' me an' the big man was all ready in no time +to go an' look for her. General Tom Thumb didn't seem very anxious, but +we made him hurry up an' come along with us. We couldn't afford to leave +him nowheres. The clerk down-stairs--a different one from the chap who +was there the night before--said that a middle-aged, elderly lady came +down about an hour before an' asked him to tell her the way to the +United States Bank, an' when he told her he didn't know of any such +bank, she jus' stared at him, an' wanted to know what he was put there +for. So he didn't have no more to say to her, an' she went out, an' he +didn't take no notice which way she went. We had the same opinion about +him that Mrs. Jackson had, but we didn't stop to tell him so. We hunted +up an' down the streets for an hour or more; we asked every policeman we +met if he'd seen her; we went to a police station; we did everything we +could think of, but no Mrs. Jackson turned up. Then we was so tired an' +hungry that we went into some place or other an' got our breakfast. When +we started out ag'in, we kep' on up one street an' down another, an' +askin' everybody who looked as if they had two grains of sense,--which +most of 'em didn't look as if they had mor'n one, an' that was in use +to get 'em to where they was goin.' At last, a little ways down a small +street, we seed a crowd, an' the minute we see it Jone an' me both +said in our inside hearts: 'There she is!' An' sure enough, when we got +there, who should we see, with a ring of street-loafers an' boys around +her, but Mrs. Andrew Jackson, with her little straw hat an' her green +carpet-slippers, a-dancin' some kind of a skippin' fandango, an' +a-holdin' out her skirts with the tips of her fingers. I was jus' agoin' +to rush in an' grab her when a man walks quick into the ring and touches +her on the shoulder. The minute I seed him I knowed him. It was our old +boarder!” + +“It was?” exclaimed Euphemia. + +“Yes it was truly him, an' I didn't want him to see me there in such +company, an' he most likely knowin' I was on my bridal-trip, an' so I +made a dive at my bonnet to see if I had a vail on; an' findin' one, I +hauled it down. + +“'Madam,' says the boarder, very respectful, to Mrs. Jackson, 'where +do you live? Can't I take you home?' 'No, sir,' says she, 'at least not +now. If you have a carriage, you may come for me after a while. I am +waiting for the Bank of the United States to open, an' until which time +I must support myself on the light fantastic toe,' an' then she tuk +up her skirts, an' begun to dance ag'in. But she didn't make mor'n two +skips before I rushed in, an' takin' her by the arm hauled her out o' +the ring. An' then up comes the big man with his face as red as fire. +'Look' here!' says he to her, as if he was ready to eat her up. 'Did you +draw every cent of that money?' 'Not yet, not yet,' says she. 'You did, +you purse-proud cantalope,' says he. 'You know very well you did, an' +now I'd like to know where my ox-money is to come from.' But Jone an' +me didn't intend to wait for no sich talk as this, an' he tuk the man +by the arm, and I tuk the old woman, an' we jus' walked 'em off. The +boarder he told the loafers to get out an' go home, an' none of 'em +follered us, for they know'd if they did he'd a batted 'em over the +head. But he comes up alongside o' me, as I was a' walkin' behind with +Mrs. Jackson, an' says he: 'How d'ye do, Pomona?' I must say I felt as +if I could slip in between two flagstones, but as I couldn't get away, I +said I was pretty well. 'I heared you was on your bridal trip,' says he +ag'in; 'is this it?' It was jus' like him to know that, an' as there was +no help for it, I said it was. 'Is that your husband?' says he, pointin' +to Jone. 'Yes,' says I. 'It was very good in him to come along,' says +he. 'Is these two your groomsman and bridesmaid?' 'No sir,' says I. +'They're crazy.' 'No wonder,' says he. 'It's enough to drive 'em so, to +see you two,' an' then he went ahead an' shook hands with Jone, an' told +him he'd know'd me a long time; but he didn't say nuthin' about havin' +histed me out of a winder, for which I was obliged to him. An' then he +come back to me an' says he, 'Good-mornin', I must go to the office. I +hope you'll have a good time for the rest of your trip. If you happen +to run short o' lunertics, jus' let me know, and I'll furnish you with +another pair.' 'All right,' says I; 'but you mustn't bring your little +girl along.' + +“He kinder laughed at this, as we walked away, an' then he turned +around an' come back, and says he, 'Have you been to any the-ay-ters, or +anything, since you've been in town?' 'No,' says I, 'not one.' 'Well,' +says he, 'you ought to go. Which do you like best, the the-ay-ter, the +cir-cus, or wild-beasts?' I did really like the the-ay-ter best, havin' +thought of bein' a play-actor, as you know, but I considered I'd better +let that kind o' thing slide jus' now, as bein' a little too romantic, +right after the 'sylum, an' so I says, 'I've been once to a circus, an' +once to a wild-beast garden, an' I like 'em both. I hardly know which I +like best--the roarin' beasts, a-prancin' about in their cages, with the +smell of blood an' hay, an' the towerin' elephants; or the horses, an' +the music, an' the gauzy figgers at the circus, an' the splendid knights +in armor an' flashin' pennants, all on fiery steeds, a-plungin' ag'in +the sides of the ring, with their flags a-flyin' in the grand entry,' +says I, real excited with what I remembered about these shows. + +“'Well,' says he, 'I don't wonder at your feelin's. An' now, here's two +tickets for to-night, which you an' your husband can have, if you +like, for I can't go. They're to a meetin' of the Hudson County +Enter-mo-logical Society, over to Hoboken, at eight o'clock.' + +“'Over to Hoboken!' says I; 'that's a long way.' + +“'Oh no, it isn't,' says he. 'An' it wont cost you a cent, but the +ferry. They couldn't have them shows in the city, for, if the creatures +was to get loose, there's no knowin' what might happen. So take 'em, an' +have as much fun as you can for the rest of your trip. Good-bye!' An' +off he went. + +“Well, we kep' straight on to the doctor's, an' glad we was when we got +there, an' mad he was when we lef' Mrs. Jackson an' the General on his +hands, for we wouldn't have no more to do with 'em, an' he couldn't help +undertaking' to see that they got back to the asylum. I thought at first +he wouldn't lift a finger to get us our trunk; but he cooled down after +a bit, an' said he hoped we'd try some different kind of institution for +the rest of our trip, which we said we thought we would. + +“That afternoon we gawked around, a-lookin' at all the outside shows, +for Jone said he'd have to be pretty careful of his money now, an' he +was glad when I told him I had two free tickets in my pocket for a show +in the evenin.' + +“As we was a-walkin' down to the ferry, after supper, says he: + +“'Suppose you let me have a look at them tickets.' + +“So I hands 'em to him. He reads one of 'em, and then he reads the +other, which he needn't 'a' done, for they was both alike, an' then he +turns to me, an' says he: + +“'What kind of a man is your boarder-as-was?' + +“It wasn't the easiest thing in the world to say jus' what he was, but I +give Jone the idea, in a general sort of way, that he was pretty lively. + +“'So I should think,' says he. 'He's been tryin' a trick on us, and +sendin' us to the wrong place. It's rather late in the season for a show +of the kind, but the place we ought to go to is a potato-field.' + +“'What on earth are you talkin' about?' says I, dumbfoundered. + +“'Well,' says he, 'it's a trick he's been playin'. He thought a bridal +trip like ours ought to have some sort of a outlandish wind-up, an' so +he sent us to this place, which is a meetin' of chaps who are agoin' +to talk about insec's,--principally potato-bugs, I expec'--an' anything +stupider than that, I s'pose your boarder-as-was couldn't think of, +without havin' a good deal o' time to consider.' + +“'It's jus' like him,' says I. 'Let's turn round and go back,' which we +did, prompt. + +“We gave the tickets to a little boy who was sellin' papers, but I don't +believe he went. + +“'Now then,' says Jone, after he'd been thinkin' awhile, 'there'll be no +more foolin' on this trip. I've blocked out the whole of the rest of it, +an' we'll wind up a sight better than that boarder-as-was has any idea +of. To-morrow we'll go to father's an' if the old gentleman has got any +money on the crops, which I expec' he has, by this time, I'll take up +a part o' my share, an' we'll have a trip to Washington, an' see the +President, an' Congress, an' the White House, an' the lamp always +a-burnin' before the Supreme Court, an'--' + +“'Don't say no more, says I, 'it's splendid!' + +“So, early the nex' day, we goes off jus' as fast as trains would take +us to his father's, an' we hadn't been there mor'n ten minutes, before +Jone found out he had been summoned on a jury. + +“'When must you go?' says I, when he come, lookin' a kind o' pale, to +tell me this. + +“'Right off,' says he. 'The court meets this mornin'. If I don't hurry +up, I'll have some of 'em after me. But I wouldn't cry about it. I don't +believe the case'll last more'n a day.' + +“The old man harnessed up an' took Jone to the court-house, an' I went +too, for I might as well keep up the idea of a bridal-trip as not. I +went up into the gallery, and Jone, he was set among the other men in +the jury-box. + +“The case was about a man named Brown, who married the half-sister of a +man named Adams, who afterward married Brown's mother, and sold Brown +a house he had got from Brown's grandfather, in trade for half a +grist-mill, which the other half of was owned by Adams's half-sister's +first husband, who left all his property to a soup society, in trust, +till his son should come of age, which he never did, but left a will +which give his half of the mill to Brown, and the suit was between Brown +and Adams and Brown again, and Adams's half-sister, who was divorced +from Brown, and a man named Ramsey, who had put up a new over-shot wheel +to the grist-mill.” + +“Oh my!” exclaimed Euphemia. “How could you remember all that?” + +“I heard it so often, I couldn't help remembering it,” replied Pomona. +And she went on with her narrative. + +“That case wasn't a easy one to understand, as you may see for +yourselves, and it didn't get finished that day. They argyed over it a +full week. When there wasn't no more witnesses to carve up, one lawyer +made a speech, an' he set that crooked case so straight, that you +could see through it from the over-shot wheel clean back to Brown's +grandfather. Then another feller made a speech, and he set the whole +thing up another way. It was jus' as clear, to look through, but it was +another case altogether, no more like the other one than a apple-pie is +like a mug o' cider. An' then they both took it up, an' they swung it +around between them, till it was all twisted an' knotted an' wound up, +an' tangled, worse than a skein o' yarn in a nest o' kittens, an' then +they give it to the jury. + +“Well, when them jurymen went out, there wasn't none of 'em, as Jone +tole me afterward, as knew whether is was Brown or Adams as was dead, +or whether the mill was to grind soup, or to be run by soup-power. Of +course they couldn't agree; three of 'em wanted to give a verdict for +the boy that died, two of 'em was for Brown's grandfather, an' the rest +was scattered, some goin' in for damages to the witnesses, who ought to +get somethin' for havin' their char-ac-ters ruined. Jone he jus' held +back, ready to jine the other eleven as soon as they'd agree. But they +couldn't do it, an' they was locked up three days and four nights. You'd +better believe I got pretty wild about it, but I come to court every day +an' waited an' waited, bringin' somethin' to eat in a baskit. + +“One day, at dinner-time, I seed the judge astandin' at the court-room +door, a-wipin' his forrid with a handkerchief, an' I went up to him an' +said, 'Do you think, sir, they'll get through this thing soon?' + +“'I can't say, indeed,' said he. 'Are you interested in the case?' + +“'I should think I was,' said I, an' then I told him about Jone's bein' +a juryman, an' how we was on our bridal-trip. + +“'You've got my sympathy, madam,' says he, 'but it's a difficult case to +decide, an' I don't wonder it takes a good while.' + +“'Nor I nuther,' says I, 'an' my opinion about these things is, that if +you'd jus' have them lawyers shut up in another room, an' make 'em do +their talkin' to theirselves, the jury could keep their minds clear, and +settle the cases in no time.' + +“'There's some sense in that, madam,' says he, an' then he went into +court ag'in. + +“Jone never had no chance to jine in with the other fellers, for they +couldn't agree, an' they were all discharged, at last. So the whole +thing went for nuthin. + +“When Jone come out, he looked like he'd been drawn through a pump-log, +an' he says to me, tired-like, + +“'Has there been a frost?' + +“'Yes,' says I, 'two of 'em.' + +“'All right, then,' says he. 'I've had enough of bridal-trips, with +their dry falls, their lunatic asylums, and their jury-boxes. Let's +go home and settle down. We needn't be afraid, now that there's been a +frost.'” + +“Oh, why will you live in such a dreadful place?” cried Euphemia. “You +ought to go somewhere where you needn't be afraid of chills.” + +“That's jus' what I thought, ma'am,” returned Pomona. “But Jone an' me +got a disease-map of this country an' we looked all over it careful, an' +wherever there wasn't chills there was somethin' that seemed a good deal +wuss to us. An' says Jone, 'If I'm to have anything the matter with me, +give me somethin' I'm used to. It don't do for a man o' my time o' life +to go changin' his diseases.'” + +“So home we went. An' there we is now. An' as this is the end of the +bridal-trip story, I'll go an' take a look at the cow an' the chickens +an' the horse, if you don't mind.” + +Which we didn't,--and we gladly went with her over the estate. + + + +CHAPTER XVII. IN WHICH WE TAKE A VACATION AND LOOK FOR DAVID DUTTON. + + +It was about noon of a very fair July day, in the next summer, when +Euphemia and myself arrived at the little town where we were to take the +stage up into the mountains. We were off for a two weeks' vacation and +our minds were a good deal easier than when we went away before, and +left Pomona at the helm. We had enlarged the boundaries of Rudder +Grange, having purchased the house, with enough adjoining land to make +quite a respectable farm. Of course I could not attend to the manifold +duties on such a place, and my wife seldom had a happier thought than +when she proposed that we should invite Pomona and her husband to come +and live with us. Pomona was delighted, and Jonas was quite willing +to run our farm. So arrangements were made, and the young couple were +established in apartments in our back building, and went to work as if +taking care of us and our possessions was the ultimate object of their +lives. Jonas was such a steady fellow that we feared no trouble from +tree-man or lightning rodder during this absence. + +Our destination was a country tavern on the stage-road, not far from the +point where the road crosses the ridge of the mountain-range, and about +sixteen miles from the town. We had heard of this tavern from a friend +of ours, who had spent a summer there. The surrounding country was +lovely, and the house was kept by a farmer, who was a good soul, and +tried to make his guests happy. These were generally passing farmers and +wagoners, or stage-passengers, stopping for a meal, but occasionally a +person from the cities, like our friend, came to spend a few weeks in +the mountains. + +So hither we came, for an out-of-the-world spot like this was just what +we wanted. When I took our places at the stage-office, I inquired for +David Dutton, the farmer tavern-keeper before mentioned, but the agent +did not know of him. + +“However,” said he, “the driver knows everybody on the road, and he'll +set you down at the house.” + +So, off we started, having paid for our tickets on the basis that we +were to ride about sixteen miles. We had seats on top, and the trip, +although slow,--for the road wound uphill steadily,--was a delightful +one. Our way lay, for the greater part of the time, through the woods, +but now and then we came to a farm, and a turn in the road often gave us +lovely views of the foot-hills and the valleys behind us. + +But the driver did not know where Dutton's tavern was. This we found out +after we had started. Some persons might have thought it wiser to settle +this matter before starting, but I am not at all sure that it would have +been so. We were going to this tavern, and did not wish to go anywhere +else. If people did not know where it was, it would be well for us to +go and look for it. We knew the road that it was on, and the locality in +which it was to be found. + +Still, it was somewhat strange that a stage-driver, passing along +the road every week-day,--one day one way, and the next the other +way,--should not know a public-house like Dutton's. + +“If I remember rightly,” I said, “the stage used to stop there for the +passengers to take supper.” + +“Well, then, it aint on this side o' the ridge,” said the driver; “we +stop for supper, about a quarter of a mile on the other side, at Pete +Lowry's. Perhaps Dutton used to keep that place. Was it called the +'Ridge House'?” + +I did not remember the name of the house, but I knew very well that it +was not on the other side of the ridge. + +“Then,” said the driver, “I'm sure I don't know where it is. But I've +only been on the road about a year, and your man may 'a' moved away +afore I come. But there aint no tavern this side the ridge, arter ye +leave Delhi, and, that's nowhere's nigh the ridge.” + +There were a couple of farmers who were sitting by the driver, and who +had listened with considerable interest to this conversation. Presently, +one of them turned around to me and said: + +“Is it Dave Dutton ye're askin' about?” + +“Yes,” I replied, “that's his name.” + +“Well, I think he's dead,” said he. + +At this, I began to feel uneasy, and I could see that my wife shared my +trouble. + +Then the other farmer spoke up. + +“I don't believe he's dead, Hiram,” said he to his companion “I heered +of him this spring. He's got a sheep-farm on the other side o' the +mountain, and he's a livin' there. That's what I heered, at any rate. +But he don't live on this road any more,” he continued, turning to us. +“He used to keep tavern on this road, and the stages did used to stop +fur supper--or else dinner, I don't jist ree-collect which. But he don't +keep tavern on this road no more.” + +“Of course not,” said his companion, “if he's a livin' over the +mountain. But I b'lieve he's dead.” + +I asked the other farmer if he knew how long it had been since Dutton +had left this part of the country. + +“I don't know fur certain,” he said, “but I know he was keeping tavern +here two year' ago, this fall, fur I came along here, myself, and +stopped there to git supper--or dinner, I don't jist ree-collect which.” + +It had been three years since our friend had boarded at Dutton's house. +There was no doubt that the man was not living at his old place now. +My wife and I now agreed that it was very foolish in us to come so far +without making more particular inquiries. But we had had an idea that a +man who had a place like Dutton's tavern would live there always. + +“What are ye goin' to do?” asked the driver, very much interested, +for it was not every day that he had passengers who had lost their +destination. “Ye might go on to Lowry's. He takes boarders sometimes.” + +But Lowry's did not attract us. An ordinary country-tavern, where +stage-passengers took supper, was not what we came so far to find. + +“Do you know where this house o' Dutton's is?” said the driver, to the +man who had once taken either dinner or supper there. + +“Oh yes! I'd know the house well enough, if I saw it. It's the fust +house this side o' Lowry's.” + +“With a big pole in front of it?” asked the driver. + +“Yes, there was a sign-pole in front of it.” + +“An a long porch?” + +“Yes.” + +“Oh! well!” said the driver, settling himself in his seat. “I know all +about that house. That's a empty house. I didn't think you meant that +house. There's nobody lives there. An' yit, now I come to remember, I +have seen people about, too. I tell ye what ye better do. Since ye're so +set on staying on this side the ridge, ye better let me put ye down +at Dan Carson's place. That's jist about quarter of a mile from where +Dutton used to live. Dan's wife can tell ye all about the Duttons, an' +about everybody else, too, in this part o' the country, and if there +aint nobody livin' at the old tavern, ye can stay all night at Carson's, +and I'll stop an' take you back, to-morrow, when I come along.” + +We agreed to this plan, for there was nothing better to be done, and, +late in the afternoon, we were set down with our small trunk--for we +were traveling under light weight--at Dan Carson's door. The stage was +rather behind time, and the driver whipped up and left us to settle our +own affairs. He called back, however, that he would keep a good lookout +for us to-morrow. + +Mrs. Carson soon made her appearance, and, very naturally, was somewhat +surprised to see visitors with their baggage standing on her little +porch. She was a plain, coarsely dressed woman, with an apron full +of chips and kindling wood, and a fine mind for detail, as we soon +discovered. + +“Jist so,” said she, putting down the chips, and inviting us to seats on +a bench. “Dave Dutton's folks is all moved away. Dave has a good farm +on the other side o' the mountain, an' it never did pay him to keep that +tavern, 'specially as he didn't sell liquor. When he went away, his son +Al come there to live with his wife, an' the old man left a good deal +o' furniter and things fur him, but Al's wife aint satisfied here, and, +though they've been here, off an' on, the house is shet up most o' the +time. It's fur sale an' to rent, both, ef anybody wants it. I'm sorry +about you, too, fur it was a nice tavern, when Dave kept it.” + +We admitted that we were also very sorry, and the kind-hearted woman +showed a great deal of sympathy. + +“You might stay here, but we haint got no fit room where you two could +sleep.” + +At this, Euphemia and I looked very blank. “But you could go up to the +house and stay, jist as well as not,” Mrs. Carson continued. “There's +plenty o' things there, an' I keep the key. For the matter o' that, ye +might take the house for as long as ye want to stay; Dave 'd be glad +enough to rent it; and, if the lady knows how to keep house, it wouldn't +be no trouble at all, jist for you two. We could let ye have all the +victuals ye'd want, cheap, and there's plenty o' wood there, cut, and +everything handy.” + +We looked at each other. We agreed. Here was a chance for a rare good +time. It might be better, perhaps, than anything we had expected. + +The bargain was struck. Mrs. Carson, who seemed vested with all the +necessary powers of attorney, appeared to be perfectly satisfied with +our trustworthiness, and when I paid on the spot the small sum she +thought proper for two weeks' rent, she evidently considered she had +done a very good thing for Dave Dutton and herself. + +“I'll jist put some bread, an' eggs, an' coffee, an' pork, an' things in +a basket, an' I'll have 'em took up fur ye, with yer trunk, an' I'll go +with ye an' take some milk. Here, Danny!” she cried, and directly her +husband, a long, thin, sun-burnt, sandy-headed man, appeared, and to +him she told, in a few words, our story, and ordered him to hitch up the +cart and be ready to take our trunk and the basket up to Dutton's old +house. + +When all was ready, we walked up the hill, followed by Danny and +the cart. We found the house a large, low, old-fashioned farm-house, +standing near the road with a long piazza in front, and a magnificent +view of mountain-tops in the rear. Within, the lower rooms were large +and low, with quite a good deal of furniture in them. There was no +earthly reason why we should not be perfectly jolly and comfortable +here. The more we saw, the more delighted we were at the odd experience +we were about to have. Mrs. Carson busied herself in getting things in +order for our supper and general accommodation. She made Danny carry +our trunk to a bedroom in the second story, and then set him to work +building a fire in a great fire-place, with a crane for the kettle. + +When she had done all she could, it was nearly dark, and after lighting +a couple of candles, she left us, to go home and get supper for her own +family. + +As she and Danny were about to depart in the cart, she ran back to ask +us if we would like to borrow a dog. + +“There aint nuthin to be afeard of,” she said; “for nobody hardly ever +takes the trouble to lock the doors in these parts, but bein' city +folks, I thought ye might feel better if ye had a dog.” + +We made haste to tell her that we were not city folks, but declined the +dog. Indeed, Euphemia remarked that she would be much more afraid of a +strange dog than of robbers. + +After supper, which we enjoyed as much as any meal we ever ate in our +lives, we each took a candle, and after arranging our bedroom for the +night, we explored the old house. There were lots of curious things +everywhere,--things that were apparently so “old timey,” as my wife +remarked, that David Dutton did not care to take them with him to his +new farm, and so left them for his son, who probably cared for them even +less than his father did. There was a garret extending over the whole +house, and filled with old spinning-wheels, and strings of onions, and +all sorts of antiquated bric-a-brac, which was so fascinating to me +that I could scarcely tear myself away from it; but Euphemia, who was +dreadfully afraid that I would set the whole place on fire, at length +prevailed on me to come down. + +We slept soundly that night, in what was probably the best bedroom of +the house, and awoke with a feeling that we were about to enter on a +period of some uncommon kind of jollity, which we found to be true +when we went down to get breakfast. I made the fire, Euphemia made the +coffee, and Mrs. Carson came with cream and some fresh eggs. The good +woman was in high spirits. She was evidently pleased at the idea of +having neighbors, temporary though they were, and it had probably been +a long time since she had had such a chance of selling milk, eggs and +sundries. It was almost the same as opening a country store. We bought +groceries and everything of her. + +We had a glorious time that day. We were just starting out for a +mountain stroll when our stage-driver came along on his down trip. + +“Hello!” he called out. “Want to go back this morning?” + +“Not a bit of it,” I cried. “We wont go back for a couple of weeks. +We've settled here for the present.” + +The man smiled. He didn't seem to understand it exactly, but he was +evidently glad to see us so well satisfied. If he had had time to stop +and have the matter explained to him, he would probably have been better +satisfied; but as it was, he waved his whip to us and drove on. He was a +good fellow. + +We strolled all day, having locked up the house and taken our lunch +with us; and when we came back, it seemed really like coming home. +Mrs. Carson with whom we had left the key, had brought the milk and was +making the fire. This woman was too kind. We determined to try and repay +her in some way. After a splendid supper we went to bed happy. + +The next day was a repetition of this one, but the day after it +rained. So we determined to enjoy the old tavern, and we rummaged about +everywhere. I visited the garret again, and we went to the old barn, +with its mows half full of hay, and had rare times climbing about there. +We were delighted that it happened to rain. In a wood-shed, near the +house, I saw a big square board with letters on it. I examined the +board, and found it was a sign,--a hanging sign,--and on it was painted +in letters that were yet quite plain: + + + “FARMERS' + AND + MECHANICS' + HOTEL.” + + +I called to Euphemia and told her that I had found the old tavern sign. +She came to look at it, and I pulled it out. + +“Soldiers and sailors!” she exclaimed; “that's funny.” + +I looked over on her side of the sign, and, sure enough, there was the +inscription: + + + “SOLDIERS + AND + SAILORS' + HOUSE.” + + +“They must have bought this comprehensive sign in some town,” I said. +“Such a name would never have been chosen for a country tavern like +this. But I wish they hadn't taken it down. The house would look more +like what it ought to be with its sign hanging before it.” + +“Well, then,” said Euphemia, “let's put it up.” I agreed instantly to +this proposition, and we went to look for a ladder. We found one in the +wagon-house, and carried it out to the sign-post in the front of the +house. It was raining, gently, during these performances, but we had on +our old clothes, and were so much interested in our work that we did not +care for a little rain. I carried the sign to the post, and then, at the +imminent risk of breaking my neck, I hung it on its appropriate hooks on +the transverse beam of the sign-post. Now our tavern was really what it +pretended to be. We gazed on the sign with admiration and content. + +“Do you think we had better keep it up all the time?” I asked of my +wife. + +“Certainly,” said she. “It's a part of the house. The place isn't +complete without it.” + +“But suppose some one should come along and want to be entertained?” + +“But no one will. And if people do come, I'll take care of the soldiers +and sailors, if you will attend to the farmers and mechanics.” + +I consented to this, and we went in-doors to prepare dinner. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. OUR TAVERN. + + +The next day was clear again, and we rambled in the woods until the sun +was nearly down, and so were late about supper. We were just taking +our seats at the table when we heard a footstep on the front porch. +Instantly the same thought came into each of our minds. + +“I do believe,” said Euphemia, “that's somebody who has mistaken this +for a tavern. I wonder whether it's a soldier or a farmer or a sailor; +but you had better go and see.” + +I went to see, prompted to move quickly by the new-comer pounding his +cane on the bare floor of the hall. I found him standing just inside +of the front door. He was a small man, with long hair and beard, and +dressed in a suit of clothes of a remarkable color,--something of the +hue of faded snuff. He had a big stick, and carried a large flat valise +in one hand. + +He bowed to me very politely. + +“Can I stop here to-night?” he asked, taking off his hat, as my wife put +her head out of the kitchen-door. + +“Why,--no, sir,” I said. “This is not a tavern.” + +“Not a tavern!” he exclaimed. “I don't understand that. You have a sign +out.” + +“That is true,” I said; “but that is only for fun, so to speak. We are +here temporarily, and we put up that sign just to please ourselves.” + +“That is pretty poor fun for me,” said the man. “I am very tired, and +more hungry than tired. Couldn't you let me have a little supper at any +rate?” + +Euphemia glanced at me. I nodded. + +“You are welcome to some supper,” she said, “Come in! We eat in the +kitchen because it is more convenient, and because it is so much more +cheerful than the dining-room. There is a pump out there, and here is a +towel, if you would like to wash your hands.” + +As the man went out the back door I complimented my wife. She was really +an admirable hostess. + +The individual in faded snuff-color was certainly hungry, and he seemed +to enjoy his supper. During the meal he gave us some account of himself. +He was an artist and had traveled, mostly on foot it would appear, +over a great part of the country. He had in his valise some very pretty +little colored sketches of scenes in Mexico and California, which he +showed us after supper. Why he carried these pictures--which were done +on stiff paper--about with him I do not know. He said he did not care +to sell them, as he might use them for studies for larger pictures some +day. His valise, which he opened wide on the table, seemed to be filled +with papers, drawings, and matters of that kind. I suppose he preferred +to wear his clothes, instead of carrying them about in his valise. + +After sitting for about half an hour after supper, he rose, with +an uncertain sort of smile, and said he supposed he must be moving +on,--asking, at the same time, how far it was to the tavern over the +ridge. + +“Just wait one moment, if you please,” said Euphemia. And she beckoned +me out of the room. + +“Don't you think,” said she, “that we could keep him all night? There's +no moon, and it would be a fearful dark walk, I know, to the other side +of the mountain. There is a room upstairs that I can fix for him in ten +minutes, and I know he's honest.” + +“How do you know it?” I asked. + +“Well, because he wears such curious-colored clothes. No criminal would +ever wear such clothes. He could never pass unnoticed anywhere; and +being probably the only person in the world who dressed that way, he +could always be detected.” + +“You are doubtless correct,” I replied. “Let us keep him.” + +When we told the good man that he could stay all night, he was extremely +obliged to us, and went to bed quite early. After we had fastened the +house and had gone to our room, my wife said to me, + +“Where is your pistol?” + +I produced it. + +“Well,” said she, “I think you ought to have it where you can get at +it.” + +“Why so?” I asked. “You generally want me to keep it out of sight and +reach.” + +“Yes; but when there is a strange man in the house we ought to take +extra precautions.” + +“But this man you say is honest,” I replied. “If he committed a crime he +could not escape,--his appearance is so peculiar.” + +“But that wouldn't do us any good, if we were both murdered,” said +Euphemia, pulling a chair up to my side of the bed, and laying the +pistol carefully thereon, with the muzzle toward the bed. + +We were not murdered, and we had a very pleasant breakfast with the +artist, who told us more anecdotes of his life in Mexico and other +places. When, after breakfast, he shut up his valise, preparatory to +starting away, we felt really sorry. When he was ready to go, he asked +for his bill. + +“Oh! There is no bill,” I exclaimed. “We have no idea of charging you +anything. We don't really keep a hotel, as I told you.” + +“If I had known that,” said he, looking very grave, “I would not have +stayed. There is no reason why you should give me food and lodgings, and +I would not, and did not, ask it. I am able to pay for such things, and +I wish to do so.” + +We argued with him for some time, speaking of the habits of country +people and so on, but he would not be convinced. He had asked for +accommodation expecting to pay for it, and would not be content until he +had done so. + +“Well,” said Euphemia, “we are not keeping this house for profit, and +you can't force us to make anything out of you. If you will be satisfied +to pay us just what it cost us to entertain you, I suppose we shall have +to let you do that. Take a seat for a minute, and I will make out your +bill.” + +So the artist and I sat down and talked of various matters, while +my wife got out her traveling stationery-box, and sat down to the +dining-table to make out the bill. After a long, long time, as it +appeared to me, I said: + +“My dear, if the amount of that bill is at all proportioned to the +length of time it takes to make it out, I think our friend here will +wish he had never said anything about it.” + +“It's nearly done,” said she, without raising her head, and, in about +ten or fifteen minutes more, she rose and presented the bill to our +guest. As I noticed that he seemed somewhat surprised at it, I asked him +to let me look over it with him. The bill, of which I have a copy, read +as follows: + + +July 12th, 187- ARTIST, + + To the S. and S. Hotel and F. and M. House. + + To 1/3 one supper, July 11th, which supper consisted of: + + 1/14 lb. coffee, at 35 cts. 2 cts. + + “ “ sugar, “ 14 “ 1 ” + + 1/6 qt. milk, “ 6 “ 1 ” + + 1/2 loaf bread “ 6 “ 3 ” + + 1/8 lb. butter “ 25 “ 3 1/8 ” + + 1/2 “ bacon “ 25 “ 12 1/2 ” + + 1/16 pk. potatoes at 60 cts. per bush 15/16 ” + + 1/2 pt. hominy at 6 cts 3 ” + -------- + 27 1/16 + + 1/3 of total 09 1/48 cts. + + To 1/3 one breakfast, July 12th (same as above, with exception of eggs + instead of bacon, and with hominy omitted), + -------- + 24 1/6 + + 1/3 total 08 1/48 ” + + To rent of one room and furniture, for one night, in furnished house of + fifteen rooms at $6.00 per week for whole house 05 3/8 ” + ------------ + Amount due 22 17/24 cts. + + +The worthy artist burst out laughing when he read this bill, and so did +I. + +“You needn't laugh,” said Euphemia, reddening a little. “That is exactly +what your entertainment cost, and we do not intend to take a cent more. +We get things here in such small quantities that I can tell quite easily +what a meal costs us, and I have calculated that bill very carefully.” + +“So I should think, madam,” said the artist, “but it is not quite right. +You have charged nothing for your trouble and services.” + +“No,” said my wife, “for I took no additional trouble to get your meals. +What I did, I should have done if you had not come. To be sure I +did spend a few minutes preparing your room. I will charge you seven +twenty-fourths of a cent for that, thus making your bill twenty-three +cents--even money.” + +“I cannot gainsay reasoning like yours, madam,” he said, and he took +a quarter from a very fat old pocket-book, and handed it to her. She +gravely gave him two cents change, and then taking the bill, receipted +it, and handed it back to him. + +We were sorry to part with our guest, for he was evidently a good +fellow. I walked with him a little way up the road, and got him to let +me copy his bill in my memorandum-book. The original, he said, he would +always keep. + +A day or two after the artist's departure, we were standing on the front +piazza. We had had a late breakfast--consequent upon a long tramp the +day before--and had come out to see what sort of a day it was likely +to be. We had hardly made up our minds on the subject when the morning +stage came up at full speed and stopped at our gate. + +“Hello!” cried the driver. He was not our driver. He was a tall man in +high boots, and had a great reputation as a manager of horses--so Danny +Carson told me afterward. There were two drivers on the line, and each +of them made one trip a day, going up one day in the afternoon, and down +the next day in the morning. + +I went out to see what this driver wanted. + +“Can't you give my passengers breakfast?” he asked. + +“Why, no!” I exclaimed, looking at the stage loaded inside and out. +“This isn't a tavern. We couldn't get breakfast for a stage-load of +people.” + +“What have you got a sign up fur, then?” roared the driver, getting red +in the face. + +“That's so,” cried two or three men from the top of the stage. “If it +aint a tavern, what's that sign doin' there?” + +I saw I must do something. I stepped up close to the stage and looked in +and up. + +“Are there any sailors in this stage?” I said. There was no response. +“Any soldiers? Any farmers or mechanics?” + +At the latter question I trembled, but fortunately no one answered. + +“Then,” said I, “you have no right to ask to be accommodated; for, as +you may see from the sign, our house is only for soldiers, sailors, +farmers, and mechanics.” + +“And besides,” cried Euphemia from the piazza, “we haven't anything to +give you for breakfast.” + +The people in and on the stage grumbled a good deal at this, and looked +as if they were both disappointed and hungry, while the driver ripped +out an oath, which, had he thrown it across a creek, would soon have +made a good-sized millpond. + +He gathered up his reins and turned a sinister look on me. + +“I'll be even with you, yit,” he cried as he dashed off. + +In the afternoon Mrs. Carson came up and told us that the stage had +stopped there, and that she had managed to give the passengers some +coffee, bread and butter and ham and eggs, though they had had to +wait their turns for cups and plates. It appeared that the driver had +quarreled with the Lowry people that morning because the breakfast was +behindhand and he was kept waiting. So he told his passengers that there +was another tavern, a few miles down the road, and that he would take +them there to breakfast. + +“He's an awful ugly man, that he is,” said Mrs. Carson, “an' he'd better +'a' stayed at Lowry's, fur he had to wait a good sight longer, after +all, as it turned out. But he's dreadful mad at you, an' says he'll +bring ye farmers, an' soldiers, and sailors, an' mechanics, if +that's what ye want. I 'spect he'll do his best to git a load of them +particular people an' drop 'em at yer door. I'd take down that sign, ef +I was you. Not that me an' Danny minds, fur we're glad to git a stage to +feed, an' ef you've any single man that wants lodgin' we've fixed up a +room and kin keep him overnight.” + +Notwithstanding this warning, Euphemia and I decided not to take in our +sign. We were not to be frightened by a stage-driver. The next day our +own driver passed us on the road as he was going down. + +“So ye're pertickler about the people ye take in, are ye?” said he, +smiling. “That's all right, but ye made Bill awful mad.” + +It was quite late on a Monday afternoon that Bill stopped at our house +again. He did not call out this time. He simply drew up, and a man with +a big black valise clambered down from the top of the stage. Then Bill +shouted to me as I walked down to the gate, looking rather angry I +suppose: + +“I was agoin' to git ye a whole stage-load, to stay all night, but that +one'll do ye, I reckon. Ha, ha!” And off he went, probably fearing that +I would throw his passenger up on the top of the stage again. + +The new-comer entered the gate. He was a dark man, with black hair and +black whiskers and mustache, and black eyes. He wore clothes that had +been black, but which were now toned down by a good deal of dust, and, +as I have said, he carried a black valise. + +“Why did you stop here?” said I, rather inhospitably. “Don't you know +that we do not accommodate--” + +“Yes, I know,” he said, walking up on the piazza and setting down his +valise, “that you only take soldiers, sailors, farmers, and mechanics at +this house. I have been told all about it, and if I had not thoroughly +understood the matter I should not have thought of such a thing as +stopping here. If you will sit down for a few moments I will explain.” + Saying this, he took a seat on a bench by the door, but Euphemia and I +continued to stand. + +“I am,” he continued, “a soldier, a sailor, a farmer, and a mechanic. +Do not doubt my word; I will prove it to you in two minutes. When but +seventeen years of age, circumstances compelled me to take charge of a +farm in New Hampshire, and I kept up that farm until I was twenty-five. +During this time I built several barns, wagon-houses, and edifices of +the sort on my place, and, becoming expert in this branch of mechanical +art, I was much sought after by the neighboring farmers, who employed +me to do similar work for them. In time I found this new business so +profitable that I gave up farming altogether. But certain unfortunate +speculations threw me on my back, and finally, having gone from bad to +worse, I found myself in Boston, where, in sheer desperation, I went +on board a coasting vessel as landsman. I remained on this vessel for +nearly a year, but it did not suit me. I was often sick, and did not +like the work. I left the vessel at one of the Southern ports, and +it was not long after she sailed that, finding myself utterly without +means, I enlisted as a soldier. I remained in the army for some years, +and was finally honorably discharged. So you see that what I said was +true. I belong to each and all of these businesses and professions. And +now that I have satisfied you on this point, let me show you a book for +which I have the agency in this country.” He stooped down, opened his +valise, and took out a good-sized volume. “This book,” said he, “is the +'Flora and Fauna of Carthage County;' it is written by one of the first +scientific men of the country, and gives you a description, with +an authentic wood-cut, of each of the plants and animals of the +county--indigenous or naturalized. Owing to peculiar advantages enjoyed +by our firm, we are enabled to put this book at the very low price of +three dollars and seventy-five cents. It is sold by subscription only, +and should be on the center-table in every parlor in this county. If you +will glance over this book, sir, you will find it as interesting as a +novel, and as useful as an encyclopaedia--” + +“I don't want the book,” I said, “and I don't care to look at it.” + +“But if you were to look at it you would want it, I'm sure.” + +“That's a good reason for not looking at it, then,” I answered. “If you +came to get us to subscribe for that book we need not take up any more +of your time, for we shall not subscribe.” + +“Oh, I did not come for that alone,” he said. “I shall stay here +to-night and start out in the morning to work up the neighborhood. If +you would like this book--and I'm sure you have only to look at it to do +that--you can deduct the amount of my bill from the subscription price, +and--” + +“What did you say you charged for this book?” asked Euphemia, stepping +forward and picking up the volume. + +“Three seventy-five is the subscription price, ma'am, but that book is +not for sale. That is merely a sample. If you put your name down on +my list you will be served with your book in two weeks. As I told your +husband, it will come very cheap to you, because you can deduct what you +charge me for supper, lodging, and breakfast.” + +“Indeed!” said my wife, and then she remarked that she must go in the +house and get supper. + +“When will supper be ready?” the man asked, as she passed him. + +At first she did not answer him, but then she called back: + +“In about half an hour.” + +“Good,” said the man; “but I wish it was ready now. And now, sir, if you +would just glance over this book, while we are waiting for supper--” + +I cut him very short and went out into the road. I walked up and down in +front of the house, in a bad humor. I could not bear to think of my wife +getting supper for this fellow, who was striding about on the piazza, +as if he was very hungry and very impatient. Just as I returned to the +house, the bell rang from within. + +“Joyful sound!” said the man, and in he marched. I followed close behind +him. On one end of the table, in the kitchen, supper was set for one +person, and, as the man entered, Euphemia motioned him to the table. The +supper looked like a remarkably good one. A cup of coffee smoked by the +side of the plate; there was ham and eggs and a small omelette; there +were fried potatoes, some fresh radishes, a plate of hot biscuit, and +some preserves. The man's eyes sparkled. + +“I am sorry,” said he, “that I am to eat alone, for I hoped to have your +good company; but, if this plan suits you, it suits me,” and he drew up +a chair. + +“Stop!” said Euphemia, advancing between him and the table. “You are not +to eat that. This is a sample supper. If you order a supper like it, one +will be served to you in two weeks.” + +At this I burst into a roar of laughter; my wife stood pale and +determined, and the man drew back, looking first at one of us, and then +at the other. + +“Am I to understand--?” he said. + +“Yes,” I interrupted, “you are. There is nothing more to be said on this +subject. You may go now. You came here to annoy us, knowing that we did +not entertain travelers, and now you see what you have made by it,” and +I opened the door. + +The man evidently thought that a reply was not necessary, and he walked +out without a word. Taking up his valise, which he had put in the hall, +he asked if there was any public-house near by. + +“No,” I said; “but there is a farm-house a short distance down the road, +where they will be glad to have you.” And down the road he went to Mrs. +Carson's. I am sorry to say that he sold her a “Flora and Fauna” before +he went to bed that night. + +We were much amused at the termination of this affair, and I became, if +possible, a still greater admirer of Euphemia's talents for management. +But we both agreed that it would not do to keep up the sign any longer. +We could not tell when the irate driver might not pounce down upon us +with a customer. + +“But I hate to take it down,” said Euphemia; “it looks so much like a +surrender.” + +“Do not trouble yourself,” said I. “I have an idea.” + +The next morning I went down to Danny Carson's little shop,--he was +a wheelwright as well as a farmer,--and I got from him two pots of +paint--one black and one white--and some brushes. I took down our sign, +and painted out the old lettering, and, instead of it, I painted, in +bold and somewhat regular characters, new names for our tavern. + +On one side of the sign I painted: + + + “SOAP-MAKER'S + AND + BOOK-BINDER'S + HOTEL.” + + +And on the other side: + + + “UPHOLSTERERS' + AND + DENTISTS' + HOUSE.” + + +“Now then,” I said, “I don't believe any of those people will be +traveling along the road while we are here, or, at any rate, they won't +want to stop.” + +We admired this sign very much, and sat on the piazza, that afternoon, +to see how it would strike Bill, as he passed by. It seemed to strike +him pretty hard, for he gazed with all his eyes at one side of it, as he +approached, and then, as he passed it, he actually pulled up to read the +other side. + +“All right!” he called out, as he drove off. “All right! All right!” + +Euphemia didn't like the way he said “all right.” It seemed to her, she +said, as if he intended to do something which would be all right for +him, but not at all so for us. I saw she was nervous about it, for that +evening she began to ask me questions about the traveling propensities +of soap-makers, upholsterers, and dentists. + +“Do not think anything more about that, my dear,” I said. “I will take +the sign down in the morning. We are here to enjoy ourselves, and not to +be worried.” + +“And yet,” said she, “it would worry me to think that that driver +frightened us into taking down the sign. I tell you what I wish you +would do. Paint out those names, and let me make a sign. Then I promise +you I will not be worried.” + +The next day, therefore, I took down the sign and painted out my +inscriptions. It was a good deal of trouble, for my letters were +fresh, but it was a rainy day, and I had plenty of time, and succeeded +tolerably well. Then I gave Euphemia the black-paint pot and the freedom +of the sign. + +I went down to the creek to try a little fishing in wet weather, and +when I returned the new sign was done. On one side it read: + + + FLIES' + AND + WASPS' + HOTEL. + + +On the other: + + + HUNDRED-LEGGERS' + AND + RED-ANTS' + HOUSE. + + +“You see,” said euphemia, “if any individuals mentioned thereon apply +for accommodation, we can say we are full.” + +This sign hung triumphantly for several days, when one morning, just as +we had finished breakfast, we were surprised to hear the stage stop at +the door, and before we could go out to see who had arrived, into the +room came our own stage-driver, as we used to call him. He had actually +left his team to come and see us. + +“I just thought I'd stop an' tell ye,” said he, “that ef ye don't look +out, Bill'll get ye inter trouble. He's bound to git the best o' ye, an' +I heared this mornin', at Lowry's, that he's agoin' to bring the county +clerk up here to-morrow, to see about yer license fur keepin' a hotel. +He says ye keep changin' yer signs, but that don't differ to him, for +he kin prove ye've kept travelers overnight, an' ef ye haven't got no +license he'll make the county clerk come down on ye heavy, I'm sure o' +that, fur I know Bill. An' so, I thought I'd stop an' tell ye.” + +I thanked him, and admitted that this was a rather serious view of the +case. Euphemia pondered a moment. Then said she: + +“I don't see why we should stay here any longer. It's going to rain +again, and our vacation is up to-morrow, anyway. Could you wait a little +while, while we pack up?” she said to the driver. + +“Oh yes!” he replied. “I kin wait, as well as not. I've only got one +passenger, an' he's on top, a-holdin' the horses. He aint in any hurry, +I know, an' I'm ahead o' time.” + +In less than twenty minutes we had packed our trunk, locked up the +house, and were in the stage, and, as we drove away, we cast a last +admiring look at Euphemia's sign, slowly swinging in the wind. I would +much like to know if it is swinging there yet. I feel certain there has +been no lack of custom. + +We stopped at Mrs. Carson's, paid her what we owed her, and engaged her +to go up to the tavern and put things in order. She was very sorry we +were going, but hoped we would come back again some other summer. We +said that it was quite possible that we might do so; but that, next +time, we did not think we would try to have a tavern of our own. + + + +CHAPTER XIX. THE BABY AT RUDDER GRANGE. + + +For some reason, not altogether understood by me, there seemed to be a +continued series of new developments at our home. I had supposed, when +the events spoken of in the last chapter had settled down to their +proper places in our little history, that our life would flow on in +an even, commonplace way, with few or no incidents worthy of being +recorded. But this did not prove to be the case. After a time, the +uniformity and quiet of our existence was considerably disturbed. + +This disturbance was caused by a baby, not a rude, imperious baby, but +a child who was generally of a quiet and orderly turn of mind. But it +disarranged all our plans; all our habits; all the ordinary disposition +of things. + +It was in the summer-time, during my vacation, that it began to exert +its full influence upon us. A more unfortunate season could not have +been selected. At first, I may say that it did not exert its full +influence upon me. I was away, during the day, and, in the evening, its +influence was not exerted, to any great extent, upon anybody. As I have +said, its habits were exceedingly orderly. But, during my vacation, the +things came to pass which have made this chapter necessary. + +I did not intend taking a trip. As in a former vacation, I proposed +staying at home and enjoying those delights of the country which my +business in town did not allow me to enjoy in the working weeks and +months of the year. I had no intention of camping out, or of doing +anything of that kind, but many were the trips, rides, and excursions I +had planned. + +I found, however, that if I enjoyed myself in this wise, I must do it, +for the most part, alone. It was not that Euphemia could not go with +me--there was really nothing to prevent--it was simply that she had +lost, for the time, her interest in everything except that baby. + +She wanted me to be happy, to amuse myself, to take exercise, to do +whatever I thought was pleasant, but she, herself, was so much engrossed +with the child, that she was often ignorant of what I intended to do, or +had done. She thought she was listening to what I said to her, but, in +reality, she was occupied, mind and body, with the baby, or listening +for some sound which should indicate that she ought to go and be +occupied with it. + +I would often say to her: “Why can't you let Pomona attend to it? You +surely need not give up your whole time and your whole mind to the +child.” + +But she would always answer that Pomona had a great many things to do, +and that she couldn't, at all times, attend to the baby. Suppose, for +instance, that she should be at the barn. + +I once suggested that a nurse should be procured, but at this she +laughed. + +“There is very little to do,” she said, “and I really like to do it.” + +“Yes,” said I, “but you spend so much of your time in thinking how glad +you will be to do that little, when it is to be done, that you can't +give me any attention, at all.” + +“Now you have no cause to say that,” she exclaimed. “You know very +well--, there!” and away she ran. It had just begun to cry! + +Naturally, I was getting tired of this. I could never begin a sentence +and feel sure that I would be allowed to finish it. Nothing was +important enough to delay attention to an infantile whimper. + +Jonas, too, was in a state of unrest. He was obliged to wear his good +clothes, a great part of the time, for he was continually going on +errands to the village, and these errands were so important that they +took precedence of everything else. It gave me a melancholy sort of +pleasure, sometimes, to do Jonas's work when he was thus sent away. + +I asked him, one day, how he liked it all? + +“Well,” said he, reflectively, “I can't say as I understand it, exactly. +It does seem queer to me that such a little thing should take up pretty +nigh all the time of three people. I suppose, after a while,” this he +said with a grave smile, “that you may be wanting to turn in and help.” + I did not make any answer to this, for Jonas was, at that moment, +summoned to the house, but it gave me an idea. In fact, it gave me two +ideas. + +The first was that Jonas's remark was not entirely respectful. He was my +hired man, but he was a very respectable man, and an American man, and +therefore might sometimes be expected to say things which a foreigner, +not known to be respectable, would not think of saying, if he wished +to keep his place. The fact that Jonas had always been very careful to +treat me with much civility, caused this remark to make more impression +on me. I felt that he had, in a measure, reason for it. + +The other idea was one which grew and developed in my mind until I +afterward formed a plan upon it. I determined, however, before I carried +out my plan, to again try to reason with Euphemia. + +“If it was our own baby,” I said, “or even the child of one of us, by a +former marriage, it would be a different thing; but to give yourself +up so entirely to Pomona's baby, seems, to me, unreasonable. Indeed, I +never heard of any case exactly like it. It is reversing all the usages +of society for the mistress to take care of the servant's baby.” + +“The usages of society are not worth much, sometimes,” said Euphemia, +“and you must remember that Pomona is a very different kind of a +person from an ordinary servant. She is much more like a member of the +family--I can't exactly explain what kind of a member, but I understand +it myself. She has very much improved since she has been married, and +you know, yourself, how quiet and--and, nice she is, and as for the +baby, it's just as good and pretty as any baby, and it may grow up to +be better than any of us. Some of our presidents have sprung from lowly +parents.” + +“But this one is a girl,” I said. + +“Well then,” replied Euphemia, “she may be a president's wife.” + +“Another thing,” I remarked, “I don't believe Jonas and Pomona like your +keeping their baby so much to yourself.” + +“Nonsense!” said Euphemia, “a girl in Pomona's position couldn't help +being glad to have a lady take an interest in her baby, and help bring +it up. And as for Jonas, he would be a cruel man if he wasn't pleased +and grateful to have his wife relieved of so much trouble. Pomona! +is that you? You can bring it here, now, if you want to get at your +clear-starching.” + +I don't believe that Pomona hankered after clear-starching, but she +brought the baby and I went away. I could not see any hope ahead. Of +course, in time, it would grow up, but then it couldn't grow up during +my vacation. + +Then it was that I determined to carry out my plan. + +I went to the stable and harnessed the horse to the little carriage. +Jonas was not there, and I had fallen out of the habit of calling him. +I drove slowly through the yard and out of the gate. No one called to me +or asked where I was going. How different this was from the old times! +Then, some one would not have failed to know where I was going, and, +in all probability, she would have gone with me. But now I drove away, +quietly and undisturbed. + +About three miles from our house was a settlement known as New Dublin. +It was a cluster of poor and doleful houses, inhabited entirely by Irish +people, whose dirt and poverty seemed to make them very contented and +happy. The men were generally away, at their work, during the day, but +there was never any difficulty in finding some one at home, no matter at +what house one called. I was acquainted with one of the matrons of this +locality, a Mrs. Duffy, who had occasionally undertaken some odd jobs at +our house, and to her I made a visit. + +She was glad to see me, and wiped off a chair for me. + +“Mrs. Duffy,” said I, “I want to rent a baby.” + +At first, the good woman could not understand me, but when I made plain +to her that I wished for a short time, to obtain the exclusive use and +control of a baby, for which I was willing to pay a liberal rental, she +burst into long and violent laughter. It seemed to her like a person +coming into the country to purchase weeds. Weeds and children were so +abundant in New Dublin. But she gradually began to see that I was in +earnest, and as she knew I was a trusty person, and somewhat noted +for the care I took of my live stock, she was perfectly willing to +accommodate me, but feared she had nothing on hand of the age I desired. + +“Me childther are all agoin' about,” she said. “Ye kin see a poile uv +'em out yon, in the road, an' there's more uv 'em on the fince. But +ye nade have no fear about gittin' wan. There's sthacks of 'em in the +place. I'll jist run over to Mrs. Hogan's, wid ye. She's got sixteen or +siventeen, mostly small, for Hogan brought four or five wid him when he +married her, an' she'll be glad to rint wan uv 'em.” So, throwing her +apron over her head, she accompanied me to Mrs. Hogan's. + +That lady was washing, but she cheerfully stopped her work while Mrs. +Duffy took her to one side and explained my errand. Mrs. Hogan did not +appear to be able to understand why I wanted a baby-especially for so +limited a period,--but probably concluded that if I would take good care +of it and would pay well for it, the matter was my own affair, for +she soon came and said, that if I wanted a baby, I'd come to the right +place. Then she began to consider what one she would let me have. I +insisted on a young one--there was already a little baby at our house, +and the folks there would know how to manage it. + +“Oh, ye want it fer coompany for the ither one, is that it?” said Mrs. +Hogan, a new light breaking in upon her. “An' that's a good plan, sure. +It must be dridful lownly in a house wid ownly wan baby. Now there's +one--Polly--would she do?” + +“Why, she can run,” I said. “I don't want one that can run.” + +“Oh, dear!” said Mrs. Hogan, with a sigh, “they all begin to run, very +airly. Now Polly isn't owld, at all, at all.” + +“I can see that,” said I, “but I want one that you can put in a +cradle--one that will have to stay there, when you put it in.” + +It was plain that Mrs. Hogan's present stock did not contain exactly +what I wanted, and directly Mrs. Duffy exclaimed! “There's Mary +McCann--an' roight across the way!” + +Mrs. Hogan said “Yis, sure,” and we all went over to a little house, +opposite. + +“Now, thin,” said Mrs. Duffy, entering the house, and proudly drawing a +small coverlid from a little box-bed in a corner, “what do you think of +that?” + +“Why, there are two of them,” I exclaimed. + +“To be sure,” said Mrs. Duffy. “They're tweens. There's always two uv +em, when they're tweens. An' they're young enough.” + +“Yes,” said I, doubtfully, “but I couldn't take both. Do you think their +mother would rent one of them?” + +The women shook their heads. “Ye see, sir,” said Mrs. Hogan, “Mary +McCann isn't here, bein' gone out to a wash, but she ownly has four or +foive childther, an' she aint much used to 'em yit, an' I kin spake fer +her that she'd niver siparate a pair o' tweens. When she gits a dozen +hersilf, and marries a widow jintleman wid a lot uv his own, she'll +be glad enough to be lettin' ye have yer pick, to take wan uv 'em fer +coompany to yer own baby, at foive dollars a week. Moind that.” + +I visited several houses after this, still in company with Mrs. Hogan +and Mrs. Duffy, and finally secured a youngish infant, who, having been +left motherless, had become what Mrs. Duffy called a “bottle-baby,” and +was in charge of a neighboring aunt. It seemed strange that this child, +so eminently adapted to purposes of rental, was not offered to me, at +first, but I suppose the Irish ladies, who had the matter in charge, +wanted to benefit themselves, or some of their near friends, before +giving the general public of New Dublin a chance. + +The child suited me very well, and I agreed to take it for as many days +as I might happen to want it, but to pay by the week, in advance. It was +a boy, with a suggestion of orange-red bloom all over its head, and what +looked, to me, like freckles on its cheeks; while its little nose turned +up, even more than those of babies generally turn--above a very long +upper lip. His eyes were blue and twinkling, and he had the very mouth +“fer a leetle poipe,” as Mrs. Hogan admiringly remarked. + +He was hastily prepared for his trip, and when I had arranged the +necessary business matters with his aunt, and had assured her that she +could come to see him whenever she liked, I got into the carriage, and +having spread the lap-robe over my knees, the baby, carefully wrapped in +a little shawl, was laid in my lap. Then his bottle, freshly filled, for +he might need a drink on the way, was tucked between the cushions on the +seat beside me, and taking the lines in my left hand, while I steadied +my charge with the other, I prepared to drive away. + +“What's his name?” I asked. + +“It's Pat,” said his aunt, “afther his dad, who's away in the moines.” + +“But ye kin call him onything ye bike,” Mrs. Duffy remarked, “fer he +don't ansther to his name yit.” + +“Pat will do very well,” I said, as I bade the good women farewell, +and carefully guided the horse through the swarms of youngsters who had +gathered around the carriage. + + + +CHAPTER XX. THE OTHER BABY AT RUDDER GRANGE. + + +I drove slowly home, and little Pat lay very quiet, looking up steadily +at me with his twinkling blue eyes. For a time, everything went very +well, but happening to look up, I saw in the distance a carriage +approaching. It was an open barouche, and I knew it belonged to a family +of our acquaintance, in the village, and that it usually contained +ladies. + +Quick as thought, I rolled up Pat in his shawl and stuffed him under the +seat. Then rearranging the lap-robe over my knees, I drove on, trembling +a little, it is true. + +As I supposed, the carriage contained ladies, and I knew them all. The +coachman instinctively drew up, as we approached. We always stopped and +spoke, on such occasions. + +They asked me after my wife, apparently surprised to see me alone, and +made a number of pleasant observations, to all of which I replied with +as unconcerned and easy an air as I could assume. The ladies were in +excellent spirits, but in spite of this, there seemed to be an air of +repression about them, which I thought of when I drove on, but could not +account for, for little Pat never moved or whimpered, during the whole +of the interview. + +But when I took him again in my lap, and happened to turn, as I arranged +the robe, I saw his bottle sticking up boldly by my side from between +the cushions. Then I did not wonder at the repression. + +When I reached home, I drove directly to the barn. Fortunately, Jonas +was there. When I called him and handed little Pat to him I never saw +a man more utterly amazed. He stood, and held the child without a +word. But when I explained the whole affair to him, he comprehended it +perfectly, and was delighted. I think he was just as anxious for my plan +to work as I was myself, although he did not say so. + +I was about to take the child into the house, when Jonas remarked that +it was barefooted. + +“That won't do,” I said. “It certainly had socks on, when I got it. I +saw them.” + +“Here they are,” said Jonas, fishing them out from the shawl, “he's +kicked them off.” + +“Well, we must put them on,” I said, “it won't do to take him in, that +way. You hold him.” + +So Jonas sat down on the feed-box, and carefully taking little Pat, he +held him horizontally, firmly pressed between his hands and knees, with +his feet stuck out toward me, while I knelt down before him and tried to +put on the little socks. But the socks were knit or worked very loosely, +and there seemed to be a good many small holes in them, so that +Pat's funny little toes, which he kept curling up and uncurling, were +continually making their appearance in unexpected places through the +sock. But, after a great deal of trouble, I got them both on, with the +heels in about the right places. + +“Now they ought to be tied on,” I said, “Where are his garters?” + +“I don't believe babies have garters,” said Jonas, doubtfully, “but I +could rig him up a pair.” + +“No,” said I; “we wont take the time for that. I'll hold his legs apart, +as I carry him in. It's rubbing his feet together that gets them off.” + +As I passed the kitchen window, I saw Pomona at work. She looked at me, +dropped something, and I heard a crash. I don't know how much that crash +cost me. Jonas rushed in to tell Pomona about it, and in a moment I +heard a scream of laughter. At this, Euphemia appeared at an upper +window, with her hand raised and saying, severely: “Hush-h!” But the +moment she saw me, she disappeared from the window and came down-stairs +on the run. She met me, just as I entered the dining-room. + +“What IN the world!” she breathlessly exclaimed. + +“This,” said I, taking Pat into a better position in my arms, “is my +baby.” + +“Your--baby!” said Euphemia. “Where did you get it? what are you going +to do with it?” + +“I got it in New Dublin,” I replied, “and I want it to amuse and occupy +me while I am at home. I haven't anything else to do, except things that +take me away from you.” + +“Oh!” said Euphemia. + +At this moment, little Pat gave his first whimper. Perhaps he felt the +searching glance that fell upon him from the lady in the middle of the +room. + +I immediately began to walk up and down the floor with him, and to sing +to him. I did not know any infant music, but I felt sure that a +soothing tune was the great requisite, and that the words were of small +importance. So I started on an old Methodist tune, which I remembered +very well, and which was used with the hymn containing the lines: + + + “Weak and wounded, sick and sore,” + + +and I sang, as soothingly as I could: + + + “Lit-tle Pat-sy, Wat-sy, Sat-sy, + Does he feel a lit-ty bad? + Me will send and get his bot-tle + He sha'n't have to cry-wy-wy.” + + +“What an idiot!” said Euphemia, laughing in spite of her vexation. + + + “No, we aint no id-i-otses + What we want's a bot-ty mik.” + + +So I sang as I walked to the kitchen door, and sent Jonas to the barn +for the bottle. + +Pomona was in spasms of laughter in the kitchen, and Euphemia was trying +her best not to laugh at all. + +“Who's going to take care of it, I'd like to know?” she said, as soon as +she could get herself into a state of severe inquiry. + + + “Some-times me, and some-times Jonas,” + + +I sang, still walking up and down the room with a long, slow step, +swinging the baby from side to side, very much as if it were grass-seed +in a sieve, and I were sowing it over the carpet. + +When the bottle came, I took it, and began to feed little Pat. Perhaps +the presence of a critical and interested audience embarrassed us, for +Jonas and Pomona were at the door, with streaming eyes, while Euphemia +stood with her handkerchief to the lower part of her face, or it may +have been that I did not understand the management of bottles, but, at +any rate, I could not make the thing work, and the disappointed little +Pat began to cry, just as the whole of our audience burst into a wild +roar of laughter. + +“Here! Give me that child!” cried Euphemia, forcibly taking Pat and the +bottle from me. “You'll make it swallow the whole affair, and I'm sure +its mouth's big enough.” + +“You really don't think,” she said, when we were alone, and little Pat, +with his upturned blue eyes serenely surveying the features of the +good lady who knew how to feed him, was placidly pulling away at his +india-rubber tube, “that I will consent to your keeping such a creature +as this in the house? Why, he's a regular little Paddy! If you kept him +he'd grow up into a hod-carrier.” + +“Good!” said I. “I never thought of that. What a novel thing it would be +to witness the gradual growth of a hod-carrier! I'll make him a little +hod, now, to begin with. He couldn't have a more suitable toy.” + +“I was talking in earnest,” she said. “Take your baby, and please carry +him home as quick as you can, for I am certainly not going to take care +of him.” + +“Of course not,” said I. “Now that I see how it's done, I'm going to do +it myself. Jonas will mix his feed and I will give it to him. He looks +sleepy now. Shall I take him upstairs and lay him on our bed?” + +“No, indeed,” cried Euphemia. “You can put him on a quilt on the floor, +until after luncheon, and then you must take him home.” + +I laid the young Milesian on the folded quilt which Euphemia prepared +for him, where he turned up his little pug nose to the ceiling and went +contentedly to sleep. + +That afternoon I nailed four legs on a small packing-box and made a +bedstead for him. This, with a pillow in the bottom of it, was very +comfortable, and instead of taking him home, I borrowed, in the evening, +some baby night-clothes from Pomona, and set about preparing Pat for the +night. + +This Euphemia would not allow, but silently taking him from me, she put +him to bed. + +“To-morrow,” she said, “you must positively take him away. I wont stand +it. And in our room, too.” + +“I didn't talk in that way about the baby you adopted,” I said. + +To this she made no answer, but went away to attend, as usual, to +Pomona's baby, while its mother washed the dishes. + +That night little Pat woke up, several times, and made things unpleasant +by his wails. On the first two occasions, I got up and walked him about, +singing impromptu lines to the tune of “weak and wounded,” but the third +time, Euphemia herself arose, and declaring that that doleful tune was +a great deal worse than the baby's crying, silenced him herself, and +arranging his couch more comfortably, he troubled us no more. + +In the morning, when I beheld the little pad of orange fur in the box, +my heart almost misgave me, but as the day wore on, my courage rose +again, and I gave myself up, almost entirely, to my new charge, +composing a vast deal of blank verse, while walking him up and down the +house. + +Euphemia scolded and scolded, and said she would put on her hat and go +for the mother. But I told her the mother was dead, and that seemed to +be an obstacle. She took a good deal of care of the child, for she said +she would not see an innocent creature neglected, even if it was +an incipient hod-carrier, but she did not relax in the least in her +attention to Pomona's baby. + +The next day was about the same, in regard to infantile incident, but, +on the day after, I began to tire of my new charge, and Pat, on his +side, seemed to be tired of me, for he turned from me when I went to +take him up, while he would hold out his hands to Euphemia, and grin +delightedly when she took him. + +That morning I drove to the village and spent an hour or two there. On +my return I found Euphemia sitting in our room, with little Pat on her +lap. I was astonished at the change in the young rascal. He was dressed, +from head to foot, in a suit of clothes belonging to Pomona's baby; the +glowing fuzz on his head was brushed and made as smooth as possible, +while his little muslin sleeves were tied up with blue ribbon. + +I stood speechless at the sight. + +“Don't he look nice?” said Euphemia, standing him up on her knees. “It +shows what good clothes will do. I'm glad I helped Pomona make up so +many. He's getting ever so fond of me, ze itty Patsy, watsy! See how +strong he is! He can almost stand on his legs! Look how he laughs! He's +just as cunning as he can be. And oh! I was going to speak about that +box. I wouldn't have him sleep in that old packing-box. There are little +wicker cradles at the store--I saw them last week--they don't cost much, +and you could bring one up in the carriage. There's the other baby, +crying, and I don't know where Pomona is. Just you mind him a minute, +please!” and out she ran. + +I looked out of the window. The horse still stood harnessed to the +carriage, as I had left him. I saw Pat's old shawl lying in a corner. +I seized it, and rolling him in it, new clothes and all, I hurried +down-stairs, climbed into the carriage, hastily disposed Pat in my lap, +and turned the horse. The demeanor of the youngster was very different +from what it was when I first took him in my lap to drive away with him. +There was no confiding twinkle in his eye, no contented munching of his +little fists. He gazed up at me with wild alarm, and as I drove out of +the gate, he burst forth into such a yell that Lord Edward came bounding +around the house to see what was the matter. Euphemia suddenly appeared +at an upper window and called out to me, but I did not hear what she +said. I whipped up the horse and we sped along to New Dublin. Pat soon +stopped crying, but he looked at me with a tear-stained and reproachful +visage. + +The good women of the settlement were surprised to see little Pat return +so soon. + +“An' wasn't he good?” said Mrs. Hogan as she took him from my hands. + +“Oh, yes!” I said. “He was as good as he could be. But I have no further +need of him.” + +I might have been called upon to explain this statement, had not the +whole party of women, who stood around burst into wild expressions of +delight at Pat's beautiful clothes. + +“Oh! jist look at 'em!” cried Mrs. Duffy. “An' see thim leetle +pittycoots, thrimmed wid lace! Oh, an' it was good in ye, sir, to give +him all thim, an' pay the foive dollars, too.” + +“An' I'm glad he's back,” said the fostering aunt, “for I was a coomin' +over to till ye that I've been hearin' from owle Pat, his dad, an' he's +a coomin' back from the moines, and I don't know what he'd a' said if +he'd found his leetle Pat was rinted. But if ye iver want to borry him, +for a whoile, after owle Pat's gone back, ye kin have him, rint-free; +an' it's much obloiged I am to ye, sir, fur dressin' him so foine.” + +I made no encouraging remarks as to future transactions in this line, +and drove slowly home. + +Euphemia met me at the door. She had Pomona's baby in her arms. We +walked together into the parlor. + +“And so you have given up the little fellow that you were going to do so +much for?” she said. + +“Yes, I have given him up,” I answered. + +“It must have been a dreadful trial to you,” she continued. + +“Oh, dreadful!” I replied. + +“I suppose you thought he would take up so much of your time and +thoughts, that we couldn't be to each other what we used to be, didn't +you?” she said. + +“Not exactly,” I replied. “I only thought that things promised to be +twice as bad as they were before.” + +She made no answer to this, but going to the back door of the parlor she +opened it and called Pomona. When that young woman appeared, Euphemia +stepped toward her and said: “Here, Pomona, take your baby.” + +They were simple words, but they were spoken in such a way that they +meant a good deal. Pomona knew what they meant. Her eyes sparkled, and +as she went out, I saw her hug her child to her breast, and cover it +with kisses, and then, through the window, I could see her running to +the barn and Jonas. + +“Now, then,” said Euphemia, closing the door and coming toward me, with +one of her old smiles, and not a trace of preoccupation about her, “I +suppose you expect me to devote myself to you.” + +I did expect it, and I was not mistaken. + + +Since these events, a third baby has come to Rudder Grange. It is not +Pomona's, nor was it brought from New Dublin. It is named after a little +one, who died very young, before this story was begun, and the strangest +thing about it is that never, for a moment, does it seem to come between +Euphemia and myself. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Rudder Grange, by Frank R. Stockton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RUDDER GRANGE *** + +***** This file should be named 2011-0.txt or 2011-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/1/2011/ + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/2011-0.zip b/2011-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7ab7f7d --- /dev/null +++ b/2011-0.zip diff --git a/2011-h.zip b/2011-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..bde2dca --- /dev/null +++ b/2011-h.zip diff --git a/2011-h/2011-h.htm b/2011-h/2011-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4a56c36 --- /dev/null +++ b/2011-h/2011-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9510 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Rudder Grange, by Frank R. Stockton + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Rudder Grange, by Frank R. Stockton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Rudder Grange + +Author: Frank R. Stockton + +Release Date: November 7, 2008 [EBook #2011] +Last Updated: March 12, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RUDDER GRANGE *** + + + + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer, and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + RUDDER GRANGE + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Frank R. Stockton + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <big><b>RUDDER GRANGE.</b></big> </a> + <br /><br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> TREATING + OF A NOVEL STYLE OF DWELLING HOUSE. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0002"> + CHAPTER II. </a> TREATING OF A NOVEL STYLE OF BOARDER. <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> TREATING OF A + NOVEL STYLE OF GIRL. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. + </a> TREATING OF A NOVEL STYLE OF BURGLAR. <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> POMONA PRODUCES A + PARTIAL REVOLUTION IN RUDDER GRANGE. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> + CHAPTER VI. </a> THE NEW RUDDER GRANGE. <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a> TREATING OF AN + UNSUCCESSFUL BROKER AND A DOG. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0008"> + CHAPTER VIII. </a> POMONA ONCE MORE. <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a> WE CAMP OUT. <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> WET BLANKETS. <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> THE BOARDER'S + VISIT. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a> LORD + EDWARD AND THE TREE-MAN. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER + XIII. </a> POMONA'S NOVEL. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0014"> + CHAPTER XIV. </a> POMONA TAKES A BRIDAL TRIP. <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a> IN WHICH TWO NEW + FRIENDS DISPORT THEMSELVES. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER + XVI. </a> IN WHICH AN OLD FRIEND APPEARS AND THE BRIDAL TRIP + TAKES A <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a> IN + WHICH WE TAKE A VACATION AND LOOK FOR DAVID DUTTON. <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a> OUR + TAVERN. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a> THE + BABY AT RUDDER GRANGE. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. + </a> THE OTHER BABY AT RUDDER GRANGE. <br /><br /> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h1> + RUDDER GRANGE. + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. TREATING OF A NOVEL STYLE OF DWELLING HOUSE. + </h2> + <p> + For some months after our marriage, Euphemia and I boarded. But we did not + like it. Indeed, there was no reason why we should like it. Euphemia said + that she never felt at home except when she was out, which feeling, + indicating such an excessively unphilosophic state of mind, was enough to + make me desire to have a home of my own, where, except upon rare and + exceptional occasions, my wife would never care to go out. + </p> + <p> + If you should want to rent a house, there are three ways to find one. One + way is to advertise; another is to read the advertisements of other + people. This is a comparatively cheap way. A third method is to apply to + an agent. But none of these plans are worth anything. The proper way is to + know some one who will tell you of a house that will exactly suit you. + Euphemia and I thoroughly investigated this matter, and I know that what I + say is a fact. + </p> + <p> + We tried all the plans. When we advertised, we had about a dozen admirable + answers, but in these, although everything seemed to suit, the amount of + rent was not named. (None of those in which the rent was named would do at + all.) And when I went to see the owners, or agents of these suitable + houses, they asked much higher rents than those mentioned in the + unavailable answers—and this, notwithstanding the fact that they + always asserted that their terms were either very reasonable or else + greatly reduced on account of the season being advanced. (It was now the + fifteenth of May.) + </p> + <p> + Euphemia and I once wrote a book,—this was just before we were + married,—in which we told young married people how to go to + housekeeping and how much it would cost them. We knew all about it, for we + had asked several people. Now the prices demanded as yearly rental for + small furnished houses, by the owners and agents of whom I have been + speaking, were, in many cases, more than we had stated a house could be + bought and furnished for! + </p> + <p> + The advertisements of other people did not serve any better. There was + always something wrong about the houses when we made close inquiries, and + the trouble was generally in regard to the rent. With agents we had a + little better fortune. Euphemia sometimes went with me on my expeditions + to real estate offices, and she remarked that these offices were always in + the basement, or else you had to go up to them in an elevator. There was + nothing between these extremes. And it was a good deal the same way, she + said, with their houses. They were all very low indeed in price and + quality, or else too high. + </p> + <p> + One trouble was that we wanted a house in a country place, not very far + from the city, and not very far from the railroad station or steamboat + landing. We also wanted the house to be nicely shaded and fully furnished, + and not to be in a malarial neighborhood, or one infested by mosquitoes. + </p> + <p> + “If we do go to housekeeping,” said Euphemia, “we might as well get a + house to suit us while we are about it. Moving is more expensive than a + fire.” + </p> + <p> + There was one man who offered us a house that almost suited us. It was + near the water, had rooms enough, and some—but not very much—ground, + and was very accessible to the city. The rent, too, was quite reasonable. + But the house was unfurnished. The agent, however, did not think that this + would present any obstacle to our taking it. He was sure that the owner + would furnish it if we paid him ten per cent, on the value of the + furniture he put into it. We agreed that if the landlord would do this and + let us furnish the house according to the plans laid down in our book, + that we would take the house. But unfortunately this arrangement did not + suit the landlord, although he was in the habit of furnishing houses for + tenants and charging them ten per cent. on the cost. + </p> + <p> + I saw him myself and talked to him about it. + </p> + <p> + “But you see,” said he, when I had shown him our list of articles + necessary for the furnishing of a house, “it would not pay me to buy all + these things, and rent them out to you. If you only wanted heavy + furniture, which would last for years, the plan would answer, but you want + everything. I believe the small conveniences you have on this list come to + more money than the furniture and carpets.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” said I. “We are not so very particular about furniture and + carpets, but these little conveniences are the things that make + housekeeping pleasant, and,—speaking from a common-sense point of + view,—profitable.” + </p> + <p> + “That may be,” he answered, “but I can't afford to make matters pleasant + and profitable for you in that way. Now, then, let us look at one or two + particulars. Here, on your list, is an ice-pick: twenty-five cents. Now, + if I buy that ice-pick and rent it to you at two and a-half cents a year, + I shall not get my money back unless it lasts you ten years. And even + then, as it is not probable that I can sell that ice-pick after you have + used it for ten years, I shall have made nothing at all by my bargain. And + there are other things in that list, such as feather-dusters and + lamp-chimneys, that couldn't possibly last ten years. Don't you see my + position?” + </p> + <p> + I saw it. We did not get that furnished house. Euphemia was greatly + disappointed. + </p> + <p> + “It would have been just splendid,” she said, “to have taken our book and + have ordered all these things at the stores, one after another, without + even being obliged to ask the price.” + </p> + <p> + I had my private doubts in regard to this matter of price. I am afraid + that Euphemia generally set down the lowest price and the best things. She + did not mean to mislead, and her plan certainly made our book attractive. + But it did not work very well in practice. We have a friend who undertook + to furnish her house by our book, and she never could get the things as + cheaply as we had them quoted. + </p> + <p> + “But you see,” said Euphemia, to her, “we had to put them down at very low + prices, because the model house we speak of in the book is to be entirely + furnished for just so much.” + </p> + <p> + But, in spite of this explanation, the lady was not satisfied. + </p> + <p> + We found ourselves obliged to give up the idea of a furnished house. We + would have taken an unfurnished one and furnished it ourselves, but we had + not money enough. We were dreadfully afraid that we should have to + continue to board. + </p> + <p> + It was now getting on toward summer, at least there was only a part of a + month of spring left, and whenever I could get off from my business + Euphemia and I made little excursions into the country round about the + city. One afternoon we went up the river, and there we saw a sight that + transfixed us, as it were. On the bank, a mile or so above the city, stood + a canal-boat. I say stood, because it was so firmly imbedded in the ground + by the river-side, that it would have been almost as impossible to move it + as to have turned the Sphinx around. This boat we soon found was inhabited + by an oyster-man and his family. They had lived there for many years and + were really doing quite well. The boat was divided, inside, into rooms, + and these were papered and painted and nicely furnished. There was a + kitchen, a living-room, a parlor and bedrooms. There were all sorts of + conveniences—carpets on the floors, pictures, and everything, at + least so it seemed to us, to make a home comfortable. This was not all + done at once, the oyster-man told me. They had lived there for years and + had gradually added this and that until the place was as we saw it. He had + an oyster-bed out in the river and he made cider in the winter, but where + he got the apples I don't know. There was really no reason why he should + not get rich in time. + </p> + <p> + Well, we went all over that house and we praised everything so much that + the oyster-man's wife was delighted, and when we had some stewed oysters + afterward,—eating them at a little table under a tree near by,—I + believe that she picked out the very largest oysters she had, to stew for + us. When we had finished our supper and had paid for it, and were going + down to take our little boat again,—for we had rowed up the river,—Euphemia + stopped and looked around her. Then she clasped her hands and exclaimed in + an ecstatic undertone: + </p> + <p> + “We must have a canal-boat!” + </p> + <p> + And she never swerved from that determination. + </p> + <p> + After I had seriously thought over the matter, I could see no good reason + against adopting this plan. It would certainly be a cheap method of + living, and it would really be housekeeping. I grew more and more in favor + of it. After what the oyster-man had done, what might not we do? HE had + never written a book on housekeeping, nor, in all probability, had he + considered the matter, philosophically, for one moment in all his life. + </p> + <p> + But it was not an easy thing to find a canal-boat. There were none + advertised for rent—at least, not for housekeeping purposes. + </p> + <p> + We made many inquiries and took many a long walk along the water-courses + in the vicinity of the city, but all in vain. Of course, we talked a great + deal about our project and our friends became greatly interested in it, + and, of course, too, they gave us a great deal of advice, but we didn't + mind that. We were philosophical enough to know that you can't have shad + without bones. They were good friends and, by being careful in regard to + the advice, it didn't interfere with our comfort. + </p> + <p> + We were beginning to be discouraged, at least Euphemia was. Her + discouragement is like water-cresses, it generally comes up in a very + short time after she sows her wishes. But then it withers away rapidly, + which is a comfort. One evening we were sitting, rather disconsolately, in + our room, and I was reading out the advertisements of country board in a + newspaper, when in rushed Dr. Heare—one of our old friends. He was + so full of something that he had to say that he didn't even ask us how we + were. In fact, he didn't appear to want to know. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you what it is,” said he, “I have found just the very thing you + want.” + </p> + <p> + “A canal-boat?” I cried. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said he, “a canal-boat.” + </p> + <p> + “Furnished?” asked Euphemia, her eyes glistening. + </p> + <p> + “Well, no,” answered the doctor, “I don't think you could expect that.” + </p> + <p> + “But we can't live on the bare floor,” said Euphemia; “our house MUST be + furnished.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, I suppose this won't do,” said the doctor, ruefully, “for + there isn't so much as a boot-jack in it. It has most things that are + necessary for a boat, but it hasn't anything that you could call + house-furniture; but, dear me, I should think you could furnish it very + cheaply and comfortably out of your book.” + </p> + <p> + “Very true,” said Euphemia, “if we could pick out the cheapest things and + then get some folks to buy a lot of the books.” + </p> + <p> + “We could begin with very little,” said I, trying hard to keep calm. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said the doctor, “you need make no more rooms, at first, than + you could furnish.” + </p> + <p> + “Then there are no rooms,” said Euphemia. + </p> + <p> + “No, there is nothing but one vast apartment extending from stem to + stern.” + </p> + <p> + “Won't it be glorious!” said Euphemia to me. “We can first make a kitchen, + and then a dining-room, and a bedroom, and then a parlor—just in the + order in which our book says they ought to be furnished.” + </p> + <p> + “Glorious!” I cried, no longer able to contain my enthusiasm; “I should + think so. Doctor, where is this canal-boat?” + </p> + <p> + The doctor then went into a detailed statement. The boat was stranded on + the shore of the Scoldsbury river not far below Ginx's. We knew where + Ginx's was, because we had spent a very happy day there, during our + honeymoon. + </p> + <p> + The boat was a good one, but superannuated. That, however, did not + interfere with its usefulness as a dwelling. We could get it—the + doctor had seen the owner—for a small sum per annum, and here was + positively no end to its capabilities. + </p> + <p> + We sat up until twenty minutes past two, talking about that house. We + ceased to call it a boat at about a quarter of eleven. + </p> + <p> + The next day I “took” the boat and paid a month's rent in advance. Three + days afterward we moved into it. + </p> + <p> + We had not much to move, which was a comfort, looking at it from one point + of view. A carpenter had put up two partitions in it which made three + rooms—a kitchen, a dining-room and a very long bedroom, which was to + be cut up into a parlor, study, spare-room, etc., as soon as circumstances + should allow, or my salary should be raised. Originally, all the doors and + windows were in the roof, so to speak, but our landlord allowed us to make + as many windows to the side of the boat as we pleased, provided we gave + him the wood we cut out. It saved him trouble, he said, but I did not + understand him at the time. Accordingly, the carpenter made several + windows for us, and put in sashes, which opened on hinges like the hasp of + a trunk. Our furniture did not amount to much, at first. The very thought + of living in this independent, romantic way was so delightful, Euphemia + said, that furniture seemed a mere secondary matter. + </p> + <p> + We were obliged indeed to give up the idea of following the plan detailed + in our book, because we hadn't the sum upon which the furnishing of a + small house was therein based. + </p> + <p> + “And if we haven't the money,” remarked Euphemia, “it would be of no + earthly use to look at the book. It would only make us doubt our own + calculations. You might as well try to make brick without mortar, as the + children of Israel did.” + </p> + <p> + “I could do that myself, my dear,” said I, “but we won't discuss that + subject now. We will buy just what we absolutely need, and then work up + from that.” + </p> + <p> + Acting on this plan, we bought first a small stove, because Euphemia said + that we could sleep on the floor, if it were necessary, but we couldn't + make a fire on the floor—at least not often. Then we got a table and + two chairs. The next thing we purchased was some hanging shelves for our + books, and Euphemia suddenly remembered the kitchen things. These, which + were few, with some crockery, nearly brought us to the end of our + resources, but we had enough for a big easy-chair which Euphemia was + determined I should have, because I really needed it when I came home at + night, tired with my long day's work at the office. I had always been used + to an easy-chair, and it was one of her most delightful dreams to see me + in a real nice one, comfortably smoking my pipe in my own house, after + eating my own delicious little supper in company with my own dear wife. We + selected the chair, and then we were about to order the things sent out to + our future home, when I happened to think that we had no bed. I called + Euphemia's attention to the fact. + </p> + <p> + She was thunderstruck. + </p> + <p> + “I never thought of that,” she said. “We shall have to give up the stove.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” said I, “we can't do that. We must give up the easy-chair.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that would be too bad,” said she. “The house would seem like nothing + to me without the chair!” + </p> + <p> + “But we must do without it, my dear,” said I, “at least for a while. I can + sit out on deck and smoke of an evening, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Euphemia. “You can sit on the bulwarks and I can sit by you. + That will do very well. I'm sure I'm glad the boat has bulwarks.” + </p> + <p> + So we resigned the easy-chair and bought a bedstead and some very plain + bedding. The bedstead was what is sometimes called a “scissors-bed.” We + could shut it up when we did not want to sleep in it, and stand it against + the wall. + </p> + <p> + When we packed up our trunks and left the boarding-house Euphemia fairly + skipped with joy. + </p> + <p> + We went down to Ginx's in the first boat, having arranged that our + furniture should be sent to us in the afternoon. We wanted to be there to + receive it. The trip was just wildly delirious. The air was charming. The + sun was bright, and I had a whole holiday. When we reached Ginx's we found + that the best way to get our trunks and ourselves to our house was to take + a carriage, and so we took one. I told the driver to drive along the river + road and I would tell him where to stop. + </p> + <p> + When we reached our boat, and had alighted, I said to the driver: + </p> + <p> + “You can just put our trunks inside, anywhere.” + </p> + <p> + The man looked at the trunks and then looked at the boat. Afterward he + looked at me. + </p> + <p> + “That boat ain't goin' anywhere,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “I should think not,” said Euphemia. “We shouldn't want to live in it, if + it were.” + </p> + <p> + “You are going to live in it?” said the man. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Euphemia. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said the man, and he took our trunks on board, without another word. + </p> + <p> + It was not very easy for him to get the trunks into our new home. In fact + it was not easy for us to get there ourselves. There was a gang-plank, + with a rail on one side of it, which inclined from the shore to the deck + of the boat at an angle of forty-five degrees, and when the man had + staggered up this plank with the trunks (Euphemia said I ought to have + helped him, but I really thought that it would be better for one person to + fall off the plank than for two to go over together), and we had paid him, + and he had driven away in a speechless condition, we scrambled up and + stood upon the threshold, or, rather, the after-deck of our home. + </p> + <p> + It was a proud moment. Euphemia glanced around, her eyes full of happy + tears, and then she took my arm and we went down stairs—at least we + tried to go down in that fashion, but soon found it necessary to go one at + a time. We wandered over the whole extent of our mansion and found that + our carpenter had done his work better than the woman whom we had engaged + to scrub and clean the house. Something akin to despair must have seized + upon her, for Euphemia declared that the floors looked dirtier than on the + occasion of her first visit, when we rented the boat. + </p> + <p> + But that didn't discourage us. We felt sure that we should get it clean in + time. + </p> + <p> + Early in the afternoon our furniture arrived, together with the other + things we had bought, and the men who brought them over from the steamboat + landing had the brightest, merriest faces I ever noticed among that class + of people. Euphemia said it was an excellent omen to have such cheerful + fellows come to us on the very first day of our housekeeping. + </p> + <p> + Then we went to work. I put up the stove, which was not much trouble, as + there was a place all ready in the deck for the stove-pipe to be run + through. Euphemia was somewhat surprised at the absence of a chimney, but + I assured her that boats were very seldom built with chimneys. My dear + little wife bustled about and arranged the pots and kettles on nails that + I drove into the kitchen walls. Then she made the bed in the bed-room and + I hung up a looking-glass and a few little pictures that we had brought in + our trunks. + </p> + <p> + Before four o'clock our house was in order. Then we began to be very + hungry. + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” said Euphemia, “we ought to have thought to bring something to + cook.” + </p> + <p> + “That is very true,” said I, “but I think perhaps we had better walk up to + Ginx's and get our supper to-night. You see we are so tired and hungry.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” cried Euphemia, “go to a hotel the very first day? I think it + would be dreadful! Why, I have been looking forward to this first meal + with the greatest delight. You can go up to the little store by the hotel + and buy some things and I will cook them, and we will have our first dear + little meal here all alone by ourselves, at our own table and in our own + house.” + </p> + <p> + So this was determined upon and, after a hasty counting of the fund I had + reserved for moving and kindred expenses, and which had been sorely + depleted during the day, I set out, and in about an hour returned with my + first marketing. + </p> + <p> + I made a fire, using a lot of chips and blocks the carpenter had left, and + Euphemia cooked the supper, and we ate it from our little table, with two + large towels for a table-cloth. + </p> + <p> + It was the most delightful meal I ever ate! + </p> + <p> + And, when we had finished, Euphemia washed the dishes (the thoughtful + creature had put some water on the stove to heat for the purpose, while we + were at supper) and then we went on deck, or on the piazza, as Euphemia + thought we had better call it, and there we had our smoke. I say WE, for + Euphemia always helps me to smoke by sitting by me, and she seems to enjoy + it as much as I do. + </p> + <p> + And when the shades of evening began to gather around us, I hauled in the + gang-plank (just like a delightful old draw-bridge, Euphemia said, + although I hope for the sake of our ancestors that draw-bridges were + easier to haul in) and went to bed. + </p> + <p> + It is lucky we were tired and wanted to go to bed early, for we had + forgotten all about lamps or candles. + </p> + <p> + For the next week we were two busy and happy people. I rose about + half-past five and made the fire,—we found so much wood on the + shore, that I thought I should not have to add fuel to my expenses,—and + Euphemia cooked the breakfast. I then went to a well belonging to a + cottage near by where we had arranged for water-privileges, and filled two + buckets with delicious water and carried them home for Euphemia's use + through the day. Then I hurried off to catch the train, for, as there was + a station near Ginx's, I ceased to patronize the steamboat, the hours of + which were not convenient. After a day of work and pleasurable + anticipation at the office, I hastened back to my home, generally laden + with a basket of provisions and various household necessities. Milk was + brought to us daily from the above-mentioned cottage by a little toddler + who seemed just able to carry the small tin bucket which held a lacteal + pint. If the urchin had been the child of rich parents, as Euphemia + sometimes observed, he would have been in his nurse's arms—but being + poor, he was scarcely weaned before he began to carry milk around to other + people. + </p> + <p> + After I reached home came supper and the delightful evening hours, when + over my pipe (I had given up cigars, as being too expensive and + inappropriate, and had taken to a tall pipe and canaster tobacco) we + talked and planned, and told each other our day's experience. + </p> + <p> + One of our earliest subjects of discussion was the name of our homestead. + Euphemia insisted that it should have a name. I was quite willing, but we + found it no easy matter to select an appropriate title. I proposed a + number of appellations intended to suggest the character of our home. + Among these were: “Safe Ashore,” “Firmly Grounded,” and some other names + of that style, but Euphemia did not fancy any of them. She wanted a + suitable name, of course, she said, but it must be something that would + SOUND like a house and BE like a boat. + </p> + <p> + “Partitionville,” she objected to, and “Gangplank Terrace,” did not suit + her because it suggested convicts going out to work, which naturally was + unpleasant. + </p> + <p> + At last, after days of talk and cogitation, we named our house “Rudder + Grange.” + </p> + <p> + To be sure, it wasn't exactly a grange, but then it had such an enormous + rudder that the justice of that part of the title seemed to over-balance + any little inaccuracy in the other portion. + </p> + <p> + But we did not spend all our spare time in talking. An hour or two, every + evening was occupied in what we called “fixing the house,” and gradually + the inside of our abode began to look like a conventional dwelling. We put + matting on the floors and cheap but very pretty paper on the walls. We + added now a couple of chairs, and now a table or something for the + kitchen. Frequently, especially of a Sunday, we had company, and our + guests were always charmed with Euphemia's cunning little meals. The dear + girl loved good eating so much that she could scarcely fail to be a good + cook. + </p> + <p> + We worked hard, and were very happy. And thus the weeks passed on. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. TREATING OF A NOVEL STYLE OF BOARDER. + </h2> + <p> + In this delightful way of living, only one thing troubled us. We didn't + save any money. There were so many little things that we wanted, and so + many little things that were so cheap, that I spent pretty much all I + made, and that was far from the philosophical plan of living that I wished + to follow. + </p> + <p> + We talked this matter over a great deal after we had lived in our new home + for about a month, and we came at last to the conclusion that we would + take a boarder. + </p> + <p> + We had no trouble in getting a boarder, for we had a friend, a young man + who was engaged in the flour business, who was very anxious to come and + live with us. He had been to see us two or three times, and had expressed + himself charmed with our household arrangements. + </p> + <p> + So we made terms with him. The carpenter partitioned off another room, and + our boarder brought his trunk and a large red velvet arm-chair, and took + up his abode at “Rudder Grange.” + </p> + <p> + We liked our boarder very much, but he had some peculiarities. I suppose + everybody has them. Among other things, he was very fond of telling us + what we ought to do. He suggested more improvements in the first three + days of his sojourn with us than I had thought of since we commenced + housekeeping. And what made the matter worse, his suggestions were + generally very good ones. Had it been otherwise I might have borne his + remarks more complacently, but to be continually told what you ought to + do, and to know that you ought to do it, is extremely annoying. + </p> + <p> + He was very anxious that I should take off the rudder, which was certainly + useless to a boat situated as ours was, and make an ironing-table of it. I + persisted that the laws of symmetrical propriety required that the rudder + should remain where it was—that the very name of our home would be + interfered with by its removal, but he insisted that “Ironing-table + Grange” would be just as good a name, and that symmetrical propriety in + such a case did not amount to a row of pins. + </p> + <p> + The result was, that we did have the ironing-table, and that Euphemia was + very much pleased with it. A great many other improvements were projected + and carried out by him, and I was very much worried. He made a + flower-garden for Euphemia on the extreme forward-deck, and having + borrowed a wheelbarrow, he wheeled dozens of loads of arable dirt up our + gang-plank and dumped them out on the deck. When he had covered the garden + with a suitable depth of earth, he smoothed it off and then planted + flower-seeds. It was rather late in the season, but most of them came up. + I was pleased with the garden, but sorry I had not made it myself. + </p> + <p> + One afternoon I got away from the office considerably earlier than usual, + and I hurried home to enjoy the short period of daylight that I should + have before supper. It had been raining the day before, and as the bottom + of our garden leaked so that earthy water trickled down at one end of our + bed-room, I intended to devote a short time to stuffing up the cracks in + the ceiling or bottom of the deck—whichever seems the most + appropriate. + </p> + <p> + But when I reached a bend in the river road, whence I always had the + earliest view of my establishment, I did not have that view. I hurried on. + The nearer I approached the place where I lived, the more horror-stricken + I became. There was no mistaking the fact. + </p> + <p> + The boat was not there! + </p> + <p> + In an instant the truth flashed upon me. + </p> + <p> + The water was very high—the rain had swollen the river—my + house had floated away! + </p> + <p> + It was Wednesday. On Wednesday afternoons our boarder came home early. + </p> + <p> + I clapped my hat tightly on my head and ground my teeth. + </p> + <p> + “Confound that boarder!” I thought. “He has been fooling with the anchor. + He always said it was of no use, and taking advantage of my absence, he + has hauled it up, and has floated away, and has gone—gone with my + wife and my home!” + </p> + <p> + Euphemia and “Rudder Grange” had gone off together—where I knew not,—and + with them that horrible suggester! + </p> + <p> + I ran wildly along the bank. I called aloud, I shouted and hailed each + passing craft—of which there were only two—but their crews + must have been very inattentive to the woes of landsmen, or else they did + not hear me, for they paid no attention to my cries. + </p> + <p> + I met a fellow with an axe on his shoulder. I shouted to him before I + reached him: + </p> + <p> + “Hello! did you see a boat—a house, I mean,—floating up the + river?” + </p> + <p> + “A boat-house?” asked the man. + </p> + <p> + “No, a house-boat,” I gasped. + </p> + <p> + “Didn't see nuthin' like it,” said the man, and he passed on, to his wife + and home, no doubt. But me! Oh, where was my wife and my home? + </p> + <p> + I met several people, but none of them had seen a fugitive canal-boat. + </p> + <p> + How many thoughts came into my brain as I ran along that river road! If + that wretched boarder had not taken the rudder for an ironing table he + might have steered in shore! Again and again I confounded—as far as + mental ejaculations could do it—his suggestions. + </p> + <p> + I was rapidly becoming frantic when I met a person who hailed me. + </p> + <p> + “Hello!” he said, “are you after a canal-boat adrift?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I panted. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you was,” he said. “You looked that way. Well, I can tell you + where she is. She's stuck fast in the reeds at the lower end o' Peter's + Pint.” + </p> + <p> + “Where's that?” said I. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's about a mile furder up. I seed her a-driftin' up with the tide—big + flood tide, to-day—and I thought I'd see somebody after her, afore + long. Anything aboard?” + </p> + <p> + Anything! + </p> + <p> + I could not answer the man. Anything, indeed! I hurried on up the river + without a word. Was the boat a wreck? I scarcely dared to think of it. I + scarcely dared to think at all. + </p> + <p> + The man called after me and I stopped. I could but stop, no matter what I + might hear. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, mister,” he said, “got any tobacco?” + </p> + <p> + I walked up to him. I took hold of him by the lapel of his coat. It was a + dirty lapel, as I remember even now, but I didn't mind that. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” said I. “Tell me the truth, I can bear it. Was that vessel + wrecked?” + </p> + <p> + The man looked at me a little queerly. I could not exactly interpret his + expression. + </p> + <p> + “You're sure you kin bear it?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said I, my hand trembling as I held his coat. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then,” said he, “it's mor'n I kin,” and he jerked his coat out of + my hand, and sprang away. When he reached the other side of the road, he + turned and shouted at me, as though I had been deaf. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what I think?” he yelled. “I think you're a darned lunatic,” + and with that he went his way. + </p> + <p> + I hastened on to Peter's Point. Long before I reached it, I saw the boat. + </p> + <p> + It was apparently deserted. But still I pressed on. I must know the worst. + When I reached the Point, I found that the boat had run aground, with her + head in among the long reeds and mud, and the rest of her hull lying at an + angle from the shore. + </p> + <p> + There was consequently no way for me to get on board, but to wade through + the mud and reeds to her bow, and then climb up as well as I could. + </p> + <p> + This I did, but it was not easy to do. Twice I sank above my knees in mud + and water, and had it not been for reeds, masses of which I frequently + clutched when I thought I was going over, I believe I should have fallen + down and come to my death in that horrible marsh. When I reached the boat, + I stood up to my hips in water and saw no way of climbing up. The + gang-plank had undoubtedly floated away, and if it had not, it would have + been of no use to me in my position. + </p> + <p> + But I was desperate. I clasped the post that they put in the bow of + canal-boats; I stuck my toes and my finger-nails in the cracks between the + boards—how glad I was that the boat was an old one and had cracks!—and + so, painfully and slowly, slipping part way down once or twice, and + besliming myself from chin to foot, I climbed up that post and scrambled + upon deck. In an instant, I reached the top of the stairs, and in another + instant I rushed below. + </p> + <p> + There sat my wife and our boarder, one on each side of the dining-room + table, complacently playing checkers! + </p> + <p> + My sudden entrance startled them. My appearance startled them still more. + </p> + <p> + Euphemia sprang to her feet and tottered toward me. + </p> + <p> + “Mercy!” she exclaimed; “has anything happened?” + </p> + <p> + “Happened!” I gasped. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” cried the boarder, clutching me by the arm, “what a condition + you're in. Did you fall in?” + </p> + <p> + “Fall in!” said I. + </p> + <p> + Euphemia and the boarder looked at each other. I looked at them. Then I + opened my mouth in earnest. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you don't know,” I yelled, “that you have drifted away!” + </p> + <p> + “By George!” cried the boarder, and in two bounds he was on deck. + </p> + <p> + Dirty as I was, Euphemia fell into my arms. I told her all. She hadn't + known a bit of it! + </p> + <p> + The boat had so gently drifted off, and had so gently grounded among the + reeds, that the voyage had never so much as disturbed their games of + checkers. + </p> + <p> + “He plays such a splendid game,” Euphemia sobbed, “and just as you came, I + thought I was going to beat him. I had two kings and two pieces on the + next to last row, and you are nearly drowned. You'll get your death of + cold—and—and he had only one king.” + </p> + <p> + She led me away and I undressed and washed myself and put on my Sunday + clothes. + </p> + <p> + When I reappeared I went out on deck with Euphemia. The boarder was there, + standing by the petunia bed. His arms were folded and he was thinking + profoundly. As we approached, he turned toward us. + </p> + <p> + “You were right about that anchor,” he said, “I should not have hauled it + in; but it was such a little anchor that I thought it would be of more use + on board as a garden hoe.” + </p> + <p> + “A very little anchor will sometimes do very well,” said I, cuttingly, + “when it is hooked around a tree.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, there is something in that,” said he. + </p> + <p> + It was now growing late, and as our agitation subsided we began to be + hungry. Fortunately, we had everything necessary on board, and, as it + really didn't make any difference in our household economy, where we + happened to be located, we had supper quite as usual. In fact, the kettle + had been put on to boil during the checker-playing. + </p> + <p> + After supper, we went on deck to smoke, as was our custom, but there was a + certain coolness between me and our boarder. + </p> + <p> + Early the next morning I arose and went upstairs to consider what had + better be done, when I saw the boarder standing on shore, near by. + </p> + <p> + “Hello!” he cried, “the tide's down and I got ashore without any trouble. + You stay where you are. I've hired a couple of mules to tow the boat back. + They'll be here when the tide rises. And, hello! I've found the + gang-plank. It floated ashore about a quarter of a mile below here.” + </p> + <p> + In the course of the afternoon the mules and two men with a long rope + appeared, and we were then towed back to where we belonged. + </p> + <p> + And we are there yet. Our boarder remains with us, as the weather is still + fine, and the coolness between us is gradually diminishing. But the boat + is moored at both ends, and twice a day I look to see if the ropes are all + right. + </p> + <p> + The petunias are growing beautifully, but the geraniums do not seem to + flourish. Perhaps there is not a sufficient depth of earth for them. + Several times our boarder has appeared to be on the point of suggesting + something in regard to them, but, for some reason or other, he says + nothing. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. TREATING OF A NOVEL STYLE OF GIRL. + </h2> + <p> + One afternoon, as I was hurrying down Broadway to catch the five o'clock + train, I met Waterford. He is an old friend of mine, and I used to like + him pretty well. + </p> + <p> + “Hello!” said he, “where are you going?” + </p> + <p> + “Home,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Is that so?” said he. “I didn't know you had one.” + </p> + <p> + I was a little nettled at this, and so I said, somewhat brusquely perhaps: + </p> + <p> + “But you must have known I lived somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes! But I thought you boarded,” said he. “I had no idea that you had + a home.” + </p> + <p> + “But I have one, and a very pleasant home, too. You must excuse me for not + stopping longer, as I must catch my train.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I'll walk along with you,” said Waterford, and so we went down the + street together. + </p> + <p> + “Where is your little house?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Why in the world he thought it was a little house I could not at the time + imagine, unless he supposed that two people would not require a large one. + But I know, now, that he lived in a very little house himself. + </p> + <p> + But it was of no use getting angry with Waterford, especially as I saw he + intended walking all the way down to the ferry with me, so I told him I + didn't live in any house at all. + </p> + <p> + “Why, where DO you live?” he exclaimed, stopping short. + </p> + <p> + “I live in a boat,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “A boat! A sort of 'Rob Roy' arrangement, I suppose. Well, I would not + have thought that of you. And your wife, I suppose, has gone home to her + people?” + </p> + <p> + “She has done nothing of the kind,” I answered. “She lives with me, and + she likes it very much. We are extremely comfortable, and our boat is not + a canoe, or any such nonsensical affair. It is a large, commodious + canal-boat.” + </p> + <p> + Waterford turned around and looked at me. + </p> + <p> + “Are you a deck-hand?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Deck-grandmother!” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you needn't get mad about it,” he said. “I didn't mean to hurt your + feelings; but I couldn't see what else you could be on a canal-boat. I + don't suppose, for instance, that you're captain.” + </p> + <p> + “But I am,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “Look here!” said Waterford; “this is coming it rather strong, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + As I saw he was getting angry, I told him all about it,—told him how + we had hired a stranded canal-boat and had fitted it up as a house, and + how we lived so cosily in it, and had called it “Rudder Grange,” and how + we had taken a boarder. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” said he, “this is certainly surprising. I'm coming out to see you + some day. It will be better than going to Barnum's.” + </p> + <p> + I told him—it is the way of society—that we would be glad to + see him, and we parted. Waterford never did come to see us, and I merely + mention this incident to show how some of our friends talked about Rudder + Grange, when they first heard that we lived there. + </p> + <p> + After dinner that evening, when I went up on deck with Euphemia to have my + smoke, we saw the boarder sitting on the bulwarks near the garden, with + his legs dangling down outside. + </p> + <p> + “Look here!” said he. + </p> + <p> + I looked, but there was nothing unusual to see. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + He turned around and seeing Euphemia, said: + </p> + <p> + “Nothing.” + </p> + <p> + It would be a very stupid person who could not take such a hint as that, + and so, after a walk around the garden, Euphemia took occasion to go below + to look at the kitchen fire. + </p> + <p> + As soon as she had gone, the boarder turned to me and said: + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you what it is. She's working herself sick.” + </p> + <p> + “Sick?” said I. “Nonsense!” + </p> + <p> + “No nonsense about it,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + The truth was, that the boarder was right and I was wrong. We had spent + several months at Rudder Grange, and during this time Euphemia had been + working very hard, and she really did begin to look pale and thin. Indeed, + it would be very wearying for any woman of culture and refinement, unused + to house-work, to cook and care for two men, and to do all the work of a + canal-boat besides. + </p> + <p> + But I saw Euphemia so constantly, and thought so much of her, and had her + image so continually in my heart, that I did not notice this until our + boarder now called my attention to it. I was sorry that he had to do it. + </p> + <p> + “If I were in your place,” said he, “I would get her a servant.” + </p> + <p> + “If you were in my place,” I replied, somewhat cuttingly, “you would + probably suggest a lot of little things which would make everything very + easy for her.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd try to,” he answered, without getting in the least angry. + </p> + <p> + Although I felt annoyed that he had suggested it, still I made up my mind + that Euphemia must have a servant. + </p> + <p> + She agreed quite readily when I proposed the plan, and she urged me to go + and see the carpenter that very day, and get him to come and partition off + a little room for the girl. + </p> + <p> + It was some time, of course, before the room was made (for who ever heard + of a carpenter coming at the very time he was wanted?) and, when it was + finished, Euphemia occupied all her spare moments in getting it in nice + order for the servant when she should come. I thought she was taking too + much trouble, but she had her own ideas about such things. + </p> + <p> + “If a girl is lodged like a pig, you must expect her to behave like a pig, + and I don't want that kind.” + </p> + <p> + So she put up pretty curtains at the girl's window, and with a box that + she stood on end, and some old muslin and a lot of tacks, she made a + toilet-table so neat and convenient that I thought she ought to take it + into our room and give the servant our wash-stand. + </p> + <p> + But all this time we had no girl, and as I had made up my mind about the + matter, I naturally grew impatient, and at last I determined to go and get + a girl myself. + </p> + <p> + So, one day at lunch-time, I went to an intelligence office in the city. + There I found a large room on the second floor, and some ladies, and one + or two men, sitting about, and a small room, back of it, crowded with + girls from eighteen to sixty-eight years old. There were also girls upon + the stairs, and girls in the hall below, besides some girls standing on + the sidewalk before the door. + </p> + <p> + When I made known my business and had paid my fee, one of the several + proprietors who were wandering about the front room went into the back + apartment and soon returned with a tall Irishwoman with a bony + weather-beaten face and a large weather-beaten shawl. This woman was told + to take a chair by my side. Down sat the huge creature and stared at me. I + did not feel very easy under her scrutinizing gaze, but I bore it as best + I could, and immediately began to ask her all the appropriate questions + that I could think of. Some she answered satisfactorily, and some she + didn't answer at all; but as soon as I made a pause, she began to put + questions herself. + </p> + <p> + “How many servants do you kape?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + I answered that we intended to get along with one, and if she understood + her business, I thought she would find her work very easy, and the place a + good one. + </p> + <p> + She turned sharp upon me and said: + </p> + <p> + “Have ye stationary wash-tubs?” + </p> + <p> + I hesitated. I knew our wash-tubs were not stationary, for I had helped to + carry them about. But they might be screwed fast and made stationary if + that was an important object. But, before making this answer, I thought of + the great conveniences for washing presented by our residence, surrounded + as it was, at high tide, by water. + </p> + <p> + “Why, we live in a stationary wash-tub,” I said, smiling. + </p> + <p> + The woman looked at me steadfastly for a minute, and then she rose to her + feet. Then she called out, as if she were crying fish or strawberries: + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Blaine!” + </p> + <p> + The female keeper of the intelligence office, and the male keeper, and a + thin clerk, and all the women in the back room, and all the patrons in the + front room, jumped up and gathered around us. + </p> + <p> + Astonished and somewhat disconcerted, I rose to my feet and confronted the + tall Irishwoman, and stood smiling in an uncertain sort of a way, as if it + were all very funny; but I couldn't see the point. I think I must have + impressed the people with the idea that I wished I hadn't come. + </p> + <p> + “He says,” exclaimed the woman, as if some other huckster were crying fish + on the other side of the street—“he says he lives in a wash-toob.” + </p> + <p> + “He's crazy!” ejaculated Mrs. Blaine, with an air that indicated + “policeman” as plainly as if she had put her thought into words. + </p> + <p> + A low murmur ran through the crowd of women, while the thin clerk edged + toward the door. + </p> + <p> + I saw there was no time to lose. I stepped back a little from the tall + savage, who was breathing like a hot-air engine in front of me, and made + my explanations to the company. I told the tale of “Rudder Grange,” and + showed them how it was like to a stationary wash-tub—at certain + stages of the tide. + </p> + <p> + I was listened to with great attention. When I had finished, the tall + woman turned around and faced the assemblage. + </p> + <p> + “An' he wants a cook to make soup! In a canal-boat!” said she, and off she + marched into the back-room, followed closely by all the other women. + </p> + <p> + “I don't think we have any one here who would suit you,” said Mrs. Blaine. + </p> + <p> + I didn't think so either. What on earth would Euphemia have done with that + volcanic Irishwoman in her little kitchen! I took up my hat and bade Mrs. + Blaine good morning. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning,” said she, with a distressing smile. + </p> + <p> + She had one of those mouths that look exactly like a gash in the face. + </p> + <p> + I went home without a girl. In a day or two Euphemia came to town and got + one. Apparently she got her without any trouble, but I am not sure. + </p> + <p> + She went to a “Home”—Saint Somebody's Home—a place where they + keep orphans to let, so to speak. Here Euphemia selected a light-haired, + medium-sized orphan, and brought her home. + </p> + <p> + The girl's name was Pomona. Whether or not her parents gave her this name + is doubtful. At any rate, she did not seem quite decided in her mind about + it herself, for she had not been with us more than two weeks before she + expressed a desire to be called Clare. This longing of her heart, however, + was denied her. So Euphemia, who was always correct, called her Pomona. I + did the same whenever I could think not to say Bologna—which seemed + to come very pat for some reason or other. + </p> + <p> + As for the boarder, he generally called her Altoona, connecting her in + some way with the process of stopping for refreshments, in which she was + an adept. + </p> + <p> + She was an earnest, hearty girl. She was always in a good humor, and when + I asked her to do anything, she assented in a bright, cheerful way, and in + a loud tone full of good-fellowship, as though she would say: + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, my high old cock! To be sure I will. Don't worry about it—give + your mind no more uneasiness on that subject. I'll bring the hot water.” + </p> + <p> + She did not know very much, but she was delighted to learn, and she was + very strong. Whatever Euphemia told her to do, she did instantly with a + bang. What pleased her better than anything else was to run up and down + the gang-plank, carrying buckets of water to water the garden. She + delighted in out-door work, and sometimes dug so vigorously in our garden + that she brought up pieces of the deck-planking with every shovelful. + </p> + <p> + Our boarder took the greatest interest in her, and sometimes watched her + movements so intently that he let his pipe go out. + </p> + <p> + “What a whacking girl that would be to tread out grapes in the vineyards + of Italy! She'd make wine cheap,” he once remarked. + </p> + <p> + “Then I'm glad she isn't there,” said Euphemia, “for wine oughtn't to be + cheap.” + </p> + <p> + Euphemia was a thorough little temperance woman. + </p> + <p> + The one thing about Pomona that troubled me more than anything else was + her taste for literature. It was not literature to which I objected, but + her very peculiar taste. She would read in the kitchen every night after + she had washed the dishes, but if she had not read aloud, it would not + have made so much difference to me. But I am naturally very sensitive to + external impressions, and I do not like the company of people who, like + our girl, cannot read without pronouncing in a measured and distinct voice + every word of what they are reading. And when the matter thus read appeals + to one's every sentiment of aversion, and there is no way of escaping it, + the case is hard indeed. + </p> + <p> + From the first, I felt inclined to order Pomona, if she could not attain + the power of silent perusal, to cease from reading altogether; but + Euphemia would not hear to this. + </p> + <p> + “Poor thing!” said she; “it would be cruel to take from her her only + recreation. And she says she can't read any other way. You needn't listen + if you don't want to.” + </p> + <p> + That was all very well in an abstract point of view; but the fact was, + that in practice, the more I didn't want to listen, the more I heard. + </p> + <p> + As the evenings were often cool, we sat in our dining-room, and the + partition between this room and the kitchen seemed to have no influence + whatever in arresting sound. So that when I was trying to read or to + reflect, it was by no means exhilarating to my mind to hear from the next + room that: + </p> + <p> + “The la dy ce sel i a now si zed the weep on and all though the boor ly + vil ly an re tain ed his vy gor ous hold she drew the blade through his + fin gers and hoorl ed it far be hind her dryp ping with jore.” + </p> + <p> + This sort of thing, kept up for an hour or so at a time, used to drive me + nearly wild. But Euphemia did not mind it. I believe that she had so + delicate a sense of what was proper, that she did not hear Pomona's + private readings. + </p> + <p> + On one occasion, even Euphemia's influence could scarcely restrain me from + violent interference. + </p> + <p> + It was our boarder's night out (when he was detained in town by his + business), and Pomona was sitting up to let him in. This was necessary, + for our front-door (or main-hatchway) had no night-latch, but was fastened + by means of a bolt. Euphemia and I used to sit up for him, but that was + earlier in the season, when it was pleasant to be out on deck until quite + a late hour. But Pomona never objected to sitting (or getting) up late, + and so we allowed this weekly duty to devolve on her. + </p> + <p> + On this particular night I was very tired and sleepy, and soon after I got + into bed I dropped into a delightful slumber. But it was not long before I + was awakened by the fact that: + </p> + <p> + “Sa rah did not fl inch but gras ped the heat ed i ron in her un in jur ed + hand and when the ra bid an i mal a proach ed she thr ust the lur id po + ker in his—” + </p> + <p> + “My conscience!” said I to Euphemia, “can't that girl be stopped?” + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn't have her sit there and do nothing, would you?” said she. + </p> + <p> + “No; but she needn't read out that way.” + </p> + <p> + “She can't read any other way,” said Euphemia, drowsily. + </p> + <p> + “Yell af ter yell res oun ded as he wil dly spr rang—” + </p> + <p> + “I can't stand that, and I won't,” said I. “Why don't she go into the + kitchen?—the dining-room's no place for her.” + </p> + <p> + “She must not sit there,” said Euphemia. “There's a window-pane out. Can't + you cover up your head?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall not be able to breathe if I do; but I suppose that's no matter,” + I replied. + </p> + <p> + The reading continued. + </p> + <p> + “Ha, ha! Lord Mar mont thun der ed thou too shalt suf fer all that this + poor—” + </p> + <p> + I sprang out of bed. + </p> + <p> + Euphemia thought I was going for my pistol, and she gave one bound and + stuck her head out of the door. + </p> + <p> + “Pomona, fly!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sma'am,” said Pomona; and she got up and flew—not very fast, I + imagine. Where she flew to I don't know, but she took the lamp with her, + and I could hear distant syllables of agony and blood, until the boarder + came home and Pomona went to bed. + </p> + <p> + I think that this made an impression upon Euphemia, for, although she did + not speak to me upon the subject (or any other) that night, the next time + I heard Pomona reading, the words ran somewhat thus: + </p> + <p> + “The as ton ish ing che ap ness of land is ac count ed for by the want of + home mar kets, of good ro ads and che ap me ans of trans por ta ti on in + ma ny sec ti ons of the State.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. TREATING OF A NOVEL STYLE OF BURGLAR. + </h2> + <p> + I have spoken of my pistol. During the early part of our residence at + Rudder Grange I never thought of such a thing as owning a pistol. + </p> + <p> + But it was different now. I kept a Colt's revolver loaded in the bureau + drawer in our bedroom. + </p> + <p> + The cause of this change was burglars. Not that any of these unpleasant + persons had visited us, but we much feared they would. Several houses in + the vicinity had been entered during the past month, and we could never + tell when our turn would come. + </p> + <p> + To be sure, our boarder suggested that if we were to anchor out a little + further at night, no burglar would risk catching his death of cold by + swimming out to us; but Euphemia having replied that it would be rather + difficult to move a canal-boat every night without paddle-wheels, or + sails, or mules, especially if it were aground, this plan was considered + to be effectually disposed of. + </p> + <p> + So we made up our minds that we must fasten up everything very securely, + and I bought a pistol and two burglar-alarms. One of these I affixed to + the most exposed window, and the other to the door which opened on the + deck. These alarms were very simple affairs, but they were good enough. + When they were properly attached to a window or door, and it was opened, a + little gong sounded like a violently deranged clock, striking all the + hours of the day at once. + </p> + <p> + The window did not trouble us much, but it was rather irksome to have to + make the attachment to the door every night and to take it off every + morning. However, as Euphemia said, it was better to take a little trouble + than to have the house full of burglars, which was true enough. + </p> + <p> + We made all the necessary arrangements in case burglars should make an + inroad upon us. At the first sound of the alarm, Euphemia and the girl + were to lie flat on the floor or get under their beds. Then the boarder + and I were to stand up, back to back, each with pistol in hand, and fire + away, revolving on a common centre the while. In this way, by aiming + horizontally at about four feet from the floor, we could rake the + premises, and run no risk of shooting each other or the women of the + family. + </p> + <p> + To be sure, there were some slight objections to this plan. The boarder's + room was at some distance from ours, and he would probably not hear the + alarm, and the burglars might not be willing to wait while I went forward + and roused him up, and brought him to our part of the house. But this was + a minor difficulty. I had no doubt but that, if it should be necessary, I + could manage to get our boarder into position in plenty of time. + </p> + <p> + It was not very long before there was an opportunity of testing the plan. + </p> + <p> + About twelve o'clock one night one of the alarms (that on the kitchen + window) went off with a whirr and a wild succession of clangs. For a + moment I thought the morning train had arrived, and then I woke up. + Euphemia was already under the bed. + </p> + <p> + I hurried on a few clothes, and then I tried to find the bureau in the + dark. This was not easy, as I lost my bearings entirely. But I found it at + last, got the top drawer open and took out my pistol. Then I slipped out + of the room, hurried up the stairs, opened the door (setting off the alarm + there, by the way), and ran along the deck (there was a cold night wind), + and hastily descended the steep steps that led into the boarder's room. + The door that was at the bottom of the steps was not fastened, and, as I + opened it, a little stray moonlight illumed the room. I hastily stepped to + the bed and shook the boarder by the shoulder. He kept HIS pistol under + his pillow. + </p> + <p> + In an instant he was on his feet, his hand grasped my throat, and the cold + muzzle of his Derringer pistol was at my forehead. It was an awfully big + muzzle, like the mouth of a bottle. + </p> + <p> + I don't know when I lived so long as during the first minute that he held + me thus. + </p> + <p> + “Rascal!” he said. “Do as much as breathe, and I'll pull the trigger.” + </p> + <p> + I didn't breathe. + </p> + <p> + I had an accident insurance on my life. Would it hold good in a case like + this? Or would Euphemia have to go back to her father? + </p> + <p> + He pushed me back into the little patch of moonlight. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! is it you?” he said, relaxing his grasp. “What do you want? A mustard + plaster?” + </p> + <p> + He had a package of patent plasters in his room. You took one and dipped + it in hot water, and it was all ready. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said I, gasping a little. “Burglars.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” he said, and he put down his pistol and put on his clothes. + </p> + <p> + “Come along,” he said, and away we went over the deck. + </p> + <p> + When we reached the stairs all was dark and quiet below. + </p> + <p> + It was a matter of hesitancy as to going down. + </p> + <p> + I started to go down first, but the boarder held me back. + </p> + <p> + “Let me go down,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said I, “my wife is there.” + </p> + <p> + “That's the very reason you should not go,” he said. “She is safe enough + yet, and they would fire only at a man. It would be a bad job for her if + you were killed. I'll go down.” + </p> + <p> + So he went down, slowly and cautiously, his pistol in one hand, and his + life in the other, as it were. + </p> + <p> + When he reached the bottom of the steps I changed my mind. I could not + remain above while the burglar and Euphemia were below, so I followed. + </p> + <p> + The boarder was standing in the middle of the dining-room, into which the + stairs led. I could not see him, but I put my hand against him as I was + feeling my way across the floor. + </p> + <p> + I whispered to him: + </p> + <p> + “Shall we put our backs together and revolve and fire?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he whispered back, “not now; he may be on a shelf by this time, or + under a table. Let's look him up.” + </p> + <p> + I confess that I was not very anxious to look him up, but I followed the + boarder, as he slowly made his way toward the kitchen door. As we opened + the door we instinctively stopped. + </p> + <p> + The window was open, and by the light of the moon that shone in, we saw + the rascal standing on a chair, leaning out of the window, evidently just + ready to escape. Fortunately, we were unheard. + </p> + <p> + “Let's pull him in,” whispered the boarder. + </p> + <p> + “No,” I whispered in reply. “We don't want him in. Let's hoist him out.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” returned the boarder. + </p> + <p> + We laid our pistols on the floor, and softly approached the window. Being + barefooted, out steps were noiseless. + </p> + <p> + “Hoist when I count three,” breathed the boarder into my ear. + </p> + <p> + We reached the chair. Each of us took hold of two of its legs. + </p> + <p> + “One—two—three!” said the boarder, and together we gave a + tremendous lift and shot the wretch out of the window. + </p> + <p> + The tide was high, and there was a good deal of water around the boat. We + heard a rousing splash outside. + </p> + <p> + Now there was no need of silence. + </p> + <p> + “Shall we run on deck and shoot him as he swims?” I cried. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the boarder, “we'll get the boat-hook, and jab him if he tries + to climb up.” + </p> + <p> + We rushed on deck. I seized the boat-hook and looked over the side. But I + saw no one. + </p> + <p> + “He's gone to the bottom!” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “He didn't go very far then,” said the boarder, “for it's not more than + two feet deep there.” + </p> + <p> + Just then our attention was attracted by a voice from the shore. + </p> + <p> + “Will you please let down the gang-plank?” We looked ashore, and there + stood Pomona, dripping from every pore. + </p> + <p> + We spoke no words, but lowered the gangplank. + </p> + <p> + She came aboard. + </p> + <p> + “Good night!” said the boarder, and he went to bed. + </p> + <p> + “Pomona!” said I, “what have you been doing?” + </p> + <p> + “I was a lookin' at the moon, sir, when pop! the chair bounced, and out I + went.” + </p> + <p> + “You shouldn't do that,” I said, sternly. + </p> + <p> + “Some day you'll be drowned. Take off your wet things and go to bed.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sma'am—sir, I mean,” said she, as she went down-stairs. + </p> + <p> + When I reached my room I lighted the lamp, and found Euphemia still under + the bed. + </p> + <p> + “Is it all right?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I answered. “There was no burglar. Pomona fell out of the window.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you get her a plaster?” asked Euphemia, drowsily. + </p> + <p> + “No, she did not need one. She's all right now. Were you worried about me, + dear?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I trusted in you entirely, and I think I dozed a little under the + bed.” + </p> + <p> + In one minute she was asleep. + </p> + <p> + The boarder and I did not make this matter a subject of conversation + afterward, but Euphemia gave the girl a lecture on her careless ways, and + made her take several Dover's powders the next day. + </p> + <p> + An important fact in domestic economy was discovered about this time by + Euphemia and myself. Perhaps we were not the first to discover it, but we + certainly did find it out,—and this fact was, that housekeeping + costs money. At the end of every week we counted up our expenditures—it + was no trouble at all to count up our receipts—and every week the + result was more unsatisfactory. + </p> + <p> + “If we could only get rid of the disagreeable balance that has to be taken + along all the time, and which gets bigger and bigger like a snow-ball, I + think we would find the accounts more satisfactory,” said Euphemia. + </p> + <p> + This was on a Saturday night. We always got our pencils and paper and + money at the end of the week. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said I, with an attempt to appear facetious and unconcerned, “but + it would be all well enough if we could take that snow-ball to the fire + and melt it down.” + </p> + <p> + “But there never is any fire where there are snow-balls,” said Euphemia. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said I, “and that's just the trouble.” + </p> + <p> + It was on the following Thursday, when I came home in the evening, that + Euphemia met me with a glowing face. It rather surprised me to see her + look so happy, for she had been very quiet and preoccupied for the first + part of the week. So much so, indeed, that I had thought of ordering + smaller roasts for a week or two, and taking her to a Thomas Concert with + the money saved. But this evening she looked as if she did not need + Thomas's orchestra. + </p> + <p> + “What makes you so bright, my dear?” said I, when I had greeted her. “Has + anything jolly happened?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said she; “nothing yet, but I am going to make a fire to melt + snow-balls.” + </p> + <p> + Of course I was very anxious to know how she was going to do it, but she + would not tell me. It was a plan that she intended to keep to herself + until she saw how it worked. I did not press her, because she had so few + secrets, and I did not hear anything about this plan until it had been + carried out. + </p> + <p> + Her scheme was as follows: After thinking over our financial condition and + puzzling her brain to find out some way of bettering it, she had come to + the conclusion that she would make some money by her own exertions, to + help defray our household expenses. She never had made any money, but that + was no reason why she should not begin. It was too bad that I should have + to toil and toil and not make nearly enough money after all. So she would + go to work and earn something with her own hands. + </p> + <p> + She had heard of an establishment in the city, where ladies of limited + means, or transiently impecunious, could, in a very quiet and private way, + get sewing to do. They could thus provide for their needs without any one + but the officers of the institution knowing anything about it. + </p> + <p> + So Euphemia went to this place, and she got some work. It was not a very + large bundle, but it was larger than she had been accustomed to carry, + and, what was perfectly dreadful, it was wrapped up in a newspaper! When + Euphemia told me the story, she said that this was too much for her + courage. She could not go on the cars, and perhaps meet people belonging + to our church, with a newspaper bundle under her arm. + </p> + <p> + But her genius for expedients saved her from this humiliation. She had to + purchase some sewing-cotton, and some other little things, and when she + had bought them, she handed her bundle to the woman behind the counter, + and asked her if she would not be so good as to have that wrapped up with + the other things. It was a good deal to ask, she knew, and the woman + smiled, for the articles she had bought would not make a package as large + as her hand. However, her request was complied with, and she took away a + very decent package, with the card of the store stamped on the outside. I + suppose that there are not more than half a dozen people in this country + who would refuse Euphemia anything that she would be willing to ask for. + </p> + <p> + So she took the work home, and she labored faithfully at it for about a + week, She did not suppose it would take her so long; but she was not used + to such very plain sewing, and was much afraid that she would not do it + neatly enough. Besides this, she could only work on it in the daytime—when + I was away—and was, of course, interrupted a great deal by her + ordinary household duties, and the necessity of a careful oversight of + Pomona's somewhat erratic methods of doing her work. + </p> + <p> + But at last she finished the job and took it into the city. She did not + want to spend any more money on the trip than was absolutely necessary, + and so was very glad to find that she had a remnant of pocket-money + sufficient to pay her fare both ways. + </p> + <p> + When she reached the city, she walked up to the place where her work was + to be delivered, and found it much farther when she went on foot than it + had seemed to her riding in the street cars. She handed over her bundle to + the proper person, and, as it was soon examined and approved, she received + her pay therefor. + </p> + <p> + It amounted to sixty cents. She had made no bargain, but she was a little + astonished. However, she said nothing, but left the place without asking + for any more work. In fact she forgot all about it. She had an idea that + everything was all wrong, and that idea engrossed her mind entirely. There + was no mistake about the sum paid, for the lady clerk had referred to the + printed table of prices when she calculated the amount due. But something + was wrong, and, at the moment, Euphemia could not tell what it was. She + left the place, and started to walk back to the ferry. But she was so + tired and weak, and hungry—it was now an hour or two past her + regular luncheon time—that she thought she should faint if she did + not go somewhere and get some refreshments. + </p> + <p> + So, like a sensible little woman as she was, she went into a restaurant. + She sat down at a table, and a waiter came to her to see what she would + have. She was not accustomed to eating-houses, and perhaps this was the + first time that she had ever visited one alone. What she wanted was + something simple. So she ordered a cup of tea and some rolls, and a piece + of chicken. The meal was a very good one, and Euphemia enjoyed it. When + she had finished, she went up to the counter to settle. Her bill was sixty + cents. She paid the money that she had just received, and walked down to + the ferry—all in a daze, she said. When she got home she thought it + over, and then she cried. + </p> + <p> + After a while she dried her eyes, and when I came home she told me all + about it. + </p> + <p> + “I give it up,” she said. “I don't believe I can help you any.” + </p> + <p> + Poor little thing! I took her in my arms and comforted her, and before + bedtime I had convinced her that she was fully able to help me better than + any one else on earth, and that without puzzling her brains about + business, or wearing herself out by sewing for pay. + </p> + <p> + So we went on in our old way, and by keeping our attention on our weekly + balance, we prevented it from growing very rapidly. + </p> + <p> + We fell back on our philosophy (it was all the capital we had), and became + as calm and contented as circumstances allowed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. POMONA PRODUCES A PARTIAL REVOLUTION IN RUDDER GRANGE. + </h2> + <p> + Euphemia began to take a great deal of comfort in her girl. Every evening + she had some new instance to relate of Pomona's inventive abilities and + aptness in adapting herself to the peculiarities of our method of + housekeeping. + </p> + <p> + “Only to think!” said she, one afternoon, “Pomona has just done another + VERY smart thing. You know what a trouble it has always been for us to + carry all our waste water upstairs, and throw it over the bulwarks. Well, + she has remedied all that. She has cut a nice little low window in the + side of the kitchen, and has made a shutter of the piece she cut out, with + leather hinges to it, and now she can just open this window, throw the + water out, shut it again, and there it is! I tell you she's smart.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; there is no doubt of that,” I said; “but I think that there is + danger of her taking more interest in such extraordinary and novel duties + than in the regular work of the house.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, don't discourage the girl, my dear,” she said, “for she is of the + greatest use to me, and I don't want you to be throwing cold water about + like some people.” + </p> + <p> + “Not even if I throw it out of Pomona's little door, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “No. Don't throw it at all. Encourage people. What would the world be if + everybody chilled our aspirations and extraordinary efforts? Like Fulton's + steamboat.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” I said; “I'll not discourage her.” + </p> + <p> + It was now getting late in the season. It was quite too cool to sit out on + deck in the evening, and our garden began to look desolate. + </p> + <p> + Our boarder had wheeled up a lot of fresh earth, and had prepared a large + bed, in which he had planted turnips. They made an excellent fall crop, he + assured us. + </p> + <p> + From being simply cool it began to be rainy, and the weather grew + decidedly unpleasant. But our boarder bade us take courage. This was + probably the “equinoctial,” and when it was over there would be a + delightful Indian summer, and the turnips would grow nicely. + </p> + <p> + This sounded very well, but the wind blew up cold at night, and there was + a great deal of unpleasant rain. + </p> + <p> + One night it blew what Pomona called a “whirlicane,” and we went to bed + very early to keep warm. We heard our boarder on deck in the garden after + we were in bed, and Euphemia said she could not imagine what he was about, + unless he was anchoring his turnips to keep them from blowing away. + </p> + <p> + During the night I had a dream. I thought I was a boy again, and was + trying to stand upon my head, a feat for which I had been famous. But + instead of throwing myself forward on my hands, and then raising my heels + backward over my head, in the orthodox manner, I was on my back, and + trying to get on my head from that position. I awoke suddenly, and found + that the footboard of the bedstead was much higher than our heads. We were + lying on a very much inclined plane, with our heads downward. I roused + Euphemia, and we both got out of bed, when, at almost the same moment, we + slipped down the floor into ever so much water. + </p> + <p> + Euphemia was scarcely awake, and she fell down gurgling. It was dark, but + I heard her fall, and I jumped over the bedstead to her assistance. I had + scarcely raised her up, when I heard a pounding at the front door or + main-hatchway, and our boarder shouted: + </p> + <p> + “Get up! Come out of that! Open the door! The old boat's turning over!” + </p> + <p> + My heart fell within me, but I clutched Euphemia. I said no word, and she + simply screamed. I dragged her over the floor, sometimes in the water and + sometimes out of it. I got the dining-room door open and set her on the + stairs. They were in a topsy-turvy condition, but they were dry. I found a + lantern which hung on a nail, with a match-box under it, and I struck a + light. Then I scrambled back and brought her some clothes. + </p> + <p> + All this time the boarder was yelling and pounding at the door. When + Euphemia was ready I opened the door and took her out. + </p> + <p> + “You go dress yourself;” said the boarder. “I'll hold her here until you + come back.” + </p> + <p> + I left her and found my clothes (which, chair and all, had tumbled against + the foot of the bed and so had not gone into the water), and soon + reappeared on deck. The wind was blowing strongly, but it did not now seem + to be very cold. The deck reminded me of the gang-plank of a Harlem + steamboat at low tide. It was inclined at an angle of more than forty-five + degrees, I am sure. There was light enough for us to see about us, but the + scene and all the dreadful circumstances made me feel the most intense + desire to wake up and find it all a dream. There was no doubt, however, + about the boarder being wide awake. + </p> + <p> + “Now then,” said he, “take hold of her on that side and we'll help her + over here. You scramble down on that side; it's all dry just there. The + boat's turned over toward the water, and I'll lower her down to you. I'll + let a rope over the sides. You can hold on to that as you go down.” + </p> + <p> + I got over the bulwarks and let myself down to the ground. Then the + boarder got Euphemia up and slipped her over the side, holding to her + hands, and letting her gently down until I could reach her. She said never + a word, but screamed at times. I carried her a little way up the shore and + set her down. I wanted to take her up to a house near by, where we bought + our milk, but she declined to go until we had saved Pomona. + </p> + <p> + So I went back to the boat, having carefully wrapped up Euphemia, to + endeavor to save the girl. I found that the boarder had so arranged the + gang-plank that it was possible, without a very great exercise of agility, + to pass from the shore to the boat. When I first saw him, on reaching the + shelving deck, he was staggering up the stairs with a dining-room chair + and a large framed engraving of Raphael's Dante—an ugly picture, but + full of true feeling; at least so Euphemia always declared, though I am + not quite sure that I know what she meant. + </p> + <p> + “Where is Pomona?” I said, endeavoring to stand on the hill-side of the + deck. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” said he, “but we must get the things out. The tide's + rising and the wind's getting up. The boat will go over before we know + it.” + </p> + <p> + “But we must find the girl,” I said. “She can't be left to drown.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think it would matter much,” said he, getting over the side of + the boat with his awkward load. “She would be of about as much use drowned + as any other way. If it hadn't been for that hole she cut in the side of + the boat, this would never have happened.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't think it was that!” I said, holding the picture and the chair + while he let himself down to the gang-plank. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it was,” he replied. “The tide's very high, and the water got over + that hole and rushed in. The water and the wind will finish this old craft + before very long.” + </p> + <p> + And then he took his load from me and dashed down the gang-plank. I went + below to look for Pomona. The lantern still hung on the nail, and I took + it down and went into the kitchen. There was Pomona, dressed, and with her + hat on, quietly packing some things in a basket. + </p> + <p> + “Come, hurry out of this,” I cried. “Don't you know that this house—this + boat, I mean, is a wreck?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sma'am—sir, I mean—I know it, and I suppose we shall + soon be at the mercy of the waves.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, go as quickly as you can. What are you putting in that + basket?” + </p> + <p> + “Food,” she said. “We may need it.” + </p> + <p> + I took her by the shoulder and hurried her on deck, over the bulwark, down + the gang-plank, and so on to the place where I had left Euphemia. + </p> + <p> + I found the dear girl there, quiet and collected, all up in a little + bunch, to shield herself from the wind. I wasted no time, but hurried the + two women over to the house of our milk-merchant. There, with some + difficulty, I roused the good woman, and after seeing Euphemia and Pomona + safely in the house, I left them to tell the tale, and ran back to the + boat. + </p> + <p> + The boarder was working like a Trojan. He had already a pile of our + furniture on the beach. + </p> + <p> + I set about helping him, and for an hour we labored at this hasty and + toilsome moving. It was indeed a toilsome business. The floors were + shelving, the stairs leaned over sideways, ever so far, and the gang-plank + was desperately short and steep. + </p> + <p> + Still, we saved quite a number of household articles. Some things we broke + and some we forgot, and some things were too big to move in this way; but + we did very well, considering the circumstances. + </p> + <p> + The wind roared, the tide rose, and the boat groaned and creaked. We were + in the kitchen, trying to take the stove apart (the boarder was sure we + could carry it up, if we could get the pipe out and the legs and doors + off), when we heard a crash. We rushed on deck and found that the garden + had fallen in! Making our way as well as we could toward the gaping rent + in the deck, we saw that the turnip-bed had gone down bodily into the + boarder's room. He did not hesitate, but scrambled down his narrow stairs. + I followed him. He struck a match that he had in his pocket, and lighted a + little lantern that hung under the stairs. His room was a perfect rubbish + heap. The floor, bed, chairs, pitcher, basin—everything was covered + or filled with garden mold and turnips. Never did I behold such a scene. + He stood in the midst of it, holding his lantern high above his head. At + length he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “If we had time,” he said, “we might come down here and pick out a lot of + turnips.” + </p> + <p> + “But how about your furniture?” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's ruined!” he replied. + </p> + <p> + So we did not attempt to save any of it, but we got hold of his trunk and + carried that on shore. + </p> + <p> + When we returned, we found that the water was pouring through his + partition, making the room a lake of mud. And, as the water was rising + rapidly below, and the boat was keeling over more and more, we thought it + was time to leave, and we left. + </p> + <p> + It would not do to go far away from our possessions, which were piled up + in a sad-looking heap on the shore; and so, after I had gone over to the + milk-woman's to assure Euphemia of our safety, the boarder and I passed + the rest of the night—there was not much of it left—in walking + up and down the beach smoking some cigars which he fortunately had in his + pocket. + </p> + <p> + In the morning I took Euphemia to the hotel, about a mile away—and + arranged for the storage of our furniture there, until we could find + another habitation. This habitation, we determined, was to be in a + substantial house, or part of a house, which should not be affected by the + tides. + </p> + <p> + During the morning the removal of our effects was successfully + accomplished, and our boarder went to town to look for a furnished room. + He had nothing but his trunk to take to it. + </p> + <p> + In the afternoon I left Euphemia at the hotel, where she was taking a nap + (she certainly needed it, for she had spent the night in a wooden + rocking-chair at the milk-woman's), and I strolled down to the river to + take a last look at the remains of old Rudder Grange. + </p> + <p> + I felt sadly enough as I walked along the well-worn path to the + canal-boat, and thought how it had been worn by my feet more than any + other's, and how gladly I had walked that way, so often during that + delightful summer. I forgot all that had been disagreeable, and thought + only of the happy times we had had. + </p> + <p> + It was a beautiful autumn afternoon, and the wind had entirely died away. + When I came within sight of our old home, it presented a doleful + appearance. The bow had drifted out into the river, and was almost + entirely under water. The stern stuck up in a mournful and ridiculous + manner, with its keel, instead of its broadside, presented to the view of + persons on the shore. As I neared the boat I heard a voice. I stopped and + listened. There was no one in sight. Could the sounds come from the boat? + I concluded that it must be so, and I walked up closer. Then I heard + distinctly the words: + </p> + <p> + “He grasp ed her by the thro at and yell ed, swear to me thou nev er wilt + re veal my se cret, or thy hot heart's blood shall stain this mar bel fib + or; she gave one gry vy ous gasp and—” + </p> + <p> + It was Pomona! + </p> + <p> + Doubtless she had climbed up the stern of the boat and had descended into + the depths of the wreck to rescue her beloved book, the reading of which + had so long been interrupted by my harsh decrees. Could I break in on this + one hour of rapture? I had not the heart to do it, and as I slowly moved + away, there came to me the last words that I ever heard from Rudder + Grange: + </p> + <p> + “And with one wild shry ik to heav en her heart's blo od spat ter ed that + prynce ly home of woe—” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. THE NEW RUDDER GRANGE. + </h2> + <p> + I have before given an account of the difficulties we encountered when we + started out house-hunting, and it was this doleful experience which made + Euphemia declare that before we set out on a second search for a + residence, we should know exactly what we wanted. + </p> + <p> + To do this, we must know how other people live, we must examine into the + advantages and disadvantages of the various methods of housekeeping, and + make up our minds on the subject. + </p> + <p> + When we came to this conclusion we were in a city boarding-house, and were + entirely satisfied that this style of living did not suit us at all. + </p> + <p> + At this juncture I received a letter from the gentleman who had boarded + with us on the canal-boat. Shortly after leaving us the previous fall, he + had married a widow lady with two children, and was now keeping house in a + French flat in the upper part of the city. We had called upon the happy + couple soon after their marriage, and the letter, now received, contained + an invitation for us to come and dine, and spend the night. + </p> + <p> + “We'll go,” said Euphemia. “There's nothing I want so much as to see how + people keep house in a French flat. Perhaps we'll like it. And I must see + those children.” So we went. + </p> + <p> + The house, as Euphemia remarked, was anything but flat. It was very tall + indeed—the tallest house in the neighborhood. We entered the + vestibule, the outer door being open, and beheld, on one side of us, a row + of bell-handles. Above each of these handles was the mouth of a + speaking-tube, and above each of these, a little glazed frame containing a + visiting-card. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't this cute?” said Euphemia, reading over the cards. “Here's his name + and this is his bell and tube! Which would you do first, ring or blow?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” said I, “you don't blow up those tubes. We must ring the bell, + just as if it were an ordinary front-door bell, and instead of coming to + the door, some one will call down the tube to us.” + </p> + <p> + I rang the bell under the boarder's name, and very soon a voice at the + tube said: + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + Then I told our names, and in an instant the front door opened. + </p> + <p> + “Why, their flat must be right here,” whispered Euphemia. “How quickly the + girl came!” + </p> + <p> + And she looked for the girl as we entered. But there was no one there. + </p> + <p> + “Their flat is on the fifth story,” said I. “He mentioned that in his + letter. We had better shut the door and go up.” + </p> + <p> + Up and up the softly carpeted stairs we climbed, and not a soul we saw or + heard. + </p> + <p> + “It is like an enchanted cavern,” said Euphemia. “You say the magic word, + the door in the rock opens and you go on, and on, through the vaulted + passages—” + </p> + <p> + “Until you come to the ogre,” said the boarder, who was standing at the + top of the stairs. He did not behave at all like an ogre, for he was very + glad to see us, and so was his wife. After we had settled down in the + parlor and the boarder's wife had gone to see about something concerning + the dinner, Euphemia asked after the children. + </p> + <p> + “I hope they haven't gone to bed,” she said, “for I do so want to see the + dear little things.” + </p> + <p> + The ex-boarder, as Euphemia called him, smiled grimly. + </p> + <p> + “They're not so very little,” he said. “My wife's son is nearly grown. He + is at an academy in Connecticut, and he expects to go into a civil + engineer's office in the spring. His sister is older than he is. My wife + married—in the first instance—when she was very young—very + young in deed.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Euphemia; and then, after a pause, “And neither of them is at + home now?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the ex-boarder. “By the way, what do you think of this dado? It + is a portable one; I devised it myself. You can take it away with you to + another house when you move. But there is the dinner-bell. I'll show you + over the establishment after we have had something to eat.” + </p> + <p> + After our meal we made a tour of inspection. The flat, which included the + whole floor, contained nine or ten rooms, of all shapes and sizes. The + corners in some of the rooms were cut off and shaped up into closets and + recesses, so that Euphemia said the corners of every room were in some + other room. + </p> + <p> + Near the back of the flat was a dumb-waiter, with bells and + speaking-tubes. When the butcher, the baker, or the kerosene-lamp maker, + came each morning, he rang the bell, and called up the tube to know what + was wanted. The order was called down, and he brought the things in the + afternoon. + </p> + <p> + All this greatly charmed Euphemia. It was so cute, so complete. There were + no interviews with disagreeable trades-people, none of the ordinary + annoyances of housekeeping. Everything seemed to be done with a bell, a + speaking-tube or a crank. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed,” said the ex-boarder, “if it were not for people tripping over + the wires, I could rig up attachments by which I could sit in the parlor, + and by using pedals and a key-board, I could do all the work of this house + without getting out of my easy-chair.” + </p> + <p> + One of the most peculiar features of the establishment was the servant's + room. This was at the rear end of the floor, and as there was not much + space left after the other rooms had been made, it was very small; so + small, indeed, that it would accommodate only a very short bedstead. This + made it necessary for our friends to consider the size of the servant when + they engaged her. + </p> + <p> + “There were several excellent girls at the intelligence office where I + called,” said the ex-boarder, “but I measured them, and they were all too + tall. So we had to take a short one, who is only so so. There was one big + Scotch girl who was the very person for us, and I would have taken her if + my wife had not objected to my plan for her accommodation. + </p> + <p> + “What was that?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said he, “I first thought of cutting a hole in the partition wall + at the foot of the bed, for her to put her feet through.” + </p> + <p> + “Never!” said his wife, emphatically. “I would never have allowed that.” + </p> + <p> + “And then,” continued he, “I thought of turning the bed around, and + cutting a larger hole, through which she might have put her head into the + little room on this side. A low table could have stood under the hole, and + her head might have rested on a cushion on the table very comfortably.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” said his wife, “it would have frightened me to death to go into + that room and see that head on a cushion on a table—” + </p> + <p> + “Like John the Baptist,” interrupted Euphemia. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said our ex-boarder, “the plan would have had its advantages.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” cried Euphemia, looking out of a back window. “What a lovely little + iron balcony! Do you sit out there on warm evenings?” + </p> + <p> + “That's a fire-escape,” said the ex-boarder. “We don't go out there unless + it is very hot indeed, on account of the house being on fire. You see + there is a little door in the floor of the balcony and an iron ladder + leading to the balcony beneath, and so on, down to the first story.” + </p> + <p> + “And you have to creep through that hole and go down that dreadful steep + ladder every time there is a fire?” said Euphemia. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I guess we would never go down but once,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed,” said Euphemia; “you'd fall down and break your neck the + first time,” and she turned away from the window with a very grave + expression on her face. + </p> + <p> + Soon after this our hostess conducted Euphemia to the guest-chamber, while + her husband and I finished a bed-time cigar. + </p> + <p> + When I joined Euphemia in her room, she met me with a mysterious + expression on her face. She shut the door, and then said in a very earnest + tone: + </p> + <p> + “Do you see that little bedstead in the corner? I did not notice it until + I came in just now, and then, being quite astonished, I said, 'Why here's + a child's bed; who sleeps here?' 'Oh,' says she, 'that's our little + Adele's bedstead. We have it in our room when she's here.' 'Little Adele!' + said I, 'I didn't know she was little—not small enough for that bed, + at any rate.' 'Why, yes,' said she, 'Adele is only four years old. The + bedstead is quite large enough for her.' 'And she is not here now?' I + said, utterly amazed at all this. 'No,' she answered, 'she is not here + now, but we try to have her with us as much as we can, and always keep her + little bed ready for her.' 'I suppose she's with her father's people,' I + said, and she answered, 'Oh yes,' and bade me good-night. What does all + this mean? Our boarder told us that the daughter is grown up, and here his + wife declares that she is only four years old! I don't know what in the + world to make of this mystery!” + </p> + <p> + I could give Euphemia no clue. I supposed there was some mistake, and that + was all I could say, except that I was sleepy, and that we could find out + all about it in the morning. But Euphemia could not dismiss the subject + from her mind. She said no more,—but I could see—until I fell + asleep—that she was thinking about it. + </p> + <p> + It must have been about the middle of the night, perhaps later, when I was + suddenly awakened by Euphemia starting up in the bed, with the + exclamation: + </p> + <p> + “I have it!” + </p> + <p> + “What?” I cried, sitting up in a great hurry. “What is it? What have you + got? What's the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “I know it!” she said, “I know it. Our boarder is a GRANDFATHER! Little + Adele is the grown-up daughter's child. He was quite particular to say + that his wife married VERY young. Just to think of it! So short a time + ago, he was living with us—a bachelor—and now, in four short + months, he is a grandfather!” + </p> + <p> + Carefully propounded inquiries, in the morning, proved Euphemia's + conclusions to be correct. + </p> + <p> + The next evening, when we were quietly sitting in our own room, Euphemia + remarked that she did not wish to have anything to do with French flats. + </p> + <p> + “They seem to be very convenient,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, convenient enough, but I don't like them. I would hate to live + where everything let down like a table-lid, or else turned with a crank. + And when I think of those fire-escapes, and the boarder's grandchild, it + makes me feel very unpleasantly.” + </p> + <p> + “But the grandchild don't follow as a matter of course,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she answered, “but I shall never like French flats.” + </p> + <p> + And we discussed them no more. + </p> + <p> + For some weeks we examined into every style of economic and respectable + housekeeping, and many methods of living in what Euphemia called + “imitation comfort” were set aside as unworthy of consideration. + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” said Euphemia, one evening, “what we really ought to do is to + build. Then we would have exactly the house we want.” + </p> + <p> + “Very true,” I replied; “but to build a house, a man must have money.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no!” said she, “or at least not much. For one thing, you might join a + building association. In some of those societies I know that you only have + to pay a dollar a week.” + </p> + <p> + “But do you suppose the association builds houses for all its members?” I + asked. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I suppose so. Else why is it called a building association?” + </p> + <p> + I had read a good deal about these organizations, and I explained to + Euphemia that a dollar a week was never received by any of them in payment + for a new house. + </p> + <p> + “Then build yourself,” she said; “I know how that can be done.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's easy enough,” I remarked, “if you have the money.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you needn't have any money,” said Euphemia, rather hastily. “Just let + me show you. Supposing, for instance, that you want to build a house worth—well, + say twenty thousand dollars, in some pretty town near the city.” + </p> + <p> + “I would rather figure on a cheaper house than that for a country place,” + I interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “Well then, say two thousand dollars. You get masons, and carpenters, and + people to dig the cellar, and you engage them to build your house. You + needn't pay them until it's done, of course. Then when it's all finished, + borrow two thousand dollars and give the house as security. After that you + see, you have only to pay the interest on the borrowed money. When you + save enough money to pay back the loan, the house is your own. Now, isn't + that a good plan?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said I, “if there could be found people who would build your house + and wait for their money until some one would lend you its full value on a + mortgage.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Euphemia, “I guess they could be found if you would only look + for them.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll look for them, when I go to heaven,” I said. + </p> + <p> + We gave up for the present, the idea of building or buying a house, and + determined to rent a small place in the country, and then, as Euphemia + wisely said, if we liked it, we might buy it. After she had dropped her + building projects she thought that one ought to know just how a house + would suit before having it on one's hands. + </p> + <p> + We could afford something better than a canal-boat now, and therefore we + were not so restricted as in our first search for a house. But, the one + thing which troubled my wife—and, indeed, caused me much anxious + thought, was that scourge of almost all rural localities—tramps. It + would be necessary for me to be away all day,—and we could not + afford to keep a man,—so we must be careful to get a house somewhere + off the line of ordinary travel, or else in a well-settled neighborhood, + where there would be some one near at hand in case of unruly visitors. + </p> + <p> + “A village I don't like,” said Euphemia: “there is always so much gossip, + and people know all about what you have, and what you do. And yet it would + be very lonely, and perhaps dangerous, for us to live off somewhere, all + by ourselves. And there is another objection to a village. We don't want a + house with a small yard and a garden at the back. We ought to have a dear + little farm, with some fields for corn, and a cow, and a barn and things + of that sort. All that would be lovely. I'll tell you what we want,” she + cried, seized with a sudden inspiration; “we ought to try to get the + end-house of a village. Then our house could be near the neighbors, and + our farm could stretch out a little way into the country beyond us. Let us + fix our minds upon such a house and I believe we can get it.” + </p> + <p> + So we fixed our minds, but in the course of a week or two we unfixed them + several times to allow the consideration of places, which otherwise would + have been out of range; and during one of these intervals of mental + disfixment we took a house. + </p> + <p> + It was not the end-house of a village, but it was in the outskirts of a + very small rural settlement. Our nearest neighbor was within vigorous + shouting distance, and the house suited us so well in other respects, that + we concluded that this would do. The house was small, but large enough. + There were some trees around it, and a little lawn in front. There was a + garden, a small barn and stable, a pasture field, and land enough besides + for small patches of corn and potatoes. The rent was low, the water good, + and no one can imagine how delighted we were. + </p> + <p> + We did not furnish the whole house at first, but what mattered it? We had + no horse or cow, but the pasture and barn were ready for them. We did not + propose to begin with everything at once. + </p> + <p> + Our first evening in that house was made up of hours of unalloyed bliss. + We walked from room to room; we looked out on the garden and the lawn; we + sat on the little porch while I smoked. + </p> + <p> + “We were happy at Rudder Grange,” said Euphemia; “but that was only a + canal-boat, and could not, in the nature of things, have been a permanent + home.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said I, “it could not have been permanent. But, in many respects, it + was a delightful home. The very name of it brings pleasant thoughts.” + </p> + <p> + “It was a nice name,” said Euphemia, “and I'll tell you what we might do: + Let us call this place Rudder Grange—the New Rudder Grange! The name + will do just as well for a house as for a boat.” + </p> + <p> + I agreed on the spot, and the house was christened. + </p> + <p> + Our household was small; we had a servant—a German woman; and we had + ourselves, that was all. + </p> + <p> + I did not do much in the garden; it was too late in the season. The former + occupant had planted some corn and potatoes, with a few other vegetables, + and these I weeded and hoed, working early in the morning and when I came + home in the afternoon. Euphemia tied up the rose-vines, trimmed the + bushes, and with a little rake and hoe she prepared a flower-bed in front + of the parlor-window. This exercise gave us splendid appetites, and we + loved our new home more and more. + </p> + <p> + Our German girl did not suit us exactly at first, and day by day she grew + to suit us less. She was a quiet, kindly, pleasant creature, and delighted + in an out-of-door life. She was as willing to weed in the garden as she + was to cook or wash. At first I was very much pleased with this, because, + as I remarked to Euphemia, you can find very few girls who would be + willing to work in the garden, and she might be made very useful. + </p> + <p> + But, after a time, Euphemia began to get a little out of patience with + her. She worked out-of-doors entirely too much. And what she did there, as + well as some of her work in the house, was very much like certain German + literature—you did not know how it was done, or what it was for. + </p> + <p> + One afternoon I found Euphemia quite annoyed. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” she said, “and see what that girl has been at work at, nearly + all this afternoon. I was upstairs sewing and thought she was ironing. + Isn't it too provoking?” + </p> + <p> + It WAS provoking. The contemplative German had collected a lot of short + ham-bones—where she found them I cannot imagine—and had made + of them a border around my wife's flower-bed. The bones stuck up straight + a few inches above the ground, all along the edge of the bed, and the + marrow cavity of each one was filled with earth in which she had planted + seeds. + </p> + <p> + “'These,' she says, 'will spring up and look beautiful,'” said Euphemia; + “they have that style of thing in her country.” + </p> + <p> + “Then let her take them off with her to her country,” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” said Euphemia, hurriedly, “don't kick them out. It would only + wound her feelings. She did it all for the best, and thought it would + please me to have such a border around my bed. But she is too independent, + and neglects her proper work. I will give her a week's notice and get + another servant. When she goes we can take these horrid bones away. But I + hope nobody will call on us in the meantime.” + </p> + <p> + “Must we keep these things here a whole week?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I can't turn her away without giving her a fair notice. That would be + cruel.” + </p> + <p> + I saw the truth of the remark, and determined to bear with the bones and + her rather than be unkind. + </p> + <p> + That night Euphemia informed the girl of her decision, and the next + morning, soon after I had left, the good German appeared with her bonnet + on and her carpet-bag in her hand, to take leave of her mistress. + </p> + <p> + “What!” cried Euphemia. “You are not going to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “If it is goot to go at all it is goot to go now,” said the girl. + </p> + <p> + “And you will go off and leave me without any one in the house, after my + putting myself out to give you a fair notice? It's shameful!” + </p> + <p> + “I think it is very goot for me to go now,” quietly replied the girl. + “This house is very loneful. I will go to-morrow in the city to see your + husband for my money. Goot morning.” And off she trudged to the station. + </p> + <p> + Before I reached the house that afternoon, Euphemia rushed out to tell + this story. I would not like to say how far I kicked those ham-bones. + </p> + <p> + This German girl had several successors, and some of them suited as badly + and left as abruptly as herself; but Euphemia never forgot the ungrateful + stab given her by this “ham-bone girl,” as she always called her. It was + her first wound of the kind, and it came in the very beginning of the + campaign when she was all unused to this domestic warfare. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. TREATING OF AN UNSUCCESSFUL BROKER AND A DOG. + </h2> + <p> + It was a couple of weeks, or thereabouts, after this episode that Euphemia + came down to the gate to meet me on my return from the city. I noticed a + very peculiar expression on her face. She looked both thoughtful and + pleased. Almost the first words she said to me were these: + </p> + <p> + “A tramp came here to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry to hear that,” I exclaimed. “That's the worst news I have had + yet. I did hope that we were far enough from the line of travel to escape + these scourges. How did you get rid of him? Was he impertinent?” + </p> + <p> + “You must not feel that way about all tramps,” said she. “Sometimes they + are deserving of our charity, and ought to be helped. There is a great + difference in them.” + </p> + <p> + “That may be,” I said; “but what of this one? When was he here, and when + did he go?” + </p> + <p> + “He did not go at all. He is here now.” + </p> + <p> + “Here now!” I cried. “Where is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Do not call out so loud,” said Euphemia, putting her hand on my arm. “You + will waken him. He is asleep.” + </p> + <p> + “Asleep!” said I. “A tramp? Here?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Stop, let me tell you about him. He told me his story, and it is a + sad one. He is a middle-aged man—fifty perhaps—and has been + rich. He was once a broker in Wall street, but lost money by the failure + of various railroads—the Camden and Amboy, for one.” + </p> + <p> + “That hasn't failed,” I interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “Well then it was the Northern Pacific, or some other one of them—at + any rate I know it was either a railroad or a bank,—and he soon + became very poor. He has a son in Cincinnati, who is a successful + merchant, and lives in a fine house, with horses and carriages, and all + that; and this poor man has written to his son, but has never had any + answer. So now he is going to walk to Cincinnati to see him. He knows he + will not be turned away if he can once meet his son, face to face. He was + very tired when he stopped here,—and he has ever and ever so far to + walk yet, you know,—and so after I had given him something to eat, I + let him lie down in the outer kitchen, on that roll of rag-carpet that is + there. I spread it out for him. It is a hard bed for one who has known + comfort, but he seems to sleep soundly.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me see him,” said I, and I walked back to the outer kitchen. + </p> + <p> + There lay the unsuccessful broker fast asleep. His face, which was turned + toward me as I entered, showed that it had been many days since he had + been shaved, and his hair had apparently been uncombed for about the same + length of time. His clothes were very old, and a good deal torn, and he + wore one boot and one shoe. + </p> + <p> + “Whew!” said I. “Have you been giving him whisky?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” whispered Euphemia, “of course not. I noticed that smell, and he + said he had been cleaning his clothes with alcohol.” + </p> + <p> + “They needed it, I'm sure,” I remarked as I turned away. “And now,” said + I, “where's the girl?” + </p> + <p> + “This is her afternoon out. What is the matter? You look frightened.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm not frightened, but I find I must go down to the station again. + Just run up and put on your bonnet. It will be a nice little walk for + you.” + </p> + <p> + I had been rapidly revolving the matter in my mind. What was I to do with + this wretch who was now asleep in my outer kitchen? If I woke him up and + drove him off,—and I might have difficulty in doing it,—there + was every reason to believe that he would not go far, but return at night + and commit some revengeful act. I never saw a more sinister-looking + fellow. And he was certainly drunk. He must not be allowed to wander about + our neighborhood. I would go for the constable and have him arrested. + </p> + <p> + So I locked the door from the kitchen into the house and then the outside + door of the kitchen, and when my wife came down we hurried off. On the way + I told her what I intended to do, and what I thought of our guest. She + answered scarcely a word, and I hoped that she was frightened. I think she + was. + </p> + <p> + The constable, who was also coroner of our township, had gone to a creek, + three miles away, to hold an inquest, and there was nobody to arrest the + man. The nearest police-station was at Hackingford, six miles away, on the + railroad. I held a consultation with the station-master, and the gentleman + who kept the grocery-store opposite. + </p> + <p> + They could think of nothing to be done except to shoot the man, and to + that I objected. + </p> + <p> + “However,” said I, “he can't stay there;” and a happy thought just then + striking me, I called to the boy who drove the village express-wagon, and + engaged him for a job. The wagon was standing at the station, and to save + time, I got in and rode to my house. Euphemia went over to call on the + groceryman's wife until I returned. + </p> + <p> + I had determined that the man should be taken away, although, until I was + riding home, I had not made up my mind where to have him taken. But on the + road I settled this matter. + </p> + <p> + On reaching the house, we drove into the yard as close to the kitchen as + we could go. Then I unlocked the door, and the boy—who was a big, + strapping fellow—entered with me. We found the ex-broker still + wrapped in the soundest slumber. Leaving the boy to watch him, I went + upstairs and got a baggage-tag which I directed to the chief of police at + the police station in Hackingford. I returned to the kitchen and fastened + this tag, conspicuously, on the lapel of the sleeper's coat. Then, with a + clothes-line, I tied him up carefully, hand and foot. To all this he + offered not the slightest opposition. When he was suitably packed, with + due regard to the probable tenderness of wrist and ankle in one brought up + in luxury, the boy and I carried him to the wagon. + </p> + <p> + He was a heavy load, and we may have bumped him a little, but his sleep + was not disturbed. Then we drove him to the express office. This was at + the railroad station, and the station-master was also express agent. At + first he was not inclined to receive my parcel, but when I assured him + that all sorts of live things were sent by express, and that I could see + no reason for making an exception in this case, he added my arguments to + his own disposition, as a house-holder, to see the goods forwarded to + their destination, and so gave me a receipt, and pasted a label on the + ex-broker's shoulder. I set no value on the package, which I prepaid. + </p> + <p> + “Now then,” said the station-master, “he'll go all right, if the express + agent on the train will take him.” + </p> + <p> + This matter was soon settled, for, in a few minutes, the train stopped at + the station. My package was wheeled to the express car, and two porters, + who entered heartily into the spirit of the thing, hoisted it into the + car. The train-agent, who just then noticed the character of the goods, + began to declare that he would not have the fellow in his car; but my + friend the station-master shouted out that everything was all right,—the + man was properly packed, invoiced and paid for, and the train, which was + behind time, moved away before the irate agent could take measures to get + rid of his unwelcome freight. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said I, “there'll be a drunken man at the police-station in + Hackingford in about half-an-hour. His offense will be as evident there as + here, and they can do what they please with him. I shall telegraph, to + explain the matter and prepare them for his arrival.” + </p> + <p> + When I had done this Euphemia and I went home. The tramp had cost me some + money, but I was well satisfied with my evening's work, and felt that the + township owed me, at least, a vote of thanks. + </p> + <p> + But I firmly made up my mind that Euphemia should never again be left + unprotected. I would not even trust to a servant who would agree to have + no afternoons out. I would get a dog. + </p> + <p> + The next day I advertised for a fierce watchdog, and in the course of a + week I got one. Before I procured him I examined into the merits, and + price, of about one hundred dogs. My dog was named Pete, but I determined + to make a change in that respect. He was a very tall, bony, powerful + beast, of a dull black color, and with a lower jaw that would crack the + hind-leg of an ox, so I was informed. He was of a varied breed, and the + good Irishman of whom I bought him said he had fine blood in him, and + attempted to refer him back to the different classes of dogs from which he + had been derived. But after I had had him awhile, I made an analysis based + on his appearance and character, and concluded that he was mainly + blood-hound, shaded with wolf-dog and mastiff, and picked out with touches + of bull-dog. + </p> + <p> + The man brought him home for me, and chained him up in an unused + wood-shed, for I had no doghouse as yet. + </p> + <p> + “Now thin,” said he, “all you've got to do is to keep 'im chained up there + for three or four days till he gets used to ye. An' I'll tell ye the best + way to make a dog like ye. Jist give him a good lickin'. Then he'll know + yer his master, and he'll like ye iver aftherward. There's plenty of + people that don't know that. And, by the way, sir, that chain's none too + strong for 'im. I got it when he wasn't mor'n half grown. Ye'd bether git + him a new one.” + </p> + <p> + When the man had gone, I stood and looked at the dog, and could not help + hoping that he would learn to like me without the intervention of a + thrashing. Such harsh methods were not always necessary, I felt sure. + </p> + <p> + After our evening meal—a combination of dinner and supper, of which + Euphemia used to say that she did not know whether to call it dinper or + supner—we went out together to look at our new guardian. + </p> + <p> + Euphemia was charmed with him. + </p> + <p> + “How massive!” she exclaimed. “What splendid limbs! And look at that + immense head! I know I shall never be afraid now. I feel that that is a + dog I can rely upon. Make him stand up, please, so I can see how tall he + is.” + </p> + <p> + “I think it would be better not to disturb him,” I answered, “he may be + tired. He will get up of his own accord very soon. And indeed I hope that + he will not get up until I go to the store and get him a new chain.” + </p> + <p> + As I said this I made a step forward to look at his chain, and at that + instant a low growl, like the first rumblings of an earthquake, ran + through the dog. + </p> + <p> + I stepped back again and walked over to the village for the chain. The + dog-chains shown me at the store all seemed too short and too weak, and I + concluded to buy two chains such as used for hitching horses and to join + them so as to make a long as well as a strong one of them. I wanted him to + be able to come out of the wood-shed when it should be necessary to show + himself. + </p> + <p> + On my way home with my purchase the thought suddenly struck me, How will + you put that chain on your dog? The memory of the rumbling growl was still + vivid. + </p> + <p> + I never put the chain on him. As I approached him with it in my hand, he + rose to his feet, his eyes sparkled, his black lips drew back from his + mighty teeth, he gave one savage bark and sprang at me. + </p> + <p> + His chain held and I went into the house. That night he broke loose and + went home to his master, who lived fully ten miles away. + </p> + <p> + When I found in the morning that he was gone I was in doubt whether it + would be better to go and look for him or not. But I concluded to keep up + a brave heart, and found him, as I expected, at the place where I had + bought him. The Irishman took him to my house again and I had to pay for + the man's loss of time as well as for his fare on the railroad. But the + dog's old master chained him up with the new chain and I felt repaid for + my outlay. + </p> + <p> + Every morning and night I fed that dog, and I spoke as kindly and gently + to him as I knew how. But he seemed to cherish a distaste for me, and + always greeted me with a growl. He was an awful dog. + </p> + <p> + About a week after the arrival of this animal, I was astonished and + frightened on nearing the house to hear a scream from my wife. I rushed + into the yard and was greeted with a succession of screams from two + voices, that seemed to come from the vicinity of the wood-shed. Hurrying + thither, I perceived Euphemia standing on the roof of the shed in perilous + proximity to the edge, while near the ridge of the roof sat our hired girl + with her handkerchief over her head. + </p> + <p> + “Hurry, hurry!” cried Euphemia. “Climb up here! The dog is loose! Be + quick! Be quick! Oh! he's coming, he's coming!” + </p> + <p> + I asked for no explanation. There was a rail-fence by the side of the shed + and I sprang on this, and was on the roof just as the dog came bounding + and barking from the barn. + </p> + <p> + Instantly Euphemia had me in her arms, and we came very near going off the + roof together. + </p> + <p> + “I never feared to have you come home before,” she sobbed. “I thought he + would tear you limb from limb.” + </p> + <p> + “But how did all this happen?” said I. + </p> + <p> + “Och! I kin hardly remember,” said the girl from under her handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I didn't ask you,” I said, somewhat too sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'll tell you,” said Euphemia. “There was a man at the gate and he + looked suspicious and didn't try to come in, and Mary was at the barn + looking for an egg, and I thought this was a good time to see whether the + dog was a good watch-dog or not, so I went and unchained him—” + </p> + <p> + “Did you unchain that dog?” I cried. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and the minute he was loose he made a rush at the gate, but the man + was gone before he got there, and as he ran down the road I saw that he + was Mr. Henderson's man, who was coming here on an errand, I expect, and + then I went down to the barn to get Mary to come and help me chain up the + dog, and when she came out he began to chase me and then her; and we were + so frightened that we climbed up here, and I don't know, I'm sure, how I + ever got up that fence; and do you think he can climb up here?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no! my dear,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “An' he's just the beast to go afther a stip-ladder,” said the girl, in + muffled tones. + </p> + <p> + “And what are we to do?” asked Euphemia. “We can't eat and sleep up here. + Don't you think that if we were all to shout out together, we could make + some neighbor hear?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes!” I said, “there is no doubt of it. But then, if a neighbor came, + the dog would fall on him—” + </p> + <p> + “And tear him limb from limb,” interrupted Euphemia. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and besides, my dear, I should hate to have any of the neighbors + come and find us all up here. It would look so utterly absurd. Let me try + and think of some other plan.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, please be as quick as you can. It's dreadful to be—who's + that?” + </p> + <p> + I looked up and saw a female figure just entering the yard. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what shall we do” exclaimed Euphemia. “The dog will get her. Call to + her!” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” said I, “don't make a noise. It will only bring the dog. He + seems to have gone to the barn, or somewhere. Keep perfectly quiet, and + she may go up on the porch, and as the front door is not locked, she may + rush into the house, if she sees him coming.” + </p> + <p> + “I do hope she will do that,” said Euphemia, anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “And yet,” said I, “it's not pleasant to have strangers going into the + house when there's no one there.” + </p> + <p> + “But it's better than seeing a stranger torn to pieces before your eyes,” + said Euphemia. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I replied, “it is. Don't you think we might get down now? The dog + isn't here.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” cried Euphemia. “There he is now, coming this way. And look at + that woman! She is coming right to this shed.” + </p> + <p> + Sure enough, our visitor had passed by the front door, and was walking + toward us. Evidently she had heard our voices. + </p> + <p> + “Don't come here!” cried Euphemia. “You'll be killed! Run! run! The dog is + coming! Why, mercy on us! It's Pomona!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. POMONA ONCE MORE. + </h2> + <p> + Sure enough, it was Pomona. There stood our old servant-girl, of the + canal-boat, with a crooked straw bonnet on her head, a faded yellow + parasol in her hand, a parcel done up in newspaper under her arm, and an + expression of astonishment on her face. + </p> + <p> + “Well, truly!” she ejaculated. + </p> + <p> + “Into the house, quick!” I said. “We have a savage dog!” + </p> + <p> + “And here he is!” cried Euphemia. “Oh! she will be torn to atoms.” + </p> + <p> + Straight at Pomona came the great black beast, barking furiously. But the + girl did not move; she did not even turn her head to look at the dog, who + stopped before he reached her and began to rush wildly around her, barking + terribly. + </p> + <p> + We held our breath. I tried to say “get out!” or “lie down!” but my tongue + could not form the words. + </p> + <p> + “Can't you get up here?” gasped Euphemia. + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to,” said the girl. + </p> + <p> + The dog now stopped barking, and stood looking at Pomona, occasionally + glancing up at us. Pomona took not the slightest notice of him. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know, ma'am,” said she to Euphemia, “that if I had come here + yesterday, that dog would have had my life's blood.” + </p> + <p> + “And why don't he have it to-day?” said Euphemia, who, with myself, was + utterly amazed at the behavior of the dog. + </p> + <p> + “Because I know more to-day than I did yesterday,” answered Pomona. “It is + only this afternoon that I read something, as I was coming here on the + cars. This is it,” she continued, unwrapping her paper parcel, and taking + from it one of the two books it contained. “I finished this part just as + the cars stopped, and I put my scissors in the place; I'll read it to + you.” + </p> + <p> + Standing there with one book still under her arm, the newspaper half + unwrapped from it, hanging down and flapping in the breeze, she opened the + other volume at the scissors-place, turned back a page or two, and began + to read as follows: + </p> + <p> + “Lord Edward slowly san-ter-ed up the bro-ad anc-es-tral walk, when + sudden-ly from out a cop-se, there sprang a fur-i-ous hound. The + marsh-man, con-ce-al-ed in a tree expected to see the life's blood of the + young nob-le-man stain the path. But no, Lord Edward did not stop nor turn + his head. With a smile, he strode stead-i-ly on. Well he knew that if by + be-traying no em-otion, he could show the dog that he was walking where he + had a right, the bru-te would re-cog-nize that right and let him pass + un-sca-thed. Thus in this moment of peril his nob-le courage saved him. + The hound, abashed, returned to his cov-ert, and Lord Edward pass-ed on. + </p> + <p> + “Foi-led again,” mutter-ed the marsh-man. + </p> + <p> + “Now, then,” said Pomona, closing the book, “you see I remembered that, + the minute I saw the dog coming, and I didn't betray any emotion. + Yesterday, now, when I didn't know it, I'd 'a been sure to betray emotion, + and he would have had my life's blood. Did he drive you up there?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Euphemia; and she hastily explained the situation. + </p> + <p> + “Then I guess I'd better chain him up,” remarked Pomona; and advancing to + the dog she took him boldly by the collar and pulled him toward the shed. + The animal hung back at first, but soon followed her, and she chained him + up securely. + </p> + <p> + “Now you can come down,” said Pomona. + </p> + <p> + I assisted Euphemia to the ground, and Pomona persuaded the hired girl to + descend. + </p> + <p> + “Will he grab me by the leg?” asked the girl. + </p> + <p> + “No; get down, gump,” said Pomona, and down she scrambled. + </p> + <p> + We took Pomona into the house with us and asked her news of herself. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said she, “there ain't much to tell. I staid awhile at the + institution, but I didn't get much good there, only I learned to read to + myself, because if I read out loud they came and took the book away. Then + I left there and went to live out, but the woman was awful mean. She + throwed away one of my books and I was only half through it. It was a real + good book, named 'The Bridal Corpse, or Montregor's Curse,' and I had to + pay for it at the circulatin' library. So I left her quick enough, and + then I went on the stage.” + </p> + <p> + “On the stage!” cried Euphemia. “What did you do on the stage?” + </p> + <p> + “Scrub,” replied Pomona. “You see that I thought if I could get anything + to do at the theayter, I could work my way up, so I was glad to get + scrubbin'. I asked the prompter, one morning, if he thought there was a + chance for me to work up, and he said yes, I might scrub the galleries, + and then I told him that I didn't want none of his lip, and I pretty soon + left that place. I heard you was akeepin' house out here, and so I thought + I'd come along and see you, and if you hadn't no girl I'd like to live + with you again, and I guess you might as well take me, for that other girl + said, when she got down from the shed, that she was goin' away to-morrow; + she wouldn't stay in no house where they kept such a dog, though I told + her I guessed he was only cuttin' 'round because he was so glad to get + loose.” + </p> + <p> + “Cutting around!” exclaimed Euphemia. “It was nothing of the kind. If you + had seen him you would have known better. But did you come now to stay? + Where are your things?” + </p> + <p> + “On me,” replied Pomona. + </p> + <p> + When Euphemia found that the Irish girl really intended to leave, we + consulted together and concluded to engage Pomona, and I went so far as to + agree to carry her books to and from the circulating library to which she + subscribed, hoping thereby to be able to exercise some influence on her + taste. And thus part of the old family of Rudder Grange had come together + again. True, the boarder was away, but, as Pomona remarked, when she heard + about him, “You couldn't always expect to ever regain the ties that had + always bound everybody.” + </p> + <p> + Our delight and interest in our little farm increased day by day. In a + week or two after Pomona's arrival I bought a cow. Euphemia was very + anxious to have an Alderney,—they were such gentle, beautiful + creatures,—but I could not afford such a luxury. I might possibly + compass an Alderney calf, but we would have to wait a couple of years for + our milk, and Euphemia said it would be better to have a common cow than + to do that. + </p> + <p> + Great was our inward satisfaction when the cow, our OWN cow, walked slowly + and solemnly into our yard and began to crop the clover on our little + lawn. Pomona and I gently drove her to the barn, while Euphemia endeavored + to quiet the violent demonstrations of the dog (fortunately chained) by + assuring him that this was OUR cow and that she was to live here, and that + he was to take care of her and never bark at her. All this and much more, + delivered in the earnest and confidential tone in which ladies talk to + infants and dumb animals, made the dog think that he was to be let loose + to kill the cow, and he bounded and leaped with delight, tugging at his + chain so violently that Euphemia became a little frightened and left him. + This dog had been named Lord Edward, at the earnest solicitation of + Pomona, and he was becoming somewhat reconciled to his life with us. He + allowed me to unchain him at night and I could generally chain him up in + the morning without trouble if I had a good big plate of food with which + to tempt him into the shed. + </p> + <p> + Before supper we all went down to the barn to see the milking. Pomona, who + knew all about such things, having been on a farm in her first youth, was + to be the milkmaid. But when she began operations, she did no more than + begin. Milk as industriously as she might, she got no milk. + </p> + <p> + “This is a queer cow,” said Pomona. + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure that you know how to milk?” asked Euphemia anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Can I milk?” said Pomona. “Why, of course, ma'am. I've seen 'em milk + hundreds of times.” + </p> + <p> + “But you never milked, yourself?” I remarked. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir, but I know just how it's done.” + </p> + <p> + That might be, but she couldn't do it, and at last we had to give up the + matter in despair, and leave the poor cow until morning, when Pomona was + to go for a man who occasionally worked on the place, and engage him to + come and milk for us. + </p> + <p> + That night as we were going to bed I looked out of the window at the barn + which contained the cow, and was astonished to see that there was a light + inside of the building. + </p> + <p> + “What!” I exclaimed. “Can't we be left in peaceful possession of a cow for + a single night?” And, taking my revolver, I hurried down-stairs and + out-of-doors, forgetting my hat in my haste. Euphemia screamed after me to + be careful and keep the pistol pointed away from me. + </p> + <p> + I whistled for the dog as I went out, but to my surprise he did not + answer. + </p> + <p> + “Has he been killed?” I thought, and, for a moment, I wished that I was a + large family of brothers—all armed. + </p> + <p> + But on my way to the barn I met a person approaching with a lantern and a + dog. It was Pomona, and she had a milk-pail on her arm. + </p> + <p> + “See here, sir,” she said, “it's mor'n half full. I just made up my mind + that I'd learn to milk—if it took me all night. I didn't go to bed + at all, and I've been at the barn fur an hour. And there ain't no need of + my goin' after no man in the mornin',” said she, hanging up the barn key + on its nail. + </p> + <p> + I simply mention this circumstance to show what kind of a girl Pomona had + grown to be. + </p> + <p> + We were all the time at work in some way, improving our little place. + “Some day we will buy it,” said Euphemia. We intended to have some wheat + put in in the fall and next year we would make the place fairly crack with + luxuriance. We would divide the duties of the farm, and, among other + things, Euphemia would take charge of the chickens. She wished to do this + entirely herself, so that there might be one thing that should be all her + own, just as my work in town was all my own. As she wished to buy the + chickens and defray all the necessary expenses out of her own private + funds, I could make no objections, and, indeed, I had no desire to do so. + She bought a chicken-book, and made herself mistress of the subject. For a + week, there was a strong chicken flavor in all our conversation. + </p> + <p> + This was while the poultry yard was building. There was a chicken-house on + the place, but no yard, and Euphemia intended to have a good big one, + because she was going into the business to make money. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps my chickens may buy the place,” she said, and I very much hoped + they would. + </p> + <p> + Everything was to be done very systematically. She would have Leghorns, + Brahmas, and common fowls. The first, because they laid so many eggs; the + second, because they were such fine, big fowls, and the third, because + they were such good mothers. + </p> + <p> + “We will eat, and sell the eggs of the first and third classes,” she said, + “and set the eggs of the second class, under the hens of the third class.” + </p> + <p> + “There seems to be some injustice in that arrangement,” I said, “for the + first class will always be childless; the second class will have nothing + to do with their offspring, while the third will be obliged to bring up + and care for the children of others.” + </p> + <p> + But I really had no voice in this matter. As soon as the carpenter had + finished the yard, and had made some coops and other necessary + arrangements, Euphemia hired a carriage and went about the country to buy + chickens. It was not easy to find just what she wanted, and she was gone + all day. + </p> + <p> + However, she brought home an enormous Brahma cock and ten hens, which + number was pretty equally divided into her three classes. She was very + proud of her purchases, and indeed they were fine fowls. In the evening I + made some allusion to the cost of all this carpenter work, carriage-hire, + etc., besides the price of the chickens. + </p> + <p> + “O!” said she, “you don't look at the matter in the right light. You + haven't studied it up as I have. Now, just let me show you how this thing + will pay, if carried on properly.” Producing a piece of paper covered with + figures, she continued: “I begin with ten hens—I got four common + ones, because it would make it easier to calculate. After a while, I set + these ten hens on thirteen eggs each; three of these eggs will probably + spoil,—that leaves ten chickens hatched out. Of these, I will say + that half die, that will make five chickens for each hen; you see, I leave + a large margin for loss. This makes fifty chickens, and when we add the + ten hens, we have sixty fowls at the end of the first year. Next year I + set these sixty and they bring up five chickens each,—I am sure + there will be a larger proportion than this, but I want to be safe,—and + that is three hundred chickens; add the hens, and we have three hundred + and sixty at the end of the second year. In the third year, calculating in + the same safe way, we shall have twenty-one hundred and sixty chickens; in + the fourth year there will be twelve thousand nine hundred and sixty, and + at the end of the fifth year, which is as far as I need to calculate now, + we shall have sixty-four thousand and eight hundred chickens. What do you + think of that? At seventy-five cents apiece,—a very low price,—that + would be forty-eight thousand and six hundred dollars. Now, what is the + petty cost of a fence, and a few coops, by the side of a sum like that?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing at all,” I answered. “It is lost like a drop in the ocean. I + hate, my dear, to interfere in any way with such a splendid calculation as + that, but I would like to ask you one question.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, of course,” she said, “I suppose you are going to say something about + the cost of feeding all this poultry. That is to come out of the chickens + supposed to die. They won't die. It is ridiculous to suppose that each hen + will bring up but five chickens. The chickens that will live, out of those + I consider as dead, will more than pay for the feed.” + </p> + <p> + “That is not what I was going to ask you, although of course it ought to + be considered. But you know you are only going to set common hens, and you + do not intend to raise any. Now, are those four hens to do all the setting + and mother-work for five years, and eventually bring up over sixty-four + thousand chickens?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I DID make a mistake there,” she said, coloring a little. “I'll + tell you what I'll do; I'll set every one of my hens every year.” + </p> + <p> + “But all those chickens may not be hens. You have calculated that every + one of them would set as soon as it was old enough.” + </p> + <p> + She stopped a minute to think this over. + </p> + <p> + “Two heads are better than one, I see,” she said, directly. “I'll allow + that one-half of all the chickens are roosters, and that will make the + profits twenty-four thousand three hundred dollars—more than enough + to buy this place.” + </p> + <p> + “Ever so much more,” I cried. “This Rudder Grange is ours!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. WE CAMP OUT. + </h2> + <p> + My wife and I were both so fond of country life and country pursuits that + month after month passed by at our little farm in a succession of + delightful days. Time flew like a “limited express” train, and it was + September before we knew it. + </p> + <p> + I had been working very hard at the office that summer, and was glad to + think of my two weeks' vacation, which were to begin on the first Monday + of the month. I had intended spending these two weeks in rural retirement + at home, but an interview in the city with my family physician caused me + to change my mind. I told him my plan. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said he, “if I were you, I'd do nothing of the kind. You have been + working too hard; your face shows it. You need rest and change. Nothing + will do you so much good as to camp out; that will be fifty times better + than going to any summer resort. You can take your wife with you. I know + she'll like it. I don't care where you go so that it's a healthy spot. Get + a good tent and an outfit, be off to the woods, and forget all about + business and domestic matters for a few weeks.” + </p> + <p> + This sounded splendid, and I propounded the plan to Euphemia that evening. + She thought very well of it, and was sure we could do it. Pomona would not + be afraid to remain in the house, under the protection of Lord Edward, and + she could easily attend to the cow and the chickens. It would be a holiday + for her too. Old John, the man who occasionally worked for us, would come + up sometimes and see after things. With her customary dexterity Euphemia + swept away every obstacle to the plan, and all was settled before we went + to bed. + </p> + <p> + As my wife had presumed, Pomona made no objections to remaining in charge + of the house. The scheme pleased her greatly. So far, so good. I called + that day on a friend who was in the habit of camping out to talk to him + about getting a tent and the necessary “traps” for a life in the woods. He + proved perfectly competent to furnish advice and everything else. He + offered to lend me all I needed. He had a complete outfit; had done with + them for the year, and I was perfectly welcome. Here was rare luck. He + gave me a tent, camp-stove, dishes, pots, gun, fishing-tackle, a big + canvas coat with dozens of pockets riveted on it, a canvas hat, rods, + reels, boots that came up to my hips, and about a wagon-load of things in + all. He was a real good fellow. + </p> + <p> + We laid in a stock of canned and condensed provisions, and I bought a book + on camping out so as to be well posted on the subject. On the Saturday + before the first Monday in September we would have been entirely ready to + start had we decided on the place where we were to go. + </p> + <p> + We found it very difficult to make this decision. There were thousands of + places where people went to camp out, but none of them seemed to be the + place for us. Most of them were too far away. We figured up the cost of + taking ourselves and our camp equipage to the Adirondacks, the lakes, the + trout-streams of Maine, or any of those well-known resorts, and we found + that we could not afford such trips, especially for a vacation of but + fourteen days. + </p> + <p> + On Sunday afternoon we took a little walk. Our minds were still troubled + about the spot toward which we ought to journey next day, and we needed + the soothing influences of Nature. The country to the north and west of + our little farm was very beautiful. About half a mile from the house a + modest river ran; on each side of it were grass-covered fields and hills, + and in some places there were extensive tracks of woodlands. + </p> + <p> + “Look here!” exclaimed Euphemia, stopping short in the little path that + wound along by the river bank. “Do you see this river, those woods, those + beautiful fields, with not a soul in them or anywhere near them; and those + lovely blue mountains over there?”—as she spoke she waved her + parasol in the direction of the objects indicated, and I could not mistake + them. “Now what could we want better than this?” she continued. “Here we + can fish, and do everything that we want to. I say, let us camp here on + our own river. I can take you to the very spot for the tent. Come on!” And + she was so excited about it that she fairly ran. + </p> + <p> + The spot she pointed out was one we had frequently visited in our rural + walks. It was a grassy peninsula, as I termed it, formed by a sudden turn + of a creek which, a short distance below, flowed into the river. It was a + very secluded spot. The place was approached through a pasture-field,—we + had found it by mere accident,—and where the peninsula joined the + field (we had to climb a fence just there), there was a cluster of + chestnut and hickory trees, while down near the point stood a + wide-spreading oak. + </p> + <p> + “Here, under this oak, is the place for the tent,” said Euphemia, her face + flushed, her eyes sparkling, and her dress a little torn by getting over + the fence in a hurry. “What do we want with your Adirondacks and your + Dismal Swamps? This is the spot for us!” + </p> + <p> + “Euphemia,” said I, in as composed a tone as possible, although my whole + frame was trembling with emotion, “Euphemia, I am glad I married you!” + </p> + <p> + Had it not been Sunday, we would have set up our tent that night. + </p> + <p> + Early the next morning, old John's fifteen-dollar horse drew from our + house a wagon-load of camp-fixtures. There was some difficulty in getting + the wagon over the field, and there were fences to be taken down to allow + of its passage; but we overcame all obstacles, and reached the camp-ground + without breaking so much as a teacup. Old John helped me pitch the tent, + and as neither of us understood the matter very well, it took us some + time. It was, indeed, nearly noon when old John left us, and it may have + been possible that he delayed matters a little so as to be able to charge + for a full half-day for himself and horse. Euphemia got into the wagon to + ride back with him, that she might give some parting injunctions to + Pomona. + </p> + <p> + “I'll have to stop a bit to put up the fences, ma'am,” said old John, “or + Misther Ball might make a fuss.” + </p> + <p> + “Is this Mr. Ball's land?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, sir, it's Mr. Ball's land.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder how he'll like our camping on it?” I said, thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + “I'd 'a' thought, sir, you'd 'a' asked him that before you came,” said old + John, in a tone that seemed to indicate that he had his doubts about Mr. + Ball. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there'll be no trouble about that,” cried Euphemia. “You can drive me + past Mr. Ball's,—it's not much out of the way,—and I'll ask + him.” + </p> + <p> + “In that wagon?” said I. “Will you stop at Mr. Ball's door in that?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said she, as she arranged herself on the board which served + as a seat. “Now that our campaign has really commenced, we ought to begin + to rough it, and should not be too proud to ride even in a—in a—” + </p> + <p> + She evidently couldn't think of any vehicle mean enough for her purpose. + </p> + <p> + “In a green-grocery cart,” I suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, or in a red one. Go ahead, John.” + </p> + <p> + When Euphemia returned on foot, I had a fire in the camp-stove and the + kettle was on. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Euphemia, “Mr. Ball says it's all right, if we keep the fence + up. He don't want his cows to get into the creek, and I'm sure we don't + want 'em walking over us. He couldn't understand, though, why we wanted to + live out here. I explained the whole thing to him very carefully, but it + didn't seem to make much impression on him. I believe he thinks Pomona has + something the matter with her, and that we have come to stay out here in + the fresh air so as not to take it.” + </p> + <p> + “What an extremely stupid man Mr. Ball must be!” I said. + </p> + <p> + The fire did not burn very well, and while I was at work at it, Euphemia + spread a cloth upon the grass, and set forth bread and butter, cheese, + sardines, potted ham, preserves, biscuits, and a lot of other things. + </p> + <p> + We did not wait for the kettle to boil, but concluded to do without tea or + coffee, for this meal, and content ourselves with pure water. For some + reason or other, however, the creek water did not seem to be very pure, + and we did not like it a bit. + </p> + <p> + “After lunch,” said I, “we will go and look for a spring; that will be a + good way of exploring the country.” + </p> + <p> + “If we can't find one,” said Euphemia, “we shall have to go to the house + for water, for I can never drink that stuff.” + </p> + <p> + Soon after lunch we started out. We searched high and low, near and far, + for a spring, but could not find one. + </p> + <p> + At length, by merest accident, we found ourselves in the vicinity of old + John's little house. I knew he had a good well, and so we went in to get a + drink, for our ham and biscuits had made us very thirsty. + </p> + <p> + We told old John, who was digging potatoes, and was also very much + surprised to see us so soon, about our unexpected trouble in finding a + spring. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said he, very slowly, “there is no spring very near to you. Didn't + you tell your gal to bring you water?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I replied; “we don't want her coming down to the camp. She is to + attend to the house.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, very well,” said John; “I will bring you water, morning and night,—good, + fresh water,—from my well, for,—well, for ten cents a day.” + </p> + <p> + “That will be nice,” said Euphemia, “and cheap, too. And then it will be + well to have John come every day; he can carry our letters.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't expect to write any letters.” + </p> + <p> + “Neither do I,” said Euphemia; “but it will be pleasant to have some + communication with the outer world.” + </p> + <p> + So we engaged old John to bring us water twice a day. I was a little + disappointed at this, for I thought that camping on the edge of a stream + settled the matter of water. But we have many things to learn in this + world. + </p> + <p> + Early in the afternoon I went out to catch some fish for supper. We agreed + to dispense with dinner, and have breakfast, lunch, and a good solid + supper. + </p> + <p> + For some time I had poor luck. There were either very few fish in the + creek, or they were not hungry. + </p> + <p> + I had been fishing an hour or more when I saw Euphemia running toward me. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter?” said I. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! nothing. I've just come to see how you were getting along. Haven't + you been gone an awfully long time? And are those all the fish you've + caught? What little bits of things they are! I thought people who camped + out caught big fish and lots of them?” + </p> + <p> + “That depends a good deal upon where they go,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I suppose so,” replied Euphemia; “but I should think a stream as big + as this would have plenty of fish in it. However, if you can't catch any, + you might go up to the road and watch for Mr. Mulligan. He sometimes comes + along on Mondays.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not going to the road to watch for any fish-man,” I replied, a little + more testily than I should have spoken. “What sort of a camping out would + that be? But we must not be talking here or I shall never get a bite. + Those fish are a little soiled from jumping about in the dust. You might + wash them off at that shallow place, while I go a little further on and + try my luck.” + </p> + <p> + I went a short distance up the creek, and threw my line into a dark, + shadowy pool, under some alders, where there certainly should be fish. + And, sure enough, in less than a minute I got a splendid bite,—not + only a bite, but a pull. I knew that I had certainly hooked a big fish! + The thing actually tugged at my line so that I was afraid the pole would + break. I did not fear for the line, for that, I knew, was strong. I would + have played the fish until he was tired, and I could pull him out without + risk to the pole, but I did not know exactly how the process of “playing” + was conducted. I was very much excited. Sometimes I gave a jerk and a + pull, and then the fish would give a jerk and a pull. + </p> + <p> + Directly I heard some one running toward me, and then I heard Euphemia cry + out: + </p> + <p> + “Give him the butt! Give him the butt!” + </p> + <p> + “Give him what?” I exclaimed, without having time even to look up at her. + </p> + <p> + “The butt! the butt!” she cried, almost breathlessly. “I know that's + right! I read how Edward Everett Hale did it in the Adirondacks.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it wasn't Hale at all,” said I, as I jumped about the bank; “it was + Mr. Murray.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it was one of those fishing ministers, and I know that it caught + the fish.” + </p> + <p> + “I know, I know. I read it, but I don't know how to do it.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you ought to punch him with it,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “No! no!” I hurriedly replied, “I can't do anything like that. I'm going + to try to just pull him out lengthwise. You take hold of the pole and go + in shore as far as you can and I'll try and get hold of the line.” + </p> + <p> + Euphemia did as I bade her, and drew the line in so that I could reach it. + As soon as I had a firm hold of it, I pulled in, regardless of + consequences, and hauled ashore an enormous cat-fish. + </p> + <p> + “Hurrah!” I shouted, “here is a prize.” + </p> + <p> + Euphemia dropped the pole, and ran to me. + </p> + <p> + “What a horrid beast!” she exclaimed. “Throw it in again.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all!” said I. “This is a splendid fish, if I can ever get him off + the hook. Don't come near him! If he sticks that back-fin into you, it + will poison you.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I should think it would poison us to eat him,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “No; it's only his fin.” + </p> + <p> + “I've eaten cat-fish, but I never saw one like that,” she said. “Look at + its horrible mouth! And it has whiskers like a cat!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! you never saw one with its head on,” I said. “What I want to do is to + get this hook out.” + </p> + <p> + I had caught cat-fish before, but never one so large as this, and I was + actually afraid to take hold of it, knowing, as I did, that you must be + very careful how you clutch a fish of the kind. I finally concluded to + carry it home as it was, and then I could decapitate it, and take out the + hook at my leisure. So back to camp we went, Euphemia picking up the + little fish as we passed, for she did not think it right to catch fish and + not eat them. They made her hands smell, it is true; but she did not mind + that when we were camping. + </p> + <p> + I prepared the big fish (and I had a desperate time getting the skin off), + while my wife, who is one of the daintiest cooks in the world, made the + fire in the stove, and got ready the rest of the supper. She fried the + fish, because I told her that was the way cat-fish ought to be cooked, + although she said that it seemed very strange to her to camp out for the + sake of one's health, and then to eat fried food. + </p> + <p> + But that fish was splendid! The very smell of it made us hungry. + Everything was good, and when supper was over and the dishes washed, I + lighted my pipe and we sat down under a tree to enjoy the evening. + </p> + <p> + The sun had set behind the distant ridge; a delightful twilight was gently + subduing every color of the scene; the night insects were beginning to hum + and chirp, and a fire that I had made under a tree blazed up gayly, and + threw little flakes of light into the shadows under the shrubbery. + </p> + <p> + “Now isn't this better than being cooped up in a narrow, constricted + house?” said I. + </p> + <p> + “Ever so much better!” said Euphemia. “Now we know what Nature is. We are + sitting right down in her lap, and she is cuddling us up. Isn't that sky + lovely? Oh! I think this is perfectly splendid,” said she, making a little + dab at her face,—“if it wasn't for the mosquitoes.” + </p> + <p> + “They ARE bad,” I said. “I thought my pipe would keep them off, but it + don't. There must be plenty of them down at that creek.” + </p> + <p> + “Down there!” exclaimed Euphemia. “Why there are thousands of them here! I + never saw anything like it. They're getting worse every minute.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you what we must do,” I exclaimed, jumping up. “We must make a + smudge.” + </p> + <p> + “What's that? do you rub it on yourself?” asked Euphemia, anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “No, it's only a great smoke. Come, let us gather up dry leaves and make a + smoldering fire of them.” + </p> + <p> + We managed to get up a very fair smudge, and we stood to the leeward of + it, until Euphemia began to cough and sneeze, as if her head would come + off. With tears running from her eyes, she declared that she would rather + go and be eaten alive, than stay in that smoke. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps we were too near it,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “That may be,” she answered, “but I have had enough smoke. Why didn't I + think of it before? I brought two veils! We can put these over our faces, + and wear gloves.” + </p> + <p> + She was always full of expedients. + </p> + <p> + Veiled and gloved, we bade defiance to the mosquitoes, and we sat and + talked for half an hour or more. I made a little hole in my veil, through + which I put the mouth-piece of my pipe. + </p> + <p> + When it became really dark, I lighted the lantern, and we prepared for a + well-earned night's rest. The tent was spacious and comfortable, and we + each had a nice little cot-bed. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to leave the front-door open all night?” said Euphemia, as + I came in after a final round to see that all was right. + </p> + <p> + “I should hardly call this canvas-flap a front-door,” I said, “but I think + it would be better to leave it open; otherwise we should smother. You need + not be afraid. I shall keep my gun here by my bedside, and if any one + offers to come in, I'll bring him to a full stop quick enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if you are awake. But I suppose we ought not to be afraid of + burglars here. People in tents never are. So you needn't shut it.” + </p> + <p> + It was awfully quiet and dark and lonely, out there by that creek, when + the light had been put out, and we had gone to bed. For some reason I + could not go to sleep. After I had been lying awake for an hour or two, + Euphemia spoke: + </p> + <p> + “Are you awake?” said she, in a low voice, as if she were afraid of + disturbing the people in the next room. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said I. “How long have you been awake?” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't been asleep.” + </p> + <p> + “Neither have I.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose we light the lantern,” said she. “Don't you think it would be + pleasanter?” + </p> + <p> + “It might be,” I replied; “but it would draw myriads of mosquitoes. I wish + I had brought a mosquito-net and a clock. It seems so lonesome without the + ticking. Good-night! We ought to have a long sleep, if we do much tramping + about to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + In about half an hour more, just as I was beginning to be a little sleepy, + she said: + </p> + <p> + “Where is that gun?” + </p> + <p> + “Here by me,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if a man should come in, try and be sure to put it up close to him + before you fire. In a little tent like this, the shot might scatter + everywhere, if you're not careful.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” I said. “Good-night!” + </p> + <p> + “There's one thing we never thought of!” she presently exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “What's that,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “Snakes,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Well, don't let's think of them. We must try and get a little sleep.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear knows! I've been trying hard enough,” she said, plaintively, and all + was quiet again. + </p> + <p> + We succeeded this time in going to sleep, and it was broad daylight before + we awoke. + </p> + <p> + That morning, old John came with our water before breakfast was ready. He + also brought us some milk, as he thought we would want it. We considered + this a good idea, and agreed with him to bring us a quart a day. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you want some wegetables?” said he. “I've got some nice corn and + some tomatoes, and I could bring you cabbage and peas.” + </p> + <p> + We had hardly expected to have fresh vegetables every day, but there + seemed to be no reason why old John should not bring them, as he had to + come every day with the water and milk. So we arranged that he should + furnish us daily with a few of the products of his garden. + </p> + <p> + “I could go to the butcher's and get you a steak or some chops, if you'd + let me know in the morning,” said he, intent on the profits of further + commissions. + </p> + <p> + But this was going too far. We remembered we were camping out, and + declined to have meat from the butcher. + </p> + <p> + John had not been gone more than ten minutes before we saw Mr. Ball + approaching. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I hope he isn't going to say we can't stay!” exclaimed Euphemia. + </p> + <p> + “How d'ye do?” said Mr. Ball, shaking hands with us. “Did you stick it out + all night?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, indeed,” I replied, “and expect to stick it out for a many more + nights if you don't object to our occupying your land.” + </p> + <p> + “No objection in the world,” said he; “but it seems a little queer for + people who have a good house to be living out here in the fields in a + tent, now, don't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but you see,” said I, and I went on and explained the whole thing to + him,—the advice of the doctor, the discussion about the proper place + to go to, and the good reasons for fixing on this spot. + </p> + <p> + “Ye-es,” said he, “that's all very well, no doubt. But how's the girl?” + </p> + <p> + “What girl?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Your girl. The hired girl you left at the house.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, she's all right,” said I; “she's always well.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Mr. Ball, slowly turning on his heel, “if you say so, I + suppose she is. But you're going up to the house to-day to see about her, + aren't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” said Euphemia. “We don't intend to go near the house until our + camping is over.” + </p> + <p> + “Just so,—just so,” said Mr. Ball; “I expected as much. But look + here, don't you think it would be well for me to ask Dr. Ames to stop in + and see how she is gettin' along? I dare say you've fixed everything for + her, but that would be safer, you know. He's coming this morning to + vaccinate my baby, and he might stop there, just as well as not, after he + has left my house.” + </p> + <p> + Euphemia and I could see no necessity for this proposed visit of the + doctor, but we could not well object to it, and so Mr. Ball said he would + be sure and send him. + </p> + <p> + After our visitor had gone, the significance of his remarks flashed on me. + He still thought that Pomona was sick with something catching, and that we + were afraid to stay in the house with her. But I said nothing about this + to Euphemia. It would only worry her, and our vacation was to be a season + of unalloyed delight. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. WET BLANKETS. + </h2> + <p> + We certainly enjoyed our second day in camp. All the morning, and a great + part of the afternoon, we “explored.” We fastened up the tent as well as + we could, and then, I with my gun, and Euphemia with the fishing-pole, we + started up the creek. We did not go very far, for it would not do to leave + the tent too long. I did not shoot anything, but Euphemia caught two or + three nice little fish, and we enjoyed the sport exceedingly. + </p> + <p> + Soon after we returned in the afternoon, and while we were getting things + in order for supper, we had a call from two of our neighbors, Captain + Atkinson and wife. The captain greeted us hilariously. + </p> + <p> + “Hello!” he cried. “Why, this is gay. Who would ever have thought of a + domestic couple like you going on such a lark as this. We just heard about + it from old John, and we came down to see what you are up to. You've got + everything very nice. I think I'd like this myself. Why, you might have a + rifle-range out here. You could cut down those bushes on the other side of + the creek, and put up your target over there on that hill. Then you could + lie down here on the grass and bang away all day. If you'll do that, I'll + come down and practice with you. How long are you going to keep it up?” + </p> + <p> + I told him that we expected to spend my two weeks' vacation here. + </p> + <p> + “Not if it rains, my boy,” said he. “I know what it is to camp out in the + rain.” + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, Mrs. Atkinson had been with Euphemia examining the tent, and + our equipage generally. + </p> + <p> + “It would be very nice for a day's picnic,” she said; “but I wouldn't want + to stay out-of-doors all night.” + </p> + <p> + And then, addressing me, she asked: + </p> + <p> + “Do you have to breathe the fresh air all the time, night as well as day? + I expect that is a very good prescription, but I would not like to have to + follow it myself.” + </p> + <p> + “If the fresh air is what you must have,” said the captain, “you might + have got all you wanted of that without taking the trouble to come out + here. You could have sat out on your back porch night and day for the + whole two weeks, and breathed all the fresh air that any man could need.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said I, “and I might have gone down cellar and put my head in the + cold-air box of the furnace. But there wouldn't have been much fun in + that.” + </p> + <p> + “There are a good many things that there's no fun in,” said the captain. + “Do you cook your own meals, or have them sent from the house?” + </p> + <p> + “Cook them ourselves, of course,” said Euphemia. “We are going to have + supper now. Won't you wait and take some?” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Mrs. Atkinson, “but we must go.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we must be going,” said the captain. “Good-bye. If it rains I'll + come down after you with an umbrella.” + </p> + <p> + “You need not trouble yourself about that,” said I. “We shall rough it + out, rain or shine.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd stay here now,” said Euphemia, when they had gone, “if it rained + pitch.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean pitchforks,” I suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, anything,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't know about the pitchforks,” I said, looking over the creek + at the sky; “but am very much afraid that it is going to rain rain-water + to-morrow. But that won't drive us home, will it?” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed!” said she. “We're prepared for it. But I wish they'd staid at + home.” + </p> + <p> + Sure enough, it commenced to rain that night, and we had showers all the + next day. We staid in camp during the morning, and I smoked and we played + checkers, and had a very cosy time, with a wood fire burning under a tree + near by. We kept up this fire, not to dry the air, but to make things look + comfortable. In the afternoon I dressed myself up in water-proof coat, + boots and hat, and went out fishing. I went down to the water and fished + along the banks for an hour, but caught nothing of any consequence. This + was a great disappointment, for we had expected to live on fresh fish for + a great part of the time while we were camping. With plenty of fish, we + could do without meat very well. + </p> + <p> + We talked the matter over on my return, and we agreed that as it seemed + impossible to depend upon a supply of fish, from the waters about our + camp, it would be better to let old John bring fresh meat from the + butcher, and as neither of us liked crackers, we also agreed that he + should bring bread. + </p> + <p> + Our greatest trouble, that evening, was to make a fire. The wood, of which + there was a good deal lying about under the trees, was now all wet and + would not burn. However, we managed to get up a fire in the stove, but I + did not know what we were going to do in the morning. We should have + stored away some wood under shelter. + </p> + <p> + We set our little camp-table in the tent, and we had scarcely finished our + supper, when a very heavy rain set in, accompanied by a violent wind. The + canvas at one end of our tent must have been badly fastened, for it was + blown in, and in an instant our beds were deluged. I rushed out to fasten + up the canvas, and got drenched almost to the skin, and although Euphemia + put on her waterproof cloak as soon as she could, she was pretty wet, for + the rain seemed to dash right through the tent. + </p> + <p> + This gust of wind did not last long, and the rain soon settled down into a + steady drizzle, but we were in a sad plight. It was after nine o'clock + before we had put things into tolerable order. + </p> + <p> + “We can't sleep in those beds,” said Euphemia. + </p> + <p> + “They're as wet as sop, and we shall have to go up to the house and get + something to spread over them. I don't want to do it, but we mustn't catch + our deaths of cold.” + </p> + <p> + There was nothing to be said against this, and we prepared to start out. I + would have gone by myself, but Euphemia would not consent to be left + alone. It was still raining, though not very hard, and I carried an + umbrella and a lantern. Climbing fences at night with a wife, a lantern, + and an umbrella to take care of, is not very agreeable, but we managed to + reach the house, although once or twice we had an argument in regard to + the path, which seemed to be very different at night from what it was in + the day-time. + </p> + <p> + Lord Edward came bounding to the gate to meet us, and I am happy to say + that he knew me at once, and wagged his tail in a very sociable way. + </p> + <p> + I had the key of a side-door in my pocket, for we had thought it wise to + give ourselves command of this door, and so we let ourselves in without + ringing or waking Pomona. + </p> + <p> + All was quiet within, and we went upstairs with the lantern. Everything + seemed clean and in order, and it is impossible to convey any idea of the + element of comfort which seemed to pervade the house, as we quietly made + our way upstairs, in our wet boots and heavy, damp clothes. + </p> + <p> + The articles we wanted were in a closet, and while I was making a bundle + of them, Euphemia went to look for Pomona. She soon returned, walking + softly. + </p> + <p> + “She's sound asleep,” said she, “and I didn't think there was any need of + waking her. We'll send word by John that we've been here. And oh! you + can't imagine how snug and happy she did look, lying there in her + comfortable bed, in that nice, airy room. I'll tell you what it is, if it + wasn't for the neighbors, and especially the Atkinsons, I wouldn't go back + one step.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said I, “I don't know that I care so particularly about it, + myself. But I suppose I couldn't stay here and leave all Thompson's things + out there to take care of themselves.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no!” said Euphemia. “And we're not going to back down. Are you ready?” + </p> + <p> + On our way down-stairs we had to pass the partly open door of our own + room. I could not help holding up the lantern to look in. There was the + bed, with its fair white covering and its smooth, soft pillows; there were + the easy-chairs, the pretty curtains, the neat and cheerful carpet, the + bureau, with Euphemia's work-basket on it; there was the little table with + the book that we had been reading together, turned face downward upon it; + there were my slippers; there was— + </p> + <p> + “Come!” said Euphemia, “I can't bear to look in there. It's like a dead + child.” + </p> + <p> + And so we hurried out into the night and the rain. We stopped at the + wood-shed and got an armful of dry kindling, which Euphemia was obliged to + carry, as I had the bundle of bed-clothing, the umbrella, and the lantern. + </p> + <p> + Lord Edward gave a short, peculiar bark as we shut the gate behind us, but + whether it was meant as a fond farewell, or a hoot of derision, I cannot + say. + </p> + <p> + We found everything as we left it at the camp, and we made our beds + apparently dry. But I did not sleep well. I could not help thinking that + it was not safe to sleep in a bed with a substratum of wet mattress, and I + worried Euphemia a little by asking her several times if she felt the + dampness striking through. + </p> + <p> + To our great delight, the next day was fine and clear, and I thought I + would like, better than anything else, to take Euphemia in a boat up the + river and spend the day rowing about, or resting in shady places on the + shore. + </p> + <p> + But what could we do about the tent? It would be impossible to go away and + leave that, with its contents, for a whole day. + </p> + <p> + When old John came with our water, milk, bread, and a basket of + vegetables, we told him of our desired excursion, and the difficulty in + the way. This good man, who always had a keen scent for any advantage to + himself, warmly praised the boating plan, and volunteered to send his wife + and two of his younger children to stay with the tent while we were away. + </p> + <p> + The old woman, he said, could do her sewing here as well as anywhere, and + she would stay all day for fifty cents. + </p> + <p> + This plan pleased us, and we sent for Mrs. Old John, who came with three + of her children,—all too young to leave behind, she said,—and + took charge of the camp. + </p> + <p> + Our day proved to be as delightful as we had anticipated, and when we + returned, hungry and tired, we were perfectly charmed to find that Mrs. + Old John had our supper ready for us. + </p> + <p> + She charged a quarter, extra, for this service, and we did not begrudge it + to her, though we declined her offer to come every day and cook and keep + the place in order. + </p> + <p> + “However,” said Euphemia, on second thoughts, “you may come on Saturday + and clean up generally.” + </p> + <p> + The next day, which was Friday, I went out in the morning with the gun. As + yet I had shot nothing, for I had seen no birds about the camp, which, + without breaking the State laws, I thought I could kill, and so I started + off up the river-road. + </p> + <p> + I saw no game, but after I had walked about a mile, I met a man in a + wagon. + </p> + <p> + “Hello,” said he, pulling up; “you'd better be careful how you go popping + around here on the public roads, frightening horses.” + </p> + <p> + As I had not yet fired a single shot, I thought this was a very impudent + speech, and I think so still. + </p> + <p> + “You had better wait until I begin to pop,” said I, “before you make such + a fuss about it.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said he, “I'd rather make the fuss before you begin. My horse is + skittish,” and he drove off. + </p> + <p> + This man annoyed me; but as I did not, of course, wish to frighten horses, + I left the road and made my way back to the tent over some very rough + fields. It was a poor day for birds, and I did not get a shot. + </p> + <p> + “What a foolish man!” said Euphemia, when I told her the above incident, + “to talk that way when you stood there with a gun in your hand. You might + have raked his wagon, fore and aft.” + </p> + <p> + That afternoon, as Euphemia and I were sitting under a tree by the tent, + we were very much surprised to see Pomona come walking down the peninsula. + </p> + <p> + I was annoyed and provoked at this. We had given Pomona positive orders + not to leave the place, under any pretense, while we were gone. If + necessary to send for anything, she could go to the fence, back of the + barn, and scream across a small field to some of the numerous members of + old John's family. Under this arrangement, I felt that the house was + perfectly safe. + </p> + <p> + Before she could reach us, I called out: + </p> + <p> + “Why did you leave the house, Pomona? Don't you know you should never come + away and leave the house empty? I thought I had made you understand that.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't empty,” said Pomona, in an entirely unruffled tone. “Your old + boarder is there, with his wife and child.” + </p> + <p> + Euphemia and I looked at each other in dismay. + </p> + <p> + “They came early this afternoon,” continued Pomona, “by the 1:14 train, + and walked up, he carrying the child.” + </p> + <p> + “It can't be,” cried Euphemia. “Their child's married.” + </p> + <p> + “It must have married very young, then,” said Pomona, “for it isn't over + four years old now.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Euphemia, “I know! It's his grandchild.” + </p> + <p> + “Grandchild!” repeated Pomona, with her countenance more expressive of + emotion than I had ever yet seen it. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Euphemia; “but how long are they going to stay? Where did you + tell them we were?” + </p> + <p> + “They didn't say how long they was goin' to stay,” answered Pomona. “I + told them you had gone to be with some friends in the country, and that I + didn't know whether you'd be home to-night or not.” + </p> + <p> + “How could you tell them such a falsehood?” cried Euphemia. + </p> + <p> + “That was no falsehood,” said Pomona; “it was true as truth. If you're not + your own friends, I don't know who is. And I wasn't a-goin' to tell the + boarder where you was till I found out whether you wanted me to do it or + not. And so I left 'em and run over to old John's, and then down here.” + </p> + <p> + It was impossible to find fault with the excellent management of Pomona. + </p> + <p> + “What were they doing?” asked Euphemia. + </p> + <p> + “I opened the parlor, and she was in there with the child,—putting + it to sleep on the sofa, I think. The boarder was out in the yard, tryin' + to teach Lord Edward some tricks.” + </p> + <p> + “He had better look out!” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the dog's chained and growlin' fearful! What am I to do with 'em?” + </p> + <p> + This was a difficult point to decide. If we went to see them, we might as + well break up our camp, for we could not tell when we should be able to + come back to it. + </p> + <p> + We discussed the matter very anxiously, and finally concluded that under + the circumstances, and considering what Pomona had said about our + whereabouts, it would be well for us to stay where we were and for Pomona + to take charge of the visitors. If they returned to the city that evening, + she was to give them a good supper before they went, sending John to the + store for what was needed. If they stayed all night, she could get + breakfast for them. + </p> + <p> + “We can write,” said Euphemia, “and invite them to come and spend some + days with us, when we are at home and everything is all right. I want + dreadfully to see that child, but I don't see how I can do it now.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said I. “They're sure to stay all night if we go up to the house, + and then I should have to have the tent and things hauled away, for I + couldn't leave them here.” + </p> + <p> + “The fact is,” said Euphemia, “if we were miles away, in the woods of + Maine, we couldn't leave our camp to see anybody. And this is practically + the same.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said I; and so Pomona went away to her new charge. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. THE BOARDER'S VISIT. + </h2> + <p> + For the rest of the afternoon, and indeed far into the night, our + conversation consisted almost entirely of conjectures regarding the + probable condition of things at the house. We both thought we had done + right, but we felt badly about it. It was not hospitable, to be sure; but + then I should have no other holiday until next year, and our friends could + come at any time to see us. + </p> + <p> + The next morning old John brought a note from Pomona. It was written with + pencil on a small piece of paper torn from the margin of a newspaper, and + contained the words, “Here yit.” + </p> + <p> + “So you've got company,” said old John, with a smile. “That's a queer gal + of yourn. She says I mustn't tell 'em you're here. As if I'd tell 'em!” + </p> + <p> + We knew well enough that old John was not at all likely to do anything + that would cut off the nice little revenue he was making out of our camp, + and so we felt no concern on that score. + </p> + <p> + But we were very anxious for further news, and we told old John to go to + the house about ten o'clock and ask Pomona to send us another note. + </p> + <p> + We waited, in a very disturbed condition of mind, until nearly eleven + o'clock, when old John came with a verbal message from Pomona: + </p> + <p> + “She says she's a-comin' herself as soon as she can get a chance to slip + off.” + </p> + <p> + This was not pleasant news. It filled our minds with a confused mass of + probabilities, and it made us feel mean. How contemptible it seemed to be + a party to this concealment and in league with a servant-girl who has to + “slip off!” + </p> + <p> + Before long, Pomona appeared, quite out of breath. + </p> + <p> + “In all my life,” said she, “I never see people like them two. I thought I + was never goin' to get away.” + </p> + <p> + “Are they there yet?” cried Euphemia. + </p> + <p> + “How long are they going to stay?” + </p> + <p> + “Dear knows!” replied Pomona. “Their valise came up by express last + night.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we'll have to go up to the house,” said Euphemia. “It won't do to + stay away any longer.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Pomona, fanning herself with her apron, “if you know'd all I + know, I don't think you'd think so.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” said Euphemia. + </p> + <p> + “Well, ma'am, they've just settled down and taken possession of the whole + place. He says to me that he know'd you'd both want them to make + themselves at home, just as if you was there, and they thought they'd + better do it. He asked me did I think you would be home by Monday, and I + said I didn't know, but I guessed you would. So says he to his wife, + 'Won't that be a jolly lark? We'll just keep house for them here till they + come. And he says he would go down to the store and order some things, if + there wasn't enough in the house, and he asked her to see what would be + needed, which she did, and he's gone down for 'em now. And she says that, + as it was Saturday, she'd see that the house was all put to rights; and + after breakfast she set me to sweepin'; and it's only by way of her + dustin' the parlor and givin' me the little girl to take for a walk that I + got off at all.” + </p> + <p> + “But what have you done with the child?” exclaimed Euphemia. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I left her at old Johnses.” + </p> + <p> + “And so you think they're pleased with having the house to themselves?” I + said. + </p> + <p> + “Pleased, sir?” replied Pomona; “they're tickled to death.” + </p> + <p> + “But how do you like having strangers telling you what to do?” asked + Euphemia. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well,” said Pomona, “he's no stranger, and she's real pleasant, and + if it gives you a good camp out, I don't mind.” + </p> + <p> + Euphemia and I looked at each other. Here was true allegiance. We would + remember this. + </p> + <p> + Pomona now hurried off, and we seriously discussed the matter, and soon + came to the conclusion that while it might be the truest hospitality to + let our friends stay at our house for a day or two and enjoy themselves, + still it would not do for us to allow ourselves to be governed by a too + delicate sentimentality. We must go home and act our part of host and + hostess. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Old John had been at the camp ever since breakfast-time, giving the + place a Saturday cleaning. What she had found to occupy her for so long a + time I could not imagine, but in her efforts to put in a full half-day's + work, I have no doubt she scrubbed some of the trees. We had been so fully + occupied with our own affairs that we had paid very little attention to + her, but she had probably heard pretty much all that had been said. + </p> + <p> + At noon we paid her (giving her, at her suggestion, something extra in + lieu of the midday meal, which she did not stay to take), and told her to + send her husband, with his wagon, as soon as possible, as we intended to + break up our encampment. We determined that we would pack everything in + John's wagon, and let him take the load to his house, and keep it there + until Monday, when I would have the tent and accompaniments expressed to + their owner. We would go home and join our friends. It would not be + necessary to say where we had been. + </p> + <p> + It was hard for us to break up our camp. In many respects we had enjoyed + the novel experience, and we had fully expected, during the next week, to + make up for all our short-comings and mistakes. It seemed like losing all + our labor and expenditure, to break up now, but there was no help for it. + Our place was at home. + </p> + <p> + We did not wish to invite our friends to the camp. They would certainly + have come had they known we were there, but we had no accommodations for + them, neither had we any desire for even transient visitors. Besides, we + both thought that we would prefer that our ex-boarder and his wife should + not know that we were encamped on that little peninsula. + </p> + <p> + We set to work to pack up and get ready for moving, but the afternoon + passed away without bringing old John. Between five and six o'clock along + came his oldest boy, with a bucket of water. + </p> + <p> + “I'm to go back after the milk,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Hold up!” I cried. “Where is your father and his wagon? We've been + waiting for him for hours.” + </p> + <p> + “The horse is si—— I mean he's gone to Ballville for oats.” + </p> + <p> + “And why didn't he send and tell me?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “There wasn't nobody to send,” answered the boy. + </p> + <p> + “You are not telling the truth,” exclaimed Euphemia; “there is always some + one to send, in a family like yours.” + </p> + <p> + To this the boy made no answer, but again said that he would go after the + milk. + </p> + <p> + “We want you to bring no milk,” I cried, now quite angry. “I want you to + go down to the station, and tell the driver of the express-wagon to come + here immediately. Do you understand? Immediately.” + </p> + <p> + The boy declared he understood, and started off quite willingly. We did + not prefer to have the express-wagon, for it was too public a conveyance, + and, besides, old John knew exactly how to do what was required. But we + need not have troubled ourselves. The express-wagon did not come. + </p> + <p> + When it became dark, we saw that we could not leave that night. Even if a + wagon did come, it would not be safe to drive over the fields in the + darkness. And we could not go away and leave the camp-equipage. I proposed + that Euphemia should go up to the house, while I remained in camp. But she + declined. We would keep together, whatever happened, she said. + </p> + <p> + We unpacked our cooking-utensils and provisions, and had supper. There was + no milk for our coffee, but we did not care. The evening did not pass + gayly. We were annoyed by the conduct of old John and the express-boy, + though, perhaps, it was not their fault. I had given them no notice that I + should need them. + </p> + <p> + And we were greatly troubled at the continuance of the secrecy and + subterfuge which now had become really necessary, if we did not wish to + hurt our friends' feelings. + </p> + <p> + The first thing that I thought of, when I opened my eyes in the morning, + was the fact that we would have to stay there all day, for we could not + move on Sunday. + </p> + <p> + But Euphemia did not agree with me. After breakfast (we found that the + water and the milk had been brought very early, before we were up) she + stated that she did not intend to be treated in this way. She was going up + to old John's house herself; and away she went. + </p> + <p> + In less than half an hour, she returned, followed by old John and his + wife, both looking much as if they had been whipped. + </p> + <p> + “These people,” said she, “have entered into a conspiracy against us. I + have questioned them thoroughly, and have made them answer me. The horse + was at home yesterday, and the boy did not go after the express-wagon. + They thought that if they could keep us here, until our company had gone, + we would stay as long as we originally intended, and they would continue + to make money out of us. But they are mistaken. We are going home + immediately.” + </p> + <p> + At this point I could not help thinking that Euphemia might have consulted + me in regard to her determination, but she was very much in earnest, and I + would not have any discussion before these people. + </p> + <p> + “Now, listen!” said Euphemia, addressing the down-cast couple, “we are + going home, and you two are to stay here all this day and to-night, and + take care of these things. You can't work to-day, and you can shut up your + house, and bring your whole family here if you choose. We will pay you for + the service,—although you do not deserve a cent,—and we will + leave enough here for you to eat. You must bring your own sheets and + pillowcases, and stay here until we see you on Monday morning.” + </p> + <p> + Old John and his wife agreed to this plan with the greatest alacrity, + apparently well pleased to get off so easily; and, having locked up the + smaller articles of camp-furniture, we filled a valise with our personal + baggage and started off home. + </p> + <p> + Our house and grounds never looked prettier than they did that morning, as + we stood at the gate. Lord Edward barked a welcome from his shed, and + before we reached the door, Pomona came running out, her face radiant. + </p> + <p> + “I'm awful glad to see you back,” she said; “though I'd never have said so + while you was in camp.” + </p> + <p> + I patted the dog and looked into the garden. Everything was growing + splendidly. Euphemia rushed to the chicken-yard. It was in first-rate + order, and there were two broods of little yellow puffy chicks. + </p> + <p> + Down on her knees went my wife, to pick up the little creatures, one by + one, press their downy bodies to her cheek, and call them tootsy-wootsies, + and away went I to the barn, followed by Pomona, and soon afterward by + Euphemia. + </p> + <p> + The cow was all right. + </p> + <p> + “I've been making butter,” said Pomona, “though it don't look exactly like + it ought to, yet, and the skim-milk I didn't know what to do with, so I + gave it to old John. He came for it every day, and was real mad once + because I had given a lot of it to the dog, and couldn't let him have but + a pint.” + </p> + <p> + “He ought to have been mad,” said I to Euphemia, as we walked up to the + house. “He got ten cents a quart for that milk.” + </p> + <p> + We laughed, and didn't care. We were too glad to be at home. + </p> + <p> + “But where are our friends?” I asked Pomona. We had actually forgotten + them. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! they're gone out for a walk,” said she. “They started off right after + breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + We were not sorry for this. It would be so much nicer to see our dear home + again when there was nobody there but ourselves. In-doors we rushed. Our + absence had been like rain on a garden. Everything now seemed fresher and + brighter and more delightful. We went from room to room, and seemed to + appreciate better than ever what a charming home we had. + </p> + <p> + We were so full of the delights of our return that we forgot all about the + Sunday dinner and our guests, but Pomona, whom my wife was training to be + an excellent cook, did not forget, and Euphemia was summoned to a + consultation in the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + Dinner was late; but our guests were later. We waited as long as the state + of the provisions and our appetites would permit, and then we sat down to + the table and began to eat slowly. But they did not come. We finished our + meal, and they were still absent. We now became quite anxious, and I + proposed to Euphemia that we should go and look for them. + </p> + <p> + We started out, and our steps naturally turned toward the river. An + unpleasant thought began to crowd itself into my mind, and perhaps the + same thing happened to Euphemia, for, without saying anything to each + other, we both turned toward the path that led to the peninsula. We + crossed the field, climbed the fence, and there, in front of the tent sat + our old boarder splitting sticks with the camp-hatchet. + </p> + <p> + “Hurrah!” he cried, springing to his feet when he saw us. “How glad I am + to see you back! When did you return? Isn't this splendid?” + </p> + <p> + “What?” I said, as we shook hands. + </p> + <p> + “Why this,” he cried, pointing to the tent. “Don't you see? We're camping + out.” + </p> + <p> + “You are?” I exclaimed, looking around for his wife, while Euphemia stood + motionless, actually unable to make a remark. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly we are. It's the rarest bit of luck. My wife and Adele will be + here directly. They've gone to look for water-cresses. But I must tell you + how I came to make this magnificent find. We started out for a walk this + morning, and we happened to hit on this place, and here we saw this + gorgeous tent with nobody near but a little tow-headed boy.” + </p> + <p> + “Only a boy?” cried Euphemia. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, a young shaver of about nine or ten. I asked him what he was doing + here, and he told me that this tent belonged to a gentleman who had gone + away, and that he was here to watch it until he came back. Then I asked + him how long the owner would probably be away, and he said he supposed for + a day or two. Then a splendid idea struck me. I offered the boy a dollar + to let me take his place: I knew that any sensible man would rather have + me in charge of his tent, than a young codger like that. The boy agreed as + quick as lightning, and I paid him and sent him off. You see how little he + was to be trusted! The owner of this tent will be under the greatest + obligations to me. Just look at it!” he cried. “Beds, table, stove,—everything + anybody could want. I've camped out lots of times, but never had such a + tent as this. I intended coming up this afternoon after my valise, and to + tell your girl where we are. But here is my wife and little Adele.” + </p> + <p> + In the midst of the salutations and the mutual surprise, Euphemia cried: + </p> + <p> + “But you don't expect to camp out, now? You are coming back to our house?” + </p> + <p> + “You see,” said the ex-boarder, “we should never have thought of doing + anything so rude, had we supposed you would have returned so soon. But + your girl gave us to understand that you would not be back for days, and + so we felt free to go at any time; and I did not hesitate to make this + arrangement. And now that I have really taken the responsibility of the + tent and fixtures on myself, I don't think it would be right to go away + and leave the place, especially as I don't know where to find that boy. + The owner will be back in a day or two, and I would like to explain + matters to him and give up the property in good order into his hands. And, + to tell the truth, we both adore camping-out, and we may never have such a + chance again. We can live here splendidly. I went out to forage this + morning, and found an old fellow living near by who sold me a lot of + provisions—even some coffee and sugar—and he's to bring us + some milk. We're going to have supper in about an hour; won't you stay and + take a camp-meal with us? It will be a novelty for you, at any rate.” + </p> + <p> + We declined this invitation, as we had so lately dined. I looked at + Euphemia with a question in my eye. She understood me, and gently shook + her head. It would be a shame to make any explanations which might put an + end to this bit of camp-life, which evidently was so eagerly enjoyed by + our old friend. But we insisted that they should come up to the house and + see us, and they agreed to dine with us the next evening. On Tuesday, they + must return to the city. + </p> + <p> + “Now, this is what I call real hospitality,” said the ex-boarder, warmly + grasping my hand. I could not help agreeing with him. + </p> + <p> + As we walked home, I happened to look back and saw old John going over the + fields toward the camp, carrying a little tin-pail and a water bucket. + </p> + <p> + The next day, toward evening, a storm set in, and at the hour fixed for + our dinner, the rain was pouring down in such torrents that we did not + expect our guests. After dinner the rain ceased, and as we supposed that + they might not have made any preparations for a meal, Euphemia packed up + some dinner for them in a basket, and I took it down to the camp. + </p> + <p> + They were glad to see me, and said they had a splendid time all day. They + were up before sunrise, and had explored, tramped, boated, and I don't + know what else. + </p> + <p> + My basket was very acceptable, and I would have stayed awhile with them, + but as they were obliged to eat in the tent, there was no place for me to + sit, it being too wet outside, and so I soon came away. + </p> + <p> + We were in doubt whether or not to tell our friends the true history of + the camp. I thought that it was not right to keep up the deception, while + Euphemia declared that if they were sensitive people, they would feel very + badly at having broken up our plans by their visit, and then having + appropriated our camp to themselves. She thought it would be the part of + magnanimity to say nothing about it. + </p> + <p> + I could not help seeing a good deal of force in her arguments, although I + wished very much to set the thing straight, and we discussed the matter + again as we walked down to the camp, after breakfast next morning. + </p> + <p> + There we found old John sitting on a stump. He said nothing, but handed me + a note written in lead-pencil on a card. It was from our ex-boarder, and + informed me that early that morning he had found that there was a tug + lying in the river, which would soon start for the city. He also found + that he could get passage on her for his party, and as this was such a + splendid chance to go home without the bother of getting up to the + station, he had just bundled his family and his valise on board, and was + very sorry they did not have time to come up and bid us good-bye. The tent + he left in charge of a very respectable man, from whom he had had + supplies. + </p> + <p> + That morning I had the camp-equipage packed up and expressed to its owner. + We did not care to camp out any more that season, but thought it would be + better to spend the rest of my vacation at the sea-shore. + </p> + <p> + Our ex-boarder wrote to us that he and his wife were anxious that we + should return their visit during my holidays; but as we did not see + exactly how we could return a visit of the kind, we did not try to do it. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. LORD EDWARD AND THE TREE-MAN. + </h2> + <p> + It was winter at Rudder Grange. The season was the same at other places, + but that fact did not particularly interest Euphemia and myself. It was + winter with us, and we were ready for it. That was the great point, and it + made us proud to think that we had not been taken unawares, + notwithstanding the many things that were to be thought of on a little + farm like ours. + </p> + <p> + It is true that we had always been prepared for winter, wherever we had + lived; but this was a different case. In other days it did not matter much + whether we were ready or not; but now our house, our cow, our poultry, and + indeed ourselves, might have suffered,—there is no way of finding + out exactly how much,—if we had not made all possible preparations + for the coming of cold weather. + </p> + <p> + But there was a great deal yet to be thought of and planned out, although + we were ready for winter. The next thing to think of was spring. + </p> + <p> + We laid out the farm. We decided where we would have wheat, corn, + potatoes, and oats. We would have a man by the day to sow and reap. The + intermediate processes I thought I could attend to myself. + </p> + <p> + Everything was talked over, ciphered over, and freely discussed by my wife + and myself, except one matter, which I planned and worked out alone, doing + most of the necessary calculations at the office, so as not to excite + Euphemia's curiosity. + </p> + <p> + I had determined to buy a horse. This would be one of the most important + events of our married life, and it demanded a great deal of thought, which + I gave it. + </p> + <p> + The horse was chosen for me by a friend. He was an excellent beast (the + horse), excelling, as my friend told me, in muscle and wit. Nothing better + than this could be said about a horse. He was a sorrel animal, quite + handsome, gentle enough for Euphemia to drive, and not too high-minded to + do a little farm-work, if necessary. He was exactly the animal I needed. + </p> + <p> + The carriage was not quite such a success. The horse having cost a good + deal more than I expected to pay, I found that I could only afford a + second-hand carriage. I bought a good, serviceable vehicle, which would + hold four persons, if necessary, and there was room enough to pack all + sorts of parcels and baskets. It was with great satisfaction that I + contemplated this feature of the carriage, which was a rather + rusty-looking affair, although sound and strong enough. The harness was + new, and set off the horse admirably. + </p> + <p> + On the afternoon when my purchases were completed, I did not come home by + the train. I drove home in my own carriage, drawn by my own horse! The ten + miles' drive was over a smooth road, and the sorrel traveled splendidly. + If I had been a line of kings a mile long, all in their chariots of state, + with gold and silver, and outriders, and music, and banners waving in the + wind, I could not have been prouder than when I drew up in front of my + house. + </p> + <p> + There was a wagon-gate at one side of the front fence which had never been + used except by the men who brought coal, and I got out and opened this, + very quietly, so as not to attract the attention of Euphemia. It was + earlier than I usually returned, and she would not be expecting me. I was + then about to lead the horse up a somewhat grass-grown carriage-way to the + front door, but I reflected that Euphemia might be looking out of some of + the windows and I had better drive up. So I got in and drove very slowly + to the door. + </p> + <p> + However, she heard the unaccustomed noise of wheels, and looked out of the + parlor window. She did not see me, but immediately came around to the + door. I hurried out of the carriage so quickly that, not being familiar + with the steps, I barely escaped tripping. + </p> + <p> + When she opened the front door she was surprised to see me standing by the + horse. + </p> + <p> + “Have you hired a carriage?” she cried. “Are we going to ride?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” said I, as I took her by the hand, “we are going to ride. But I + have not hired a carriage. I have bought one. Do you see this horse? He is + ours—our own horse.” + </p> + <p> + If you could have seen the face that was turned up to me,—all you + other men in the world,—you would have torn your hair in despair. + </p> + <p> + Afterward she went around and around that horse; she patted his smooth + sides; she looked, with admiration, at his strong, well-formed legs; she + stroked his head; she smoothed his mane; she was brimful of joy. + </p> + <p> + When I had brought the horse some water in a bucket—and what a + pleasure it was to water one's own horse!—Euphemia rushed into the + house and got her hat and cloak, and we took a little drive. + </p> + <p> + I doubt if any horse ever drew two happier people. Euphemia said but + little about the carriage. That was a necessary adjunct, and it was good + enough for the present. But the horse! How nobly and with what vigor he + pulled us up the hills and how carefully and strongly he held the carriage + back as we went down! How easily he trotted over the level road, caring + nothing for the ten miles he had gone that afternoon! What a sensation of + power it gave us to think that all that strength and speed and endurance + was ours, that it would go where we wished, that it would wait for us as + long as we chose, that it was at our service day and night, that it was a + horse, and we owned it! + </p> + <p> + When we returned, Pomona saw us drive in,—she had not known of our + ride,—and when she heard the news she was as wild with proud delight + as anybody. She wanted to unharness him, but this I could not allow. We + did not wish to be selfish, but after she had seen and heard what we + thought was enough for her, we were obliged to send her back to the + kitchen for the sake of the dinner. + </p> + <p> + Then we unharnessed him. I say we, for Euphemia stood by and I explained + everything, for some day, she said, she might want to do it herself. Then + I led him into the stable. How nobly he trod, and how finely his hoofs + sounded on the stable floor! + </p> + <p> + There was hay in the mow and I had brought a bag of oats under the seat of + the carriage. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it just delightful,” said Euphemia, “that we haven't any man? If we + had a man he would take the horse at the door, and we should be deprived + of all this. It wouldn't be half like owning a horse.” + </p> + <p> + In the morning I drove down to the station, Euphemia by my side. She drove + back and Old John came up and attended to the horse. This he was to do, + for the present, for a small stipend. In the afternoon Euphemia came down + after me. How I enjoyed those rides! Before this I had thought it ever so + much more pleasant and healthful to walk to and from the station than to + ride, but then I did not own a horse. At night I attended to everything, + Euphemia generally following me about the stable with a lantern. When the + days grew longer we would have delightful rides after dinner, and even now + we planned to have early breakfasts, and go to the station by the longest + possible way. + </p> + <p> + One day, in the following spring, I was riding home from the station with + Euphemia,—we seldom took pleasure-drives now, we were so busy on the + place,—and as we reached the house I heard the dog barking savagely. + He was loose in the little orchard by the side of the house. As I drove + in, Pomona came running to the carriage. + </p> + <p> + “Man up the tree!” she shouted. + </p> + <p> + I helped Euphemia out, left the horse standing by the door, and ran to the + dog, followed by my wife and Pomona. Sure enough, there was a man up the + tree, and Lord Edward was doing his best to get at him, springing wildly + at the tree and fairly shaking with rage. + </p> + <p> + I looked up at the man, he was a thoroughbred tramp, burly, dirty, + generally unkempt, but, unlike most tramps, he looked very much + frightened. His position, on a high crotch of an apple-tree, was not + altogether comfortable, and although, for the present, it was safe, the + fellow seemed to have a wavering faith in the strength of apple-tree + branches, and the moment he saw me, he earnestly besought me to take that + dog away, and let him down. + </p> + <p> + I made no answer, but turning to Pomona, I asked her what this all meant. + </p> + <p> + “Why, sir, you see,” said she, “I was in the kitchen bakin' pies, and this + fellow must have got over the fence at the side of the house, for the dog + didn't see him, and the first thing I know'd he was stickin' his head in + the window, and he asked me to give him somethin' to eat. And when I said + I'd see in a minute if there was anything for him, he says to me, 'Gim me + a piece of one of them pies,'—pies I'd just baked and was settin' to + cool on the kitchen table! 'No, sir,' says I, 'I'm not goin' to cut one of + them pies for you, or any one like you.' 'All right!' says he. 'I'll come + in and help myself.' He must have known there was no man about, and, + comin' the way he did, he hadn't seen the dog. So he come round to the + kitchen door, but I shot out before he got there and unchained Lord + Edward. I guess he saw the dog, when he got to the door, and at any rate + he heard the chain clankin', and he didn't go in, but just put for the + gate. But Lord Edward was after him so quick that he hadn't no time to go + to no gates. It was all he could do to scoot up this tree, and if he'd + been a millionth part of a minute later he'd 'a' been in another world by + this time.” + </p> + <p> + The man, who had not attempted to interrupt Pomona's speech, now began + again to implore me to let him down, while Euphemia looked pitifully at + him, and was about, I think, to intercede with me in his favor, but my + attention was drawn off from her, by the strange conduct of the dog. + Believing, I suppose, that he might leave the tramp for a moment, now that + I had arrived, he had dashed away to another tree, where he was barking + furiously, standing on his hind legs and clawing at the trunk. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter over there?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's the other fellow,” said Pomona. “He's no harm.” And then, as + the tramp made a movement as if he would try to come down, and make a rush + for safety, during the absence of the dog, she called out, “Here, boy! + here, boy!” and in an instant Lord Edward was again raging at his post, at + the foot of the apple-tree. + </p> + <p> + I was grievously puzzled at all this, and walked over to the other tree, + followed, as before, by Euphemia and Pomona. + </p> + <p> + “This one,” said the latter, “is a tree-man—” + </p> + <p> + “I should think so,” said I, as I caught sight of a person in gray + trowsers standing among the branches of a cherry-tree not very far from + the kitchen door. The tree was not a large one, and the branches were not + strong enough to allow him to sit down on them, although they supported + him well enough, as he stood close to the trunk just out of reach of Lord + Edward. + </p> + <p> + “This is a very unpleasant position, sir,” said he, when I reached the + tree. “I simply came into your yard, on a matter of business, and finding + that raging beast attacking a person in a tree, I had barely time to get + up into this tree myself, before he dashed at me. Luckily I was out of his + reach; but I very much fear I have lost some of my property.” + </p> + <p> + “No, he hasn't,” said Pomona. “It was a big book he dropped. I picked it + up and took it into the house. It's full of pictures of pears and peaches + and flowers. I've been lookin' at it. That's how I knew what he was. And + there was no call for his gittin' up a tree. Lord Edward never would have + gone after him if he hadn't run as if he had guilt on his soul.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose, then,” said I, addressing the individual in the cherry-tree, + “that you came here to sell me some trees.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” said he quickly, “trees, shrubs, vines, evergreens,—everything + suitable for a gentleman's country villa. I can sell you something quite + remarkable, sir, in the way of cherry-trees,—French ones, just + imported; bear fruit three times the size of anything that could be + produced on a tree like this. And pears—fruit of the finest flavor + and enormous size—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Pomona. “I seen them in the book. But they must grow on a + ground-vine. No tree couldn't hold such pears as them.” + </p> + <p> + Here Euphemia reproved Pomona's forwardness, and I invited the tree-agent + to get down out of the tree. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said he; “but not while that dog is loose. If you will kindly + chain him up, I will get my book, and show you specimens of some of the + finest small fruit in the world, all imported from the first nurseries of + Europe—the Red-gold Amber Muscat grape,—the—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, please let him down!” said Euphemia, her eyes beginning to sparkle. + </p> + <p> + I slowly walked toward the tramp-tree, revolving various matters in my + mind. We had not spent much money on the place during the winter, and we + now had a small sum which we intended to use for the advantage of the + farm, but had not yet decided what to do with it. It behooved me to be + careful. + </p> + <p> + I told Pomona to run and get me the dog-chain, and I stood under the tree, + listening, as well as I could, to the tree-agent talking to Euphemia, and + paying no attention to the impassioned entreaties of the tramp in the + crotch above me. When the chain was brought, I hooked one end of it in + Lord Edward's collar, and then I took a firm grasp of the other. Telling + Pomona to bring the tree-agent's book from the house, I called to that + individual to get down from his tree. He promptly obeyed, and taking the + book from Pomona, began to show the pictures to Euphemia. + </p> + <p> + “You had better hurry, sir,” I called out. “I can't hold this dog very + long.” And, indeed, Lord Edward had made a run toward the agent, which + jerked me very forcibly in his direction. But a movement by the tramp had + quickly brought the dog back to his more desired victim. + </p> + <p> + “If you will just tie up that dog, sir,” said the agent, “and come this + way, I would like to show you the Meltinagua pear,—dissolves in the + mouth like snow, sir; trees will bear next year.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come look at the Royal Sparkling Ruby grape!” cried Euphemia. “It + glows in the sun like a gem.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the agent, “and fills the air with fragrance during the whole + month of September—” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you,” I shouted, “I can't hold this dog another minute! The chain + is cutting the skin off my hands. Run, sir, run! I'm going to let go!” + </p> + <p> + “Run! run!” cried Pomona. “Fly for your life!” + </p> + <p> + The agent now began to be frightened, and shut up his book. + </p> + <p> + “If you only could see the plates, sir, I'm sure—” + </p> + <p> + “Are you ready?” I cried, as the dog, excited by Pomona's wild shouts, + made a bolt in his direction. + </p> + <p> + “Good-day, if I must—” said the agent, as he hurried to the gate. + But there he stopped. + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing, sir,” he said, “that would so improve your place as a + row of the Spitzenberg Sweet-scented Balsam fir along this fence. I'll + sell you three-year-old trees—” + </p> + <p> + “He's loose!” I shouted, as I dropped the chain. + </p> + <p> + In a second the agent was on the other side of the gate. Lord Edward made + a dash toward him; but, stopping suddenly, flew back to the tree of the + tramp. + </p> + <p> + “If you should conclude, sir,” said the tree-agent, looking over the + fence, “to have a row of those firs along here—” + </p> + <p> + “My good sir,” said I, “there is no row of firs there now, and the fence + is not very high. My dog, as you see, is very much excited and I cannot + answer for the consequences if he takes it into his head to jump over.” + </p> + <p> + The tree-agent turned and walked slowly away. + </p> + <p> + “Now, look-a-here,” cried the tramp from the tree, in the voice of a very + ill-used person, “ain't you goin' to fasten up that dog, and let me git + down?” + </p> + <p> + I walked up close to the tree and addressed him. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said I, “I am not. When a man comes to my place, bullies a young + girl who was about to relieve his hunger, and then boldly determines to + enter my house and help himself to my property, I don't propose to fasten + up any dog that may happen to be after him. If I had another dog, I'd let + him loose, and give this faithful beast a rest. You can do as you please. + You can come down and have it out with the dog, or you can stay up there, + until I have had my dinner. Then I will drive down to the village and + bring up the constable, and deliver you into his hands. We want no such + fellows as you about.” + </p> + <p> + With that, I unhooked the chain from Lord Edward, and walked off to put up + the horse. The man shouted after me, but I paid no attention. I did not + feel in a good humor with him. + </p> + <p> + Euphemia was much disturbed by the various occurrences of the afternoon. + She was sorry for the man in the tree; she was sorry that the agent for + the Royal Ruby grape had been obliged to go away; and I had a good deal of + trouble during dinner to make her see things in the proper light. But I + succeeded at last. + </p> + <p> + I did not hurry through dinner, and when we had finished I went to my work + at the barn. Tramps are not generally pressed for time, and Pomona had + been told to give our captive something to eat. + </p> + <p> + I was just locking the door of the carriage-house, when Pomona came + running to me to tell me that the tramp wanted to see me about something + very important—just a minute, he said. I put the key in my pocket + and walked over to the tree. It was now almost dark, but I could see that + the dog, the tramp, and the tree still kept their respective places. + </p> + <p> + “Look-a-here,” said the individual in the crotch, “you don't know how + dreadful oneasy these limbs gits after you've been settin up here as long + as I have. And I don't want to have nuthin to do with no constables. I'll + tell you what I'll do if you'll chain up that dog, and let me go, I'll fix + things so that you'll not be troubled no more by no tramps.” + </p> + <p> + “How will you do that?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, never you mind,” said he. “I'll give you my word of honor I'll do it. + There's a reg'lar understandin' among us fellers, you know.” + </p> + <p> + I considered the matter. The word of honor of a fellow such as he was + could not be worth much, but the merest chance of getting rid of tramps + should not be neglected. I went in to talk to Euphemia about it, although + I knew what she would say. I reasoned with myself as much as with her. + </p> + <p> + “If we put this one fellow in prison for a few weeks,” I said, “the + benefit is not very great. If we are freed from all tramps, for the + season, the benefit is very great. Shall we try for the greatest good?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said Euphemia; “and his legs must be dreadfully stiff.” + </p> + <p> + So I went out, and after a struggle of some minutes, I chained Lord Edward + to a post at a little distance from the apple-tree. When he was secure, + the tramp descended nimbly from his perch, notwithstanding his stiff legs, + and hurried out of the gate. He stopped to make no remarks over the fence. + With a wild howl of disappointed ambition, Lord Edward threw himself after + him. But the chain held. + </p> + <p> + A lane of moderate length led from our house to the main road, and the + next day, as we were riding home, I noticed, on the trunk of a large tree, + which stood at the corner of the lane and road, a curious mark. I drew up + to see what it was, but we could not make it out. It was a very rude + device, cut deeply into the tree, and somewhat resembled a square, a + circle, a triangle, and a cross, with some smaller marks beneath it. I + felt sure that our tramp had cut it, and that it had some significance, + which would be understood by the members of his fraternity. + </p> + <p> + And it must have had, for no tramps came near us all that summer. We were + visited by a needy person now and then, but by no member of the regular + army of tramps. + </p> + <p> + One afternoon, that fall, I walked home, and at the corner of the lane I + saw a tramp looking up at the mark on the tree, which was still quite + distinct. + </p> + <p> + “What does that mean?” I said, stepping up to him. + </p> + <p> + “How do I know?” said the man, “and what do you want to know fur?” + </p> + <p> + “Just out of curiosity,” I said; “I have often noticed it. I think you can + tell me what it means, and if you will do so, I'll give you a dollar.” + </p> + <p> + “And keep mum about it?” said the man. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I replied, taking out the dollar. + </p> + <p> + “All right!” said the tramp. “That sign means that the man that lives up + this lane is a mean, stingy cuss, with a wicked dog, and it's no good to + go there.” + </p> + <p> + I handed him the dollar and went away, perfectly satisfied with my + reputation. + </p> + <p> + I wish here to make some mention of Euphemia's methods of work in her + chicken-yard. She kept a book, which she at first called her “Fowl + Record,” but she afterward changed the name to “Poultry Register.” I never + could thoroughly understand this book, although she has often explained + every part of it to me. She had pages for registering the age, + description, time of purchase or of birth, and subsequent performances of + every fowl in her yard. She had divisions of the book for expenses, + profits, probable losses and positive losses; she noted the number of eggs + put under each setting hen; the number of eggs cracked per day, the number + spoiled, and finally, the number hatched. Each chick, on emerging from its + shell, was registered, and an account kept of its subsequent life and + adventures. There were frequent calculations regarding the advantages of + various methods of treatment, and there were statements of the results of + a great many experiments—something like this: “Set Toppy and her + sister Pinky, April 2nd 187-; Toppy with twelve eggs,—three Brahma, + four common, and five Leghorn; Pinky with thirteen eggs (as she weighs + four ounces more than her sister), of which three were Leghorn, five + common, and five Brahma. During the twenty-second and twenty-third of + April (same year) Toppy hatched out four Brahmas, two commons, and three + Leghorns, while her sister, on these days and the morning of the day + following, hatched two Leghorns, six commons, and only one Brahma. Now, + could Toppy, who had only three Brahma eggs, and hatched out four of that + breed, have exchanged eggs with her sister, thus making it possible for + her to hatch out six common chickens, when she only had five eggs of that + kind? Or, did the eggs get mixed up in some way before going into the + possession of the hens? Look into probabilities.” + </p> + <p> + These probabilities must have puzzled Euphemia a great deal, but they + never disturbed her equanimity. She was always as tranquil and + good-humored about her poultry-yard as if every hen laid an egg every day, + and a hen-chick was hatched out of every egg. + </p> + <p> + For it may be remembered that the principle underlying Euphemia's + management of her poultry was what might be designated as the “cumulative + hatch.” That is, she wished every chicken hatched in her yard to become + the mother of a brood of her own during the year, and every one of this + brood to raise another brood the next year, and so on, in a kind of + geometrical progression. This plan called for a great many mother-fowls, + and so Euphemia based her highest hopes on a great annual preponderance of + hens. + </p> + <p> + We ate a good many young roosters that fall, for Euphemia would not allow + all the products of her yard to go to market, and, also, a great many eggs + and fowls were sold. She had not contented herself with her original stock + of poultry, but had bought fowls during the winter, and she certainly had + extraordinary good luck, or else her extraordinary system worked + extraordinarily well. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. POMONA'S NOVEL. + </h2> + <p> + It was in the latter part of August of that year that it became necessary + for some one in the office in which I was engaged to go to St. Louis to + attend to important business. Everything seemed to point to me as the fit + person, for I understood the particular business better than any one else. + I felt that I ought to go, but I did not altogether like to do it. I went + home, and Euphemia and I talked over the matter far into the regulation + sleeping-hours. + </p> + <p> + There were very good reasons why we should go (for, of course, I would not + think of taking such a journey without Euphemia). In the first place, it + would be of advantage to me, in my business connection, to take the trip, + and then it would be such a charming journey for us. We had never been + west of the Alleghanies, and nearly all the country we would see would be + new to us. We would come home by the great lakes and Niagara, and the + prospect was delightful to both of us. But then we would have to leave + Rudder Grange for at least three weeks, and how could we do that? + </p> + <p> + This was indeed a difficult question to answer. Who could take care of our + garden, our poultry, our horse and cow, and all their complicated + belongings? The garden was in admirable condition. Our vegetables were + coming in every day in just that fresh and satisfactory condition—altogether + unknown to people who buy vegetables—for which I had labored so + faithfully, and about which I had had so many cheerful anticipations. As + to Euphemia's chicken-yard,—with Euphemia away,—the subject + was too great for us. We did not even discuss it. But we would give up all + the pleasures of our home for the chance of this most desirable excursion, + if we could but think of some one who would come and take care of the + place while we were gone. Rudder Grange could not run itself for three + weeks. + </p> + <p> + We thought of every available person. Old John would not do. We did not + feel that we could trust him. We thought of several of our friends; but + there was, in both our minds, a certain shrinking from the idea of handing + over the place to any of them for such a length of time. For my part, I + said, I would rather leave Pomona in charge than any one else; but, then, + Pomona was young and a girl. Euphemia agreed with me that she would rather + trust her than any one else, but she also agreed in regard to the + disqualifications. So, when I went to the office the next morning, we had + fully determined to go on the trip, if we could find some one to take + charge of our place while we were gone. When I returned from the office in + the afternoon, I had agreed to go to St. Louis. By this time, I had no + choice in the matter, unless I wished to interfere very much with my own + interests. We were to start in two days. If in that time we could get any + one to stay at the place, very well; if not, Pomona must assume the + charge. We were not able to get any one, and Pomona did assume the charge. + It is surprising how greatly relieved we felt when we were obliged to come + to this conclusion. The arrangement was exactly what we wanted, and now + that there was no help for it, our consciences were easy. + </p> + <p> + We felt sure that there would be no danger to Pomona. Lord Edward would be + with her, and she was a young person who was extraordinarily well able to + take care of herself. Old John would be within call in case she needed + him, and I borrowed a bull-dog to be kept in the house at night. Pomona + herself was more than satisfied with the plan. + </p> + <p> + We made out, the night before we left, a long and minute series of + directions for her guidance in household, garden and farm matters, and + directed her to keep a careful record of everything note worthy that might + occur. She was fully supplied with all the necessaries of life, and it has + seldom happened that a young girl has been left in such a responsible and + independent position as that in which we left Pomona. She was very proud + of it. + </p> + <p> + Our journey was ten times more delightful than we had expected it would + be, and successful in every way; and yet, although we enjoyed every hour + of the trip, we were no sooner fairly on our way home than we became so + wildly anxious to get there, that we reached Rudder Grange on Wednesday, + whereas we had written that we would be home on Thursday. We arrived early + in the afternoon and walked up from the station, leaving our baggage to be + sent in the express wagon. As we approached our dear home, we wanted to + run, we were so eager to see it. + </p> + <p> + There it was, the same as ever. I lifted the gate-latch; the gate was + locked. We ran to the carriage-gate; that was locked too. Just then I + noticed a placard on the fence; it was not printed, but the lettering was + large, apparently made with ink and a brush. It read: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + TO BE SOLD + + For TAXES. +</pre> + <p> + We stood and looked at each other. Euphemia turned pale. + </p> + <p> + “What does this mean?” said I. “Has our landlord—” + </p> + <p> + I could say no more. The dreadful thought arose that the place might pass + away from us. We were not yet ready to buy it. But I did not put the + thought in words. There was a field next to our lot, and I got over the + fence and helped Euphemia over. Then we climbed our side-fence. This was + more difficult, but we accomplished it without thinking much about its + difficulties; our hearts were too full of painful apprehensions. I hurried + to the front door; it was locked. All the lower windows were shut. We went + around to the kitchen. What surprised us more than anything else was the + absence of Lord Edward. Had HE been sold? + </p> + <p> + Before we reached the back part of the house, Euphemia said she felt faint + and must sit down. I led her to a tree near by, under which I had made a + rustic chair. The chair was gone. She sat on the grass and I ran to the + pump for some water. I looked for the bright tin dipper which always hung + by the pump. It was not there. But I had a traveling-cup in my pocket, and + as I was taking it out I looked around me. There was an air of bareness + over everything. I did not know what it all meant, but I know that my hand + trembled as I took hold of the pump-handle and began to pump. + </p> + <p> + At the first sound of the pump-handle I heard a deep bark in the direction + of the barn, and then furiously around the corner came Lord Edward. Before + I had filled the cup he was bounding about me. I believe the glad welcome + of the dog did more to revive Euphemia than the water. He was delighted to + see us, and in a moment up came Pomona, running from the barn. Her face + was radiant, too. We felt relieved. Here were two friends who looked as if + they were neither sold nor ruined. + </p> + <p> + Pomona quickly saw that we were ill at ease, and before I could put a + question to her, she divined the cause. Her countenance fell. + </p> + <p> + “You know,” said she, “you said you wasn't comin' till to-morrow. If you + only HAD come then—I was goin' to have everything just exactly right—an' + now you had to climb in—” + </p> + <p> + And the poor girl looked as if she might cry, which would have been a + wonderful thing for Pomona to do. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me one thing,” said I. “What about—those taxes?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's all right,” she cried. “Don't think another minute about that. + I'll tell you all about it soon. But come in first, and I'll get you some + lunch in a minute.” + </p> + <p> + We were somewhat relieved by Pomona's statement that it was “all right” in + regard to the tax-poster, but we were very anxious to know all about the + matter. Pomona, however, gave us little chance to ask her any questions. + As soon as she had made ready our lunch, she asked us, as a particular + favor, to give her three-quarters of an hour to herself, and then, said + she, “I'll have everything looking just as if it was to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + We respected her feelings, for, of course, it was a great disappointment + to her to be taken thus unawares, and we remained in the dining-room until + she appeared, and announced that she was ready for us to go about. We + availed ourselves quickly of the privilege, and Euphemia hurried to the + chicken-yard, while I bent my steps toward the garden and barn. As I went + out I noticed that the rustic chair was in its place, and passing the pump + I looked for the dipper. It was there. I asked Pomona about the chair, but + she did not answer as quickly as was her habit. + </p> + <p> + “Would you rather,” said she, “hear it all together, when you come in, or + have it in little bits, head and tail, all of a jumble?” + </p> + <p> + I called to Euphemia and asked her what she thought, and she was so + anxious to get to her chickens that she said she would much rather wait + and hear it all together. We found everything in perfect order,—the + garden was even free from weeds, a thing I had not expected. If it had not + been for that cloud on the front fence, I should have been happy enough. + Pomona had said it was all right, but she could not have paid the taxes—however, + I would wait; and I went to the barn. + </p> + <p> + When Euphemia came in from the poultry-yard, she called me and said she + was in a hurry to hear Pomona's account of things. So I went in, and we + sat on the side porch, where it was shady, while Pomona, producing some + sheets of foolscap paper, took her seat on the upper step. + </p> + <p> + “I wrote down the things of any account what happened,” said she, “as you + told me to, and while I was about it, I thought I'd make it like a novel. + It would be jus' as true, and p'r'aps more amusin'. I suppose you don't + mind?” + </p> + <p> + No, we didn't mind. So she went on. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't got no name for my novel. I intended to think one out to-night. + I wrote this all of nights. And I don't read the first chapters, for they + tell about my birth and my parentage and my early adventures. I'll just + come down to what happened to me while you was away, because you'll be + more anxious to hear about that. All that's written here is true, jus' the + same as if I told it to you, but I've put it into novel language because + it seems to come easier to me.” + </p> + <p> + And then, in a voice somewhat different from her ordinary tones, as if the + “novel language” demanded it, she began to read: + </p> + <p> + “Chapter Five. The Lonely house and the Faithful friend. Thus was I left + alone. None but two dogs to keep me com-pa-ny. I milk-ed the lowing kine + and water-ed and fed the steed, and then, after my fru-gal repast, I + clos-ed the man-si-on, shutting out all re-collections of the past and + also foresights into the future. That night was a me-mor-able one. I slept + soundly until the break of morn, but had the events transpired which + afterward occur-red, what would have hap-pen-ed to me no tongue can tell. + Early the next day nothing hap-pened. Soon after breakfast, the vener-able + John came to bor-row some ker-osene oil and a half a pound of sugar, but + his attempt was foil-ed. I knew too well the in-sid-ious foe. In the very + out-set of his vil-li-an-y I sent him home with a empty can. For two long + days I wander-ed amid the ver-dant pathways of the gar-den and to the + barn, whenever and anon my du-ty call-ed me, nor did I ere neg-lect the + fowlery. No cloud o'er-spread this happy pe-ri-od of my life. But the + cloud was ri-sing in the horizon although I saw it not. + </p> + <p> + “It was about twenty-five minutes after eleven, on the morning of a + Thursday, that I sat pondering in my mind the ques-ti-on what to do with + the butter and the veg-et-ables. Here was butter, and here was green corn + and lima-beans and trophy tomats, far more than I ere could use. And here + was a horse, idly cropping the fol-i-age in the field, for as my employer + had advis-ed and order-ed I had put the steed to grass. And here was a + wagon, none too new, which had it the top taken off, or even the curtains + roll-ed up, would do for a li-cen-ced vender. With the truck and butter, + and mayhap some milk, I could load that wagon—” + </p> + <p> + “O, Pomona,” interrupted Euphemia. “You don't mean to say that you were + thinking of doing anything like that?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I was just beginning to think of it,” said Pomona, “but of course I + couldn't have gone away and left the house. And you'll see I didn't do + it.” And then she continued her novel. “But while my thoughts were thus + employ-ed, I heard Lord Edward burst into bark-ter—” + </p> + <p> + At this Euphemia and I could not help bursting into laughter. Pomona did + not seem at all confused, but went on with her reading. + </p> + <p> + “I hurried to the door, and, look-ing out, I saw a wagon at the gate. + Re-pair-ing there, I saw a man. Said he, 'Wilt open this gate?' I had + fasten-ed up the gates and remov-ed every steal-able ar-ticle from the + yard.” + </p> + <p> + Euphemia and I looked at each other. This explained the absence of the + rustic seat and the dipper. + </p> + <p> + “Thus, with my mind at ease, I could let my faith-ful fri-end, the dog + (for he it was), roam with me through the grounds, while the fi-erce + bull-dog guard-ed the man-si-on within. Then said I, quite bold, unto him, + 'No. I let in no man here. My em-ploy-er and employ-er-ess are now from + home. What do you want?' Then says he, as bold as brass, 'I've come to put + the light-en-ing rods upon the house. Open the gate.' 'What rods?' says I. + 'The rods as was ordered,' says he, 'open the gate.' I stood and gaz-ed at + him. Full well I saw through his pinch-beck mask. I knew his tricks. In + the ab-sence of my em-ployer, he would put up rods, and ever so many more + than was wanted, and likely, too, some miser-able trash that would attrack + the light-ening, instead of keep-ing it off. Then, as it would spoil the + house to take them down, they would be kept, and pay demand-ed. 'No, sir,' + says I. 'No light-en-ing rods upon this house whilst I stand here,' and + with that I walk-ed away, and let Lord Edward loose. The man he storm-ed + with pas-si-on. His eyes flash-ed fire. He would e'en have scal-ed the + gate, but when he saw the dog he did forbear. As it was then near noon, I + strode away to feed the fowls; but when I did return, I saw a sight which + froze the blood with-in my veins—” + </p> + <p> + “The dog didn't kill him?” cried Euphemia. + </p> + <p> + “Oh no, ma'am!” said Pomona. “You'll see that that wasn't it. At one + corn-er of the lot, in front, a base boy, who had accompa-ni-ed this man, + was bang-ing on the fence with a long stick, and thus attrack-ing to + hisself the rage of Lord Edward, while the vile intrig-er of a + light-en-ing rod-der had brought a lad-der to the other side of the house, + up which he had now as-cend-ed, and was on the roof. What horrors fill-ed + my soul! How my form trembl-ed! This,” continued Pomona, “is the end of + the novel,” and she laid her foolscap pages on the porch. + </p> + <p> + Euphemia and I exclaimed, with one voice, against this. We had just + reached the most exciting part, and, I added, we had heard nothing yet + about that affair of the taxes. + </p> + <p> + “You see, sir,” said Pomona, “it took me so long to write out the chapters + about my birth, my parentage, and my early adventures, that I hadn't time + to finish up the rest. But I can tell you what happened after that jus' as + well as if I had writ it out.” And so she went on, much more glibly than + before, with the account of the doings of the lightning-rod man. + </p> + <p> + “There was that wretch on top of the house, a-fixin' his old rods and + hammerin' away for dear life. He'd brought his ladder over the side fence, + where the dog, a-barkin' and plungin' at the boy outside, couldn't see + him. I stood dumb for a minute, an' then I know'd I had him. I rushed into + the house, got a piece of well-rope, tied it to the bull-dog's collar, an' + dragged him out and fastened him to the bottom rung of the ladder. Then I + walks over to the front fence with Lord Edward's chain, for I knew that if + he got at that bull-dog there'd be times, for they'd never been allowed to + see each other yet. So says I to the boy, 'I'm goin' to tie up the dog, so + you needn't be afraid of his jumpin' over the fence,'—which he + couldn't do, or the boy would have been a corpse for twenty minutes, or + may be half an hour. The boy kinder laughed, and said I needn't mind, + which I didn't. Then I went to the gate, and I clicked to the horse which + was standin' there, an' off he starts, as good as gold, an' trots down the + road. The boy, he said somethin' or other pretty bad, an' away he goes + after him; but the horse was a-trottin' real fast, an' had a good start.” + </p> + <p> + “How on earth could you ever think of doing such things?” said Euphemia. + “That horse might have upset the wagon and broken all the lightning-rods, + besides running over I don't know how many people.” + </p> + <p> + “But you see, ma'am, that wasn't my lookout,” said Pomona. “I was + a-defendin' the house, and the enemy must expect to have things happen to + him. So then I hears an awful row on the roof, and there was the man just + coming down the ladder. He'd heard the horse go off, and when he got about + half-way down an' caught a sight of the bull-dog, he was madder than ever + you seed a lightnin'-rodder in all your born days. 'Take that dog off of + there!' he yelled at me. 'No, I wont, says I. 'I never see a girl like you + since I was born,' he screams at me. 'I guess it would 'a' been better fur + you if you had,' says I; an' then he was so mad he couldn't stand it any + longer, and he comes down as low as he could, and when he saw just how + long the rope was,—which was pretty short,—he made a jump, and + landed clear of the dog. Then he went on dreadful because he couldn't get + at his ladder to take it away; and I wouldn't untie the dog, because if I + had he'd 'a' torn the tendons out of that fellow's legs in no time. I + never see a dog in such a boiling passion, and yet never making no sound + at all but blood-curdlin' grunts. An' I don't see how the rodder would 'a' + got his ladder at all if the dog hadn't made an awful jump at him, and + jerked the ladder down. It just missed your geranium-bed, and the rodder, + he ran to the other end of it, and began pullin' it away, dog an' all. + 'Look-a-here,' says I, 'we can fix him now; and so he cooled down enough + to help me, and I unlocked the front door, and we pushed the bottom end of + the ladder in, dog and all; an' then I shut the door as tight as it would + go, an' untied the end of the rope, an' the rodder pulled the ladder out + while I held the door to keep the dog from follerin', which he came pretty + near doin', anyway. But I locked him in, and then the man began stormin' + again about his wagon; but when he looked out an' see the boy comin' back + with it,—for somebody must 'a' stopped the horse,—he stopped + stormin' and went to put up his ladder ag'in. 'No, you don't,' says I; + 'I'll let the big dog loose next time, and if I put him at the foot of + your ladder, you'll never come down.' 'But I want to go and take down what + I put up,' he says; 'I aint a-goin' on with this job.' 'No,' says I, 'you + aint; and you can't go up there to wrench off them rods and make + rain-holes in the roof, neither.' He couldn't get no madder than he was + then, an' fur a minute or two he couldn't speak, an' then he says, 'I'll + have satisfaction for this.' An' says I, 'How? 'An' says he, 'You'll see + what it is to interfere with a ordered job.' An' says I, 'There wasn't no + order about it;' an' says he, 'I'll show you better than that;' an' he + goes to his wagon an' gits a book. 'There,' says he, 'read that.' 'What of + it? 'says I 'there's nobody of the name of Ball lives here.' That took the + man kinder aback, and he said he was told it was the only house on the + lane, which I said was right, only it was the next lane he oughter 'a' + gone to. He said no more after that, but just put his ladder in his wagon, + and went off. But I was not altogether rid of him. He left a trail of his + baleful presence behind him. + </p> + <p> + “That horrid bull-dog wouldn't let me come into the house! No matter what + door I tried, there he was, just foamin' mad. I let him stay till nearly + night, and then went and spoke kind to him; but it was no good. He'd got + an awful spite ag'in me. I found something to eat down cellar, and I made + a fire outside an' roasted some corn and potatoes. That night I slep' in + the barn. I wasn't afraid to be away from the house, for I knew it was + safe enough, with that dog in it and Lord Edward outside. For three days, + Sunday an' all, I was kep' out of this here house. I got along pretty well + with the sleepin' and the eatin', but the drinkin' was the worst. I + couldn't get no coffee or tea; but there was plenty of milk.” + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you get some man to come and attend to the dog?” I asked. “It + was dreadful to live that way.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I didn't know no man that could do it,” said Pomona. “The dog would + 'a' been too much for Old John, and besides, he was mad about the + kerosene. Sunday afternoon, Captain Atkinson and Mrs. Atkinson and their + little girl in a push-wagon, come here, and I told 'em you was gone away; + but they says they would stop a minute, and could I give them a drink; an' + I had nothin' to give it to them but an old chicken-bowl that I had washed + out, for even the dipper was in the house, an' I told 'em everything was + locked up, which was true enough, though they must 'a' thought you was a + queer kind of people; but I wasn't a-goin' to say nothin' about the dog, + fur, to tell the truth, I was ashamed to do it. So as soon as they'd gone, + I went down into the cellar,—and it's lucky that I had the key for + the outside cellar door,—and I got a piece of fat corn-beef and the + meat-axe. I unlocked the kitchen door and went in, with the axe in one + hand and the meat in the other. The dog might take his choice. I know'd he + must be pretty nigh famished, for there was nothin' that he could get at + to eat. As soon as I went in, he came runnin' to me; but I could see he + was shaky on his legs. He looked a sort of wicked at me, and then he + grabbed the meat. He was all right then.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my!” said Euphemia, “I am so glad to hear that. I was afraid you + never got in. But we saw the dog—is he as savage yet?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no!” said Pomona; “nothin' like it.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Pomona,” said I, “I want to know about those taxes. When do + they come into your story?” + </p> + <p> + “Pretty soon, sir,” said she, and she went on: + </p> + <p> + “After that, I know'd it wouldn't do to have them two dogs so that they'd + have to be tied up if they see each other. Just as like as not I'd want + them both at once, and then they'd go to fightin', and leave me to settle + with some blood-thirsty lightnin'-rodder. So, as I know'd if they once had + a fair fight and found out which was master, they'd be good friends + afterwards, I thought the best thing to do would be to let 'em fight it + out, when there was nothin' else for 'em to do. So I fixed up things for + the combat.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Pomona!” cried Euphemia, “I didn't think you were capable of such a + cruel thing.” + </p> + <p> + “It looks that way, ma'am, but really it aint,” replied the girl. “It + seemed to me as if it would be a mercy to both of 'em to have the thing + settled. So I cleared away a place in front of the wood-shed and unchained + Lord Edward, and then I opened the kitchen door and called the bull. Out + he came, with his teeth a-showin', and his blood-shot eyes, and his + crooked front legs. Like lightnin' from the mount'in blast, he made one + bounce for the big dog, and oh! what a fight there was! They rolled, they + gnashed, they knocked over the wood-horse and sent chips a-flyin' all ways + at wonst. I thought Lord Edward would whip in a minute or two; but he + didn't, for the bull stuck to him like a burr, and they was havin' it, + ground and lofty, when I hears some one run up behind me, and turnin' + quick, there was the 'Piscopalian minister, 'My! my! my!' he hollers; + 'what a awful spectacle! Aint there no way of stoppin' it?' 'No, sir,' + says I, and I told him how I didn't want to stop it, and the reason why. + Then says he, 'Where's your master?' and I told him how you was away. + 'Isn't there any man at all about?' says he. 'No,' says I. 'Then,' says + he, 'if there's nobody else to stop it, I must do it myself.' An' he took + off his coat. 'No,' says I, 'you keep back, sir. If there's anybody to + plunge into that erena, the blood be mine;' an' I put my hand, without + thinkin', ag'in his black shirt-bosom, to hold him back; but he didn't + notice, bein' so excited. 'Now,' says I, 'jist wait one minute, and you'll + see that bull's tail go between his legs. He's weakenin'.' An' sure + enough, Lord Edward got a good grab at him, and was a-shakin' the very + life out of him, when I run up and took Lord Edward by the collar. 'Drop + it!' says I, and he dropped it, for he know'd he'd whipped, and he was + pretty tired hisself. Then the bull-dog, he trotted off with his tail + a-hangin' down. 'Now, then,' says I, 'them dogs will be bosom friends + forever after this.' 'Ah me!' says he, 'I'm sorry indeed that your + employer, for who I've always had a great respect, should allow you to get + into such habits.' That made me feel real bad, and I told him, mighty + quick, that you was the last man in the world to let me do anything like + that, and that, if you'd 'a' been here, you'd 'a' separated them dogs, if + they'd a-chawed your arms off; that you was very particular about such + things; and that it would be a pity if he was to think you was a + dog-fightin' gentleman, when I'd often heard you say that, now you was + fixed an' settled, the one thing you would like most would be to be made a + vestryman.” + </p> + <p> + I sat up straight in my chair. + </p> + <p> + “Pomona!” I exclaimed, “you didn't tell him that?” + </p> + <p> + “That's what I said, sir, for I wanted him to know what you really was; + an' he says, 'Well, well, I never knew that. It might be a very good + thing. I'll speak to some of the members about it. There's two vacancies + now in our vestry.” + </p> + <p> + I was crushed; but Euphemia tried to put the matter into the brightest + light. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it may all turn out for the best,” she said, “and you may be + elected, and that would be splendid. But it would be an awfully funny + thing for a dog-fight to make you a vestry-man.” + </p> + <p> + I could not talk on this subject. “Go on, Pomona,” I said, trying to feel + resigned to my shame, “and tell us about that poster on the fence.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll be to that almost right away,” she said. “It was two or three days + after the dog-fight that I was down at the barn, and happenin' to look + over to Old John's, I saw that tree-man there. He was a-showin' his book + to John, and him and his wife and all the young ones was a-standin' there, + drinkin' down them big peaches and pears as if they was all real. I know'd + he'd come here ag'in, for them fellers never gives you up; and I didn't + know how to keep him away, for I didn't want to let the dogs loose on a + man what, after all, didn't want to do no more harm than to talk the life + out of you. So I just happened to notice, as I came to the house, how kind + of desolate everything looked, and I thought perhaps I might make it look + worse, and he wouldn't care to deal here. So I thought of puttin' up a + poster like that, for nobody whose place was a-goin' to be sold for taxes + would be likely to want trees. So I run in the house, and wrote it quick + and put it up. And sure enough, the man he come along soon, and when he + looked at that paper, and tried the gate, an' looked over the fence an' + saw the house all shut up an' not a livin' soul about,—for I had + both the dogs in the house with me,—he shook his head an' walked + off, as much as to say, 'If that man had fixed his place up proper with my + trees, he wouldn't 'a' come to this!' An' then, as I found the poster + worked so good, I thought it might keep other people from comin' + a-botherin' around, and so I left it up; but I was a-goin' to be sure and + take it down before you came.” + </p> + <p> + As it was now pretty late in the afternoon, I proposed that Pomona should + postpone the rest of her narrative until evening. She said that there was + nothing else to tell that was very particular; and I did not feel as if I + could stand anything more just now, even if it was very particular. + </p> + <p> + When we were alone, I said to Euphemia: + </p> + <p> + “If we ever have to go away from this place again—” + </p> + <p> + “But we wont go away,” she interrupted, looking up to me with as bright a + face as she ever had, “at least not for a long, long, long time to come. + And I'm so glad you're to be a vestryman.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. POMONA TAKES A BRIDAL TRIP. + </h2> + <p> + Our life at Rudder Grange seemed to be in no way materially changed by my + becoming a vestryman. The cow gave about as much milk as before, and the + hens laid the usual number of eggs. Euphemia went to church with a little + more of an air, perhaps, but as the wardens were never absent, and I was + never, therefore, called upon to assist in taking up the collection, her + sense of my position was not inordinately manifested. + </p> + <p> + For a year or two, indeed, there was no radical change in anything about + Rudder Grange, except in Pomona. In her there was a change. She grew up. + </p> + <p> + She performed this feat quite suddenly. She was a young girl when she + first came to us, and we had never considered her as anything else, when + one evening she had a young man to see her. Then we knew she had grown up. + </p> + <p> + We made no objections to her visitors,—she had several, from time to + time,—“for,” said Euphemia, “suppose my parents had objected to your + visits.” I could not consider the mere possibility of anything like this, + and we gave Pomona all the ordinary opportunities for entertaining her + visitors. To tell the truth, I think we gave her more than the ordinary + opportunities. I know that Euphemia would wait on herself to almost any + extent, rather than call upon Pomona, when the latter was entertaining an + evening visitor in the kitchen or on the back porch. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose my mother,” she once remarked, in answer to a mild remonstrance + from me in regard to a circumstance of this nature,—“suppose my + mother had rushed into our presence when we were plighting our vows, and + had told me to go down into the cellar and crack ice!” + </p> + <p> + It was of no use to talk to Euphemia on such subjects; she always had an + answer ready. + </p> + <p> + “You don't want Pomona to go off and be married, do you?” I asked, one day + as she was putting up some new muslin curtains in the kitchen. “You seem + to be helping her to do this all you can, and yet I don't know where on + earth you will get another girl who will suit you so well.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know, either,” replied Euphemia, with a tack in her mouth, “and + I'm sure I don't want her to go. But neither do I want winter to come, or + to have to wear spectacles; but I suppose both of these things will + happen, whether I like it or not.” + </p> + <p> + For some time after this Pomona had very little company, and we began to + think that there was no danger of any present matrimonial engagement on + her part,—a thought which was very gratifying to us, although we did + not wish in any way to interfere with her prospects,—when, one + afternoon, she quietly went up into the village and was married. + </p> + <p> + Her husband was a tall young fellow, a son of a farmer in the county, who + had occasionally been to see her, but whom she must have frequently met on + her “afternoons out.” + </p> + <p> + When Pomona came home and told us this news we were certainly well + surprised. + </p> + <p> + “What on earth are we to do for a girl?” cried Euphemia. + </p> + <p> + “You're to have me till you can get another one,” said Pomona quietly. “I + hope you don't think I'd go 'way, and leave you without anybody.” + </p> + <p> + “But a wife ought to go to her husband,” said Euphemia, “especially so + recent a bride. Why didn't you let me know all about it? I would have + helped to fit you out. We would have given you the nicest kind of a little + wedding.” + </p> + <p> + “I know that,” said Pomona; “you're jus' good enough. But I didn't want to + put you to all that trouble—right in preserving-time too. An' he + wanted it quiet, for he's awful backward about shows. An' as I'm to go to + live with his folks,—at least in a little house on the farm,—I + might as well stay here as anywhere, even if I didn't want to, for I can't + go there till after frost.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “The chills and fever,” said she. “They have it awful down in that valley. + Why, he had a chill while we was bein' married, right at the bridal + altar.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't say so!” exclaimed Euphemia. “How dreadful!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, indeed,” said Pomona. “He must 'a' forgot it was his chill-day, and + he didn't take his quinine, and so it come on him jus' as he was + apromisin' to love an' pertect. But he stuck it out, at the minister's + house, and walked home by his-self to finish his chill.” + </p> + <p> + “And you didn't go with him?” cried Euphemia, indignantly. + </p> + <p> + “He said, no. It was better thus. He felt it weren't the right thing to + mingle the agur with his marriage vows. He promised to take sixteen grains + to-morrow, and so I came away. He'll be all right in a month or so, an' + then we'll go an' keep house. You see it aint likely I could help him any + by goin' there an' gettin' it myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Pomona,” said Euphemia, “this is dreadful. You ought to go and take a + bridal tour and get him rid of those fearful chills.” + </p> + <p> + “I never thought of that,” said Pomona, her face lighting up wonderfully. + </p> + <p> + Now that Euphemia had fallen upon this happy idea, she never dropped it + until she had made all the necessary plans, and had put them into + execution. In the course of a week she had engaged another servant, and + had started Pomona and her husband off on a bridal-tour, stipulating + nothing but that they should take plenty of quinine in their trunk. + </p> + <p> + It was about three weeks after this, and Euphemia and I were sitting on + our front steps,—I had come home early, and we had been potting some + of the tenderest plants,—when Pomona walked in at the gate. She + looked well, and had on a very bright new dress. Euphemia noticed this the + moment she came in. We welcomed her warmly, for we felt a great interest + in this girl, who had grown up in our family and under our care. + </p> + <p> + “Have you had your bridal trip?” asked Euphemia. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes!” said Pomona. “It's all over an' done with, an' we're settled in + our house.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sit right down here on the steps and tell us all about it,” said + Euphemia, in a glow of delightful expectancy, and Pomona, nothing loth, + sat down and told her tale. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” said she, untying her bonnet strings, to give an easier + movement to her chin, “we didn't say where we was goin' when we started + out, for the truth was we didn't know. We couldn't afford to take no big + trip, and yet we wanted to do the thing up jus' as right as we could, + seein' as you had set your heart on it, an' as we had, too, for that + matter. Niagery Fall was what I wanted, but he said that it cost so much + to see the sights there that he hadn't money to spare to take us there an' + pay for all the sight-seein', too. We might go, he said, without seein' + the sights, or, if there was any way of seein' the sights without goin', + that might do, but he couldn't do both. So we give that up, and after + thinkin' a good deal, we agreed to go to some other falls, which might + come cheaper, an' may-be be jus' as good to begin on. So we thought of + Passaic Falls, up to Paterson, an' we went there, an' took a room at a + little hotel, an' walked over to the falls. But they wasn't no good, after + all, for there wasn't no water runnin' over em. There was rocks and + precipicers, an' direful depths, and everything for a good falls, except + water, and that was all bein' used at the mills. 'Well, Miguel,' says I, + 'this is about as nice a place for a falls as ever I see,' but—” + </p> + <p> + “Miguel!” cried Euphemia. “Is that your husband's name?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, no,” said Pomona, “it isn't. His given name is Jonas, but I hated + to call him Jonas, an' on a bridal trip, too. He might jus' as well have + had a more romantic-er name, if his parents had 'a' thought of it. So I + determined I'd give him a better one, while we was on our journey, anyhow, + an' I changed his name to Miguel, which was the name of a Spanish count. + He wanted me to call him Jiguel, because, he said, that would have a kind + of a floating smell of his old name, but I didn't never do it. Well, + neither of us didn't care to stay about no dry falls, so we went back to + the hotel and got our supper, and begun to wonder what we should do next + day. He said we'd better put it off and dream about it, and make up our + minds nex' mornin', which I agreed to, an', that evenin', as we was + sittin' in our room I asked Miguel to tell me the story of his life. He + said, at first, it hadn't none, but when I seemed a kinder put out at + this, he told me I mustn't mind, an' he would reveal the whole. So he told + me this story: + </p> + <p> + “'My grandfather,' said he, 'was a rich and powerful Portugee, a-livin' on + the island of Jamaica. He had heaps o' slaves, an' owned a black + brigantine, that he sailed in on secret voyages, an', when he come back, + the decks an' the gunnels was often bloody, but nobody knew why or + wherefore. He was a big man with black hair an' very violent. He could + never have kept no help, if he hadn't owned 'em, but he was so rich, that + people respected him, in spite of all his crimes. My grandmother was a + native o' the Isle o' Wight. She was a frail an' tender woman, with yeller + hair, and deep blue eyes, an' gentle, an' soft, an' good to the poor. She + used to take baskits of vittles aroun' to sick folks, an' set down on the + side o' their beds an' read “The Shepherd o' Salisbury Plains” to 'em. She + hardly ever speaked above her breath, an' always wore white gowns with a + silk kerchief a-folded placidly aroun' her neck.' 'Them was awful + different kind o' people,' I says to him, 'I wonder how they ever come to + be married.' 'They never was married,' says he. 'Never married!' I + hollers, a-jumpin' up from my chair, 'and you sit there carmly an' look me + in the eye.' 'Yes,' says he, 'they was never married. They never met; one + was my mother's father, and the other one my father's mother. 'Twas well + they did not wed.' 'I should think so,' said I, 'an' now, what's the good + of tellin' me a thing like that?' + </p> + <p> + “'It's about as near the mark as most of the stories of people's lives, I + reckon,' says he, 'an' besides I'd only jus' begun it.' + </p> + <p> + “'Well, I don't want no more,' says I, an' I jus' tell this story of his + to show what kind of stories he told about that time. He said they was + pleasant fictions, but I told him that if he didn't look out he'd hear 'em + called by a good deal of a worse kind of a name than that. The nex' + mornin' he asked me what was my dream, an' I told him I didn't have + exactly no dream about it, but my idea was to have somethin' real romantic + for the rest of our bridal days. + </p> + <p> + “'Well,' says he, 'what would you like? I had a dream, but it wasn't no + ways romantic, and I'll jus' fall in with whatever you'd like best.' + </p> + <p> + “'All right,' says I, 'an' the most romantic-est thing that I can think of + is for us to make-believe for the rest of this trip. We can make-believe + we're anything we please, an' if we think so in real earnest it will be + pretty much the same thing as if we really was. We aint likely to have no + chance ag'in of being jus' what we've a mind to, an' so let's try it now.' + </p> + <p> + “'What would you have a mind to be?' says he. + </p> + <p> + “'Well,' says I, 'let's be an earl an' a earl-ess.' + </p> + <p> + “'Earl-ess'? says he, 'there's no such a person.' + </p> + <p> + “'Why, yes there is, of course,' I says to him. 'What's a she-earl if she + isn't a earl-ess?' + </p> + <p> + “'Well, I don't know,' says he, 'never havin' lived with any of 'em, but + we'll let it go at that. An' how do you want to work the thing out?' + </p> + <p> + “'This way,' says I. 'You, Miguel—' + </p> + <p> + “'Jiguel,' says he. + </p> + <p> + “'The earl,' says I, not mindin' his interruption, 'an' me, your noble + earl-ess, will go to some good place or other—it don't matter much + jus' where, and whatever house we live in we'll call our castle an' we'll + consider it's got draw-bridges an' portcullises an' moats an' secrit + dungeons, an' we'll remember our noble ancesters, an' behave accordin'. + An' the people we meet we can make into counts and dukes and princes, + without their knowin' anything about it; an' we can think our clothes is + silk an' satin an' velwet, all covered with dimuns an' precious stones, + jus' as well as not.' + </p> + <p> + “'Jus' as well,' says he. + </p> + <p> + “'An' then,' I went on, 'we can go an' have chi-VAL-rous adventures,—or + make believe we're havin' 'em,—an' build up a atmosphere of + romanticness aroun' us that'll carry us back—' + </p> + <p> + “'To ole Virginny,' says he. + </p> + <p> + “'No,' says I, 'for thousands of years, or at least enough back for the + times of tournaments and chi-VAL-ry.' + </p> + <p> + “'An' so your idea is that we make believe all these things, an' don't pay + for none of 'em, is it?' says he. + </p> + <p> + “'Yes,' says I; 'an' you, Miguel—' + </p> + <p> + “'Jiguel,' says he. + </p> + <p> + “'Can ask me, if you don't know what chi-VAL-ric or romantic thing you + ought to do or to say so as to feel yourself truly an' reely a earl, for + I've read a lot about these people, an' know jus' what ought to be did.' + </p> + <p> + “Well, he set himself down an' thought a while, an' then he says, 'All + right. We'll do that, an' we'll begin to-morrow mornin', for I've got a + little business to do in the city which wouldn't be exactly the right + thing for me to stoop to after I'm a earl, so I'll go in an' do it while + I'm a common person, an' come back this afternoon, an you can walk about + an' look at the dry falls, an' amuse yourself gen'rally, till I come + back.' + </p> + <p> + “'All right,' says I, an' off he goes. + </p> + <p> + “He come back afore dark, an' the nex' mornin' we got ready to start off. + </p> + <p> + “'Have you any particular place to go?' says he. + </p> + <p> + “'No,' says I, 'one place is as likely to be as good as another for our + style o' thing. If it don't suit, we can imagine it does.' + </p> + <p> + “'That'll do,' says he, an' we had our trunk sent to the station, and + walked ourselves. When we got there, he says to me, + </p> + <p> + “Which number will you have, five or seven?' + </p> + <p> + “'Either one will suit me, Earl Miguel,' says I. + </p> + <p> + “'Jiguel,' says he, 'an' we'll make it seven. An' now I'll go an' look at + the time-table, an' we'll buy tickets for the seventh station from here. + The seventh station,' says he, comin' back, 'is Pokus. We'll go to Pokus.' + </p> + <p> + “So when the train come we got in, an' got out at Pokus. It was a pretty + sort of a place, out in the country, with the houses scattered a long ways + apart, like stingy chicken-feed. + </p> + <p> + “'Let's walk down this road,' says he, 'till we come to a good house for a + castle, an' then we can ask 'em to take us to board, an' if they wont do + it we'll go to the next, an' so on.' + </p> + <p> + “'All right,' says I, glad enough to see how pat he entered into the + thing. + </p> + <p> + “We walked a good ways, an' passed some little houses that neither of us + thought would do, without more imaginin' than would pay, till we came to a + pretty big house near the river, which struck our fancy in a minute. It + was a stone house, an' it had trees aroun' it, there was a garden with a + wall, an' things seemed to suit first-rate, so we made up our minds right + off that we'd try this place. + </p> + <p> + “'You wait here under this tree,' says he, 'an' I'll go an' ask 'em if + they'll take us to board for a while.' + </p> + <p> + “So I waits, an' he goes up to the gate, an' pretty soon he comes out an' + says, 'All right, they'll take us, an' they'll send a man with a + wheelbarrer to the station for our trunk.' So in we goes. The man was a + country-like lookin' man, an' his wife was a very pleasant woman. The + house wasn't furnished very fine, but we didn't care for that, an' they + gave us a big room that had rafters instid of a ceilin', an' a big + fire-place, an' that, I said, was jus' exac'ly what we wanted. The room + was almos' like a donjon itself, which he said he reckoned had once been a + kitchin, but I told him that a earl hadn't nothin' to do with kitchins, + an' that this was a tapestry chamber, an' I'd tell him all about the + strange figgers on the embroidered hangin's, when the shadders begun to + fall. + </p> + <p> + “It rained a little that afternoon, an' we stayed in our room, an' hung + our clothes an' things about on nails an' hooks, an' made believe they was + armor an' ancient trophies an' portraits of a long line of ancesters. I + did most of the make-believin' but he agreed to ev'rything. The man who + kep' the house's wife brought us our supper about dark, because she said + she thought we might like to have it together cozy, an' so we did, an' was + glad enough of it; an' after supper we sat before the fire-place, where we + made-believe the flames was a-roarin' an' cracklin' an' a-lightin' up the + bright places on the armor a-hangin' aroun', while the storm—which + we made-believe—was a-ragin' an' whirlin' outside. I told him a long + story about a lord an' a lady, which was two or three stories I had read, + run together, an' we had a splendid time. It all seemed real real to me.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. IN WHICH TWO NEW FRIENDS DISPORT THEMSELVES. + </h2> + <p> + “The nex' mornin' was fine an' nice,” continued Pomona, “an' after our + breakfast had been brought to us, we went out in the grounds to take a + walk. There was lots of trees back of the house, with walks among 'em, an' + altogether it was so ole-timey an' castleish that I was as happy as a + lark. + </p> + <p> + “'Come along, Earl Miguel,' I says; 'let us tread a measure 'neath these + mantlin' trees.' + </p> + <p> + “'All right,' says he. 'Your Jiguel attends you. An' what might our noble + second name be? What is we earl an' earl-ess of?' + </p> + <p> + “'Oh, anything,' says I. 'Let's take any name at random.' + </p> + <p> + “'All right,' says he. 'Let it be random. Earl an' Earl-ess Random. Come + along.' + </p> + <p> + “So we walks about, I feelin' mighty noble an' springy, an' afore long we + sees another couple a-walkin' about under the trees. + </p> + <p> + “'Who's them?' says I. + </p> + <p> + “'Don't know,' says he, 'but I expect they're some o' the other boarders. + The man said he had other boarders when I spoke to him about takin' us.' + </p> + <p> + “'Let's make-believe they're a count an' count says I. 'Count an' Countess + of—' + </p> + <p> + “'Milwaukee,' says he. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't think much of this for a noble name, but still it would do well + enough, an' so we called 'em the Count an' Countess of Milwaukee, an' we + kep' on a meanderin'. Pretty soon he gets tired an' says he was agoin' + back to the house to have a smoke because he thought it was time to have a + little fun which weren't all imaginations, an' I says to him to go along, + but it would be the hardest thing in this world for me to imagine any fun + in smokin'. He laughed an' went back, while I walked on, a-makin'-believe + a page, in blue puffed breeches, was a-holdin' up my train, which was of + light-green velvet trimmed with silver lace. Pretty soon, turnin' a little + corner, I meets the Count and Countess of Milwaukee. She was a small lady, + dressed in black, an' he was a big fat man about fifty years old, with a + grayish beard. They both wore little straw hats, exac'ly alike, an' had on + green carpet-slippers. + </p> + <p> + “They stops when they sees me, an' the lady she bows and says + 'good-mornin',' an' then she smiles, very pleasant, an' asks if I was + a-livin' here, an' when I said I was, she says she was too, for the + present, an' what was my name. I had half a mind to say the Earl-ess + Random, but she was so pleasant and sociable that I didn't like to seem to + be makin' fun, an' so I said I was Mrs. De Henderson. + </p> + <p> + “'An' I,' says she, 'am Mrs. General Andrew Jackson, widow of the + ex-President of the United States. I am staying here on business connected + with the United States Bank. This is my brother,' says she, pointin' to + the big man. + </p> + <p> + “'How d'ye do?' says he, a-puttin' his hands together, turnin' his toes + out an' makin' a funny little bow. 'I am General Tom Thumb,' he says in a + deep, gruff voice, 'an' I've been before all the crown-ed heads of Europe, + Asia, Africa, America an' Australia,—all a's but one,—an' I'm + waitin' here for a team of four little milk-white oxen, no bigger than + tall cats, which is to be hitched to a little hay-wagon, which I am to + ride in, with a little pitch-fork an' real farmer's clothes, only small. + This will come to-morrow, when I will pay for it an' ride away to exhibit. + It may be here now, an' I will go an' see. Good-bye.' + </p> + <p> + “'Good-bye, likewise,' says the lady. 'I hope you'll have all you're + thinkin' you're havin', an' more too, but less if you'd like it. + Farewell.' An' away they goes. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you may be sure, I stood there amazed enough, an' mad too when I + heard her talk about my bein' all I was a-thinkin' I was. I was sure my + husband—scarce two weeks old, a husband—had told all. It was + too bad. I wished I had jus' said I was the Earl-ess of Random an' brassed + it out. + </p> + <p> + “I rushed back an' foun' him smokin' a pipe on a back porch. I charged him + with his perfidy, but he vowed so earnest that he had not told these + people of our fancies, or ever had spoke to 'em, that I had to believe + him. + </p> + <p> + “'I expec',' says he, 'that they're jus' makin'-believe—as we are. + There aint no patent on make-believes.' + </p> + <p> + “This didn't satisfy me, an' as he seemed to be so careless about it I + walked away, an' left him to his pipe. I determined to go take a walk + along some of the country roads an' think this thing over for myself. I + went aroun' to the front gate, where the woman of the house was a-standin' + talkin' to somebody, an' I jus' bowed to her, for I didn't feel like + sayin' anything, an' walked past her. + </p> + <p> + “'Hello!' said she, jumpin' in front of me an' shuttin' the gate. 'You + can't go out here. If you want to walk you can walk about in the grounds. + There's lots of shady paths.' + </p> + <p> + “'Can't go out!' says I. 'Can't go out! What do you mean by that?' + </p> + <p> + “'I mean jus' what I say,' said she, an' she locked the gate. + </p> + <p> + “I was so mad that I could have pushed her over an' broke the gate, but I + thought that if there was anything of that kind to do I had a husband + whose business it was to attend to it, an' so I runs aroun' to him to tell + him. He had gone in, but I met Mrs. Jackson an' her brother. + </p> + <p> + “'What's the matter?' said she, seein' what a hurry I was in. + </p> + <p> + “'That woman at the gate,' I said, almost chokin' as I spoke, 'wont let me + out.' + </p> + <p> + “'She wont?' said Mrs. Jackson. 'Well, that's a way she has. Four times + the Bank of the United States has closed its doors before I was able to + get there, on account of that woman's obstinacy about the gate. Indeed, I + have not been to the Bank at all yet, for of course it is of no use to go + after banking hours.' + </p> + <p> + “'An' I believe, too,' said her brother in his heavy voice, 'that she has + kept out my team of little oxen. Otherwise it would be here now.' + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't stand any more of this an' ran into our room where my husband + was. When I told him what had happened, he was real sorry. + </p> + <p> + “'I didn't know you thought of going out,' he said, 'or I would have told + you all about it. An' now sit down an' quiet yourself, an' I'll tell you + jus' how things is.' So down we sits, an' says he, jus' as carm as a + summer cloud, 'My dear, this is a lunertic asylum. Now, don't jump,' he + says; 'I didn't bring you here, because I thought you was crazy, but + because I wanted you to see what kind of people they was who imagined + themselves earls and earl-esses, an' all that sort o' thing, an' to have + an idea how the thing worked after you'd been doing it a good while an' + had got used to it. I thought it would be a good thing, while I was Earl + Jiguel and you was a noble earl-ess, to come to a place where people acted + that way. I knowed you had read lots o' books about knights and princes + an' bloody towers, an' that you knowed all about them things, but I didn't + suppose you did know how them same things looked in these days, an' a + lunertic asylum was the only place where you could see 'em. So I went to a + doctor I knowed,' he says, 'an' got a certificate from him to this private + institution, where we could stay for a while an' get posted on romantics.' + </p> + <p> + “'Then,' says I, 'the upshot was that you wanted to teach a lesson.' + </p> + <p> + “'Jus' that,' says he. + </p> + <p> + “'All right,' says I; 'it's teached. An' now let's get out of this as + quick as we kin.' + </p> + <p> + “'That'll suit me,' he says, 'an' we'll leave by the noon train. I'll go + an' see about the trunk bein' sent down.' + </p> + <p> + “So off he went to see the man who kept the house, while I falls to + packin' up the trunk as fast as I could.” + </p> + <p> + “Weren't you dreadfully angry at him?” asked Euphemia, who, having a + romantic streak in her own composition, did not sympathize altogether with + this heroic remedy for Pomona's disease. + </p> + <p> + “No, ma'am,” said Pomona, “not long. When I thought of Mrs. General + Jackson and Tom Thumb, I couldn't help thinkin' that I must have looked + pretty much the same to my husband, who, I knowed now, had only been + makin'-believe to make-believe. An' besides, I couldn't be angry very long + for laughin, for when he come back in a minute, as mad as a March hare, + an' said they wouldn't let me out nor him nuther, I fell to laughin' ready + to crack my sides. + </p> + <p> + “'They say,' said he, as soon as he could speak straight, 'that we can't + go out without another certificate from the doctor. I told 'em I'd go + myself an' see him about it but they said no, I couldn't, for if they did + that way everybody who ever was sent here would be goin' out the next day + to see about leavin'. I didn't want to make no fuss, so I told them I'd + write a letter to the doctor and tell him to send an order that would soon + show them whether we could go out or not. They said that would be the best + thing to do, an so I'm goin' to write it this minute,'—which he did. + </p> + <p> + “'How long will we have to wait?' says I, when the letter was done. + </p> + <p> + “'Well,' says he, 'the doctor can't get this before to-morrow mornin', an' + even if he answers right away, we won't get our order to go out until the + next day. So we'll jus' have to grin an' bear it for a day an' a half.' + </p> + <p> + “'This is a lively old bridal-trip,' said I,—'dry falls an' a + lunertic asylum.' + </p> + <p> + “'We'll try to make the rest of it better,' said he. + </p> + <p> + “But the next day wasn't no better. We staid in our room all day, for we + didn't care to meet Mrs. Jackson an' her crazy brother, an' I'm sure we + didn't want to see the mean creatures who kept the house. We knew well + enough that they only wanted us to stay so that they could get more + board-money out of us.” + </p> + <p> + “I should have broken out,” cried Euphemia. “I would never have staid an + hour in that place, after I found out what it was, especially on a bridal + trip.” + </p> + <p> + “If we'd done that,” said Pomona, “they'd have got men after us, an' then + everybody would have thought we was real crazy. We made up our minds to + wait for the doctor's letter, but it wasn't much fun. An' I didn't tell no + romantic stories to fill up the time. We sat down an' behaved like the + commonest kind o' people. You never saw anybody sicker of romantics than I + was when I thought of them two loons that called themselves Mrs. Andrew + Jackson and General Tom Thumb. I dropped Miguel altogether, an' he dropped + Jiguel, which was a relief to me, an' I took strong to Jonas, even callin' + him Jone, which I consider a good deal uglier an' commoner even than + Jonas. He didn't like this much, but said that if it would help me out of + the Miguel, he didn't care. + </p> + <p> + “Well, on the mornin' of the next day I went into the little front room + that they called the office, to see if there was a letter for us yet, an' + there wasn't nobody there to ask. But I saw a pile of letters under a + weight on the table, an' I jus' looked at these to see if one of 'em was + for us, an' if there wasn't the very letter Jone had written to the + doctor! They'd never sent it! I rushes back to Jone an' tells him, an' he + jus' set an' looked at me without sayin' a word. I didn't wonder he + couldn't speak. + </p> + <p> + “'I'll go an' let them people know what I think of 'em,' says I. + </p> + <p> + “'Don't do that,' said Jone, catchin' me by the sleeve. 'It wont do no + good. Leave the letter there, an' don't say nothin' about it. We'll stay + here till afternoon quite quiet, an' then we'll go away. That garden wall + isn't high.' + </p> + <p> + “'An' how about the trunk?' says I. + </p> + <p> + “'Oh, we'll take a few things in our pockets, an' lock up the trunk, an' + ask the doctor to send for it when we get to the city.' + </p> + <p> + “'All right,' says I. An' we went to work to get ready to leave. + </p> + <p> + “About five o'clock in the afternoon, when it was a nice time to take a + walk under the trees, we meandered quietly down to a corner of the back + wall, where Jone thought it would be rather convenient to get over. He + hunted up a short piece of board which he leaned up ag'in the wall, an' + then he put his foot on the top of that an' got hold of the top of the + wall an' climbed up, as easy as nuthin'. Then he reached down to help me + step onto the board. But jus' as he was agoin' to take me by the hand: + 'Hello!' says he. 'Look a-there!' An' I turned round an' looked, an' if + there wasn't Mrs. Andrew Jackson an' General Tom Thumb a-walkin' down the + path. + </p> + <p> + “'What shall we do?' says I. + </p> + <p> + “'Come along,' says he. 'We aint a-goin' to stop for them. Get up, all the + same.' + </p> + <p> + “I tried to get up as he said, but it wasn't so easy for me on account of + my not bein' such a high stepper as Jone, an' I was a good while a-gettin' + a good footin' on the board. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Jackson an' the General, they came right up to us an' set down on a + bench which was fastened between two trees near the wall. An' there they + set, a-lookin' steady at us with their four little eyes, like four empty + thimbles. + </p> + <p> + “'You appear to be goin' away,' says Mrs. Jackson. + </p> + <p> + “'Yes,' says Jone from the top of the wall. We're a-goin' to take a slight + stroll outside, this salu-brious evenin'.' + </p> + <p> + “'Do you think,' says she, 'that the United States Bank would be open this + time of day?' + </p> + <p> + “'Oh no,' says Jone, 'the banks all close at three o'clock. It's a good + deal after that now.' + </p> + <p> + “'But if I told the officers who I was, wouldn't that make a difference?' + says she. 'Wouldn't they go down an' open the bank?' + </p> + <p> + “'Not much,' says Jone, givin' a pull which brought me right up to the top + o' the wall an' almost clean down the other side, with one jerk. 'I never + knowed no officers that would do that. But,' says he, a kind o' shuttin' + his eyes so that she shouldn't see he was lyin', 'we'll talk about that + when we come back.' + </p> + <p> + “'If you see that team of little oxen,' says the big man, 'send 'em 'round + to the front gate.' + </p> + <p> + “'All right,' says Jone; an' he let me down the outside of the wall as if + I had been a bag o' horse-feed. + </p> + <p> + “'But if the bank isn't open you can't pay for it when it does come,' we + heard the old lady a-sayin' as we hurried off. + </p> + <p> + “We didn't lose no time agoin' down to that station, an' it's lucky we + didn't, for a train for the city was comin' jus' as we got there, an' we + jumped aboard without havin' no time to buy tickets. There wasn't many + people in our car, an we got a seat together. + </p> + <p> + “'Now then,' says Jone, as the cars went abuzzin' along, 'I feel as if I + was really on a bridal-trip, which I mus' say I didn't at that there + asylum.' + </p> + <p> + “An' then I said: 'I should think not,' an' we both bust out a-laughin', + as well we might, feelin' sich a change of surroundin's. + </p> + <p> + “'Do you think,' says somebody behind us, when we'd got through laughin', + 'that if I was to send a boy up to the cashier he would either come down + or send me the key of the bank?' + </p> + <p> + “We both turned aroun' as quick as lightnin', an' if there wasn't them two + lunertics in the seat behind us! + </p> + <p> + “It nearly took our breaths away to see them settin' there, staring at us + with their thimble eyes, an' a-wearin' their little straw hats, both + alike. + </p> + <p> + “'How on the livin' earth did you two got here?' says I, as soon as I + could speak. + </p> + <p> + “'Oh, we come by the same way you come—by the tem-per-ary stairs,' + says Mrs. Jackson. 'We thought if it was too late to draw any money + to-night, it might be well to be on hand bright an' early in the mornin'. + An' so we follered you two, as close as we could, because we knew you + could take us right to the very bank doors, an' we didn't know the way + ourselves, not never havin' had no occasion to attend to nothin' of this + kind before.' + </p> + <p> + “Jone an' I looked at each other, but we didn't speak for a minute. + </p> + <p> + “'Then,' says I, 'here's a pretty kittle o' fish.' + </p> + <p> + “'I should kinder say so,' says Jone. 'We've got these here two lunertics + on our hands, sure enough, for there ain't no train back to Pokus tonight, + an' I wouldn't go back with 'em if there was. We must keep an eye on 'em + till we can see the doctor to-morrow.' + </p> + <p> + “'I suppose we must,' said I, 'but this don't seem as much like a + bridal-trip as it did a while ago.' + </p> + <p> + “'You're right there,' says Jone. + </p> + <p> + “When the conductor came along we had to pay the fare of them two + lunertics, besides our own, for neither of 'em had a cent about 'em. When + we got to town we went to a smallish hotel, near the ferry, where Jone + knowed the man who kep' it, who wouldn't bother about none of us havin' a + scrap of baggage, knowin' he'd get his money all the same, out of either + Jone or his father. The General an' his sister looked a kind o' funny in + their little straw hats an' green carpet-slippers, an' the clerk didn't + know whether he hadn't forgot how to read writin' when the big man put + down the names of General Tom Thumb and Mrs. ex-President Andrew Jackson, + which he wasn't ex-President anyway, bein' dead; but Jone he whispered + they was travelin' under nommys dess plummys (I told him to say that), an' + he would fix it all right in the mornin'. An' then we got some supper, + which it took them two lunertics a long time to eat, for they was all the + time forgettin' what particular kind o' business they was about, an' then + we was showed to our rooms. They had two rooms right across the hall from + ours. We hadn't been inside our room five minutes before Mrs. General + Jackson come a-knockin' at the door. + </p> + <p> + “'Look a-here,' she says to me, 'there's a unforeseen contingency in my + room. An' it smells.' + </p> + <p> + “So I went right in, an' sure enough it did smell, for she had turned on + all the gases, besides the one that was lighted. + </p> + <p> + “'What did you do that for?' says I, a-turnin' them off as fast as I + could. + </p> + <p> + “'I'd like to know what they're made for,' says she, 'if they isn't to be + turned on.' + </p> + <p> + “When I told Jone about this he looked real serious, an' jus' then a + waiter came upstairs an' went into the big man's room. In a minute he come + out an' says to Jone an' me, a-grinnin': + </p> + <p> + “'We can't suit him no better in this house.' + </p> + <p> + “'What does he want?' asks Jone. + </p> + <p> + “'Why, he wants a smaller bed,' says the waiter. 'He says he can't sleep + in a bed as big as that, an' we haven't none smaller in this house, which + he couldn't get into if we had, in my opinion,' says he. + </p> + <p> + “'All right,' says Jone. 'Jus' you go downstairs, an' I'll fix him.' So + the man goes off, still a-grinnin'. 'I tell you what it is,' says Jone, + 'it wont do to let them two lunertics have rooms to themselves. They'll + set this house afire or turn it upside down in the middle of the night, if + they has. There's nuthin' to be done but for you to sleep with the woman + an' for me to sleep with the man, an' to keep 'em from cuttin' up till + mornin'.' + </p> + <p> + “So Jone he went into the room where General Tom Thumb was a-settin' with + his hat on, a-lookin' doleful at the bed, an' says he: + </p> + <p> + “'What's the matter with the bed?' + </p> + <p> + “'Oh, it's too large entirely,' says the General. 'It wouldn't do for me + to sleep in a bed like that. It would ruin my character as a genuine + Thumb.' + </p> + <p> + “'Well,' says Jone, 'it's nearly two times too big for you, but if you an' + me was both to sleep in it, it would be about right, wouldn't it?' + </p> + <p> + “'Oh yes,' says the General. An' he takes off his hat, an' Jone says + good-night to me an' shuts the door. Our room was better than Mrs. General + Jackson's, so I takes her in there, an' the fust thing she does is to turn + on all the gases. + </p> + <p> + “'Stop that!' I hollers. 'If you do that again,—I'll—I'll + break the United States Bank tomorrow!' + </p> + <p> + “'How'll you do that?' says she. + </p> + <p> + “'I'll draw out all my capital,' says I. + </p> + <p> + “'I hope really you wont,' says she, 'till I've been there,' an' she leans + out of the open winder to look into the street, but while she was + a-lookin' out I see her left hand a-creepin' up to the gas by the winder, + that wasn't lighted. I felt mad enough to take her by the feet an' pitch + her out, as you an the boarder,” said Pomona, turning to me, “h'isted me + out of the canal-boat winder.” + </p> + <p> + This, by the way, was the first intimation we had had that Pomona knew how + she came to fall out of that window. + </p> + <p> + “But I didn't do it,” she continued, “for there wasn't no soft water + underneath for her to fall into. After we went to bed I kep' awake for a + long time, bein' afraid she'd get up in the night an' turn on all the + gases and smother me alive. But I fell asleep at last, an' when I woke up, + early in the mornin', the first thing I did was to feel for that lunertic. + But she was gone!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. IN WHICH AN OLD FRIEND APPEARS AND THE BRIDAL TRIP TAKES A + </h2> + <p> + FRESH START. + </p> + <p> + “Gone?” cried Euphemia, who, with myself, had been listening most intently + to Pomona's story. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” continued Pomona, “she was gone. I give one jump out of bed and + felt the gases, but they was all right. But she was gone, an' her clothes + was gone. I dressed, as pale as death, I do expect, an' hurried to Jone's + room, an' he an' me an' the big man was all ready in no time to go an' + look for her. General Tom Thumb didn't seem very anxious, but we made him + hurry up an' come along with us. We couldn't afford to leave him nowheres. + The clerk down-stairs—a different one from the chap who was there + the night before—said that a middle-aged, elderly lady came down + about an hour before an' asked him to tell her the way to the United + States Bank, an' when he told her he didn't know of any such bank, she + jus' stared at him, an' wanted to know what he was put there for. So he + didn't have no more to say to her, an' she went out, an' he didn't take no + notice which way she went. We had the same opinion about him that Mrs. + Jackson had, but we didn't stop to tell him so. We hunted up an' down the + streets for an hour or more; we asked every policeman we met if he'd seen + her; we went to a police station; we did everything we could think of, but + no Mrs. Jackson turned up. Then we was so tired an' hungry that we went + into some place or other an' got our breakfast. When we started out ag'in, + we kep' on up one street an' down another, an' askin' everybody who looked + as if they had two grains of sense,—which most of 'em didn't look as + if they had mor'n one, an' that was in use to get 'em to where they was + goin.' At last, a little ways down a small street, we seed a crowd, an' + the minute we see it Jone an' me both said in our inside hearts: 'There + she is!' An' sure enough, when we got there, who should we see, with a + ring of street-loafers an' boys around her, but Mrs. Andrew Jackson, with + her little straw hat an' her green carpet-slippers, a-dancin' some kind of + a skippin' fandango, an' a-holdin' out her skirts with the tips of her + fingers. I was jus' agoin' to rush in an' grab her when a man walks quick + into the ring and touches her on the shoulder. The minute I seed him I + knowed him. It was our old boarder!” + </p> + <p> + “It was?” exclaimed Euphemia. + </p> + <p> + “Yes it was truly him, an' I didn't want him to see me there in such + company, an' he most likely knowin' I was on my bridal-trip, an' so I made + a dive at my bonnet to see if I had a vail on; an' findin' one, I hauled + it down. + </p> + <p> + “'Madam,' says the boarder, very respectful, to Mrs. Jackson, 'where do + you live? Can't I take you home?' 'No, sir,' says she, 'at least not now. + If you have a carriage, you may come for me after a while. I am waiting + for the Bank of the United States to open, an' until which time I must + support myself on the light fantastic toe,' an' then she tuk up her + skirts, an' begun to dance ag'in. But she didn't make mor'n two skips + before I rushed in, an' takin' her by the arm hauled her out o' the ring. + An' then up comes the big man with his face as red as fire. 'Look' here!' + says he to her, as if he was ready to eat her up. 'Did you draw every cent + of that money?' 'Not yet, not yet,' says she. 'You did, you purse-proud + cantalope,' says he. 'You know very well you did, an' now I'd like to know + where my ox-money is to come from.' But Jone an' me didn't intend to wait + for no sich talk as this, an' he tuk the man by the arm, and I tuk the old + woman, an' we jus' walked 'em off. The boarder he told the loafers to get + out an' go home, an' none of 'em follered us, for they know'd if they did + he'd a batted 'em over the head. But he comes up alongside o' me, as I was + a' walkin' behind with Mrs. Jackson, an' says he: 'How d'ye do, Pomona?' I + must say I felt as if I could slip in between two flagstones, but as I + couldn't get away, I said I was pretty well. 'I heared you was on your + bridal trip,' says he ag'in; 'is this it?' It was jus' like him to know + that, an' as there was no help for it, I said it was. 'Is that your + husband?' says he, pointin' to Jone. 'Yes,' says I. 'It was very good in + him to come along,' says he. 'Is these two your groomsman and bridesmaid?' + 'No sir,' says I. 'They're crazy.' 'No wonder,' says he. 'It's enough to + drive 'em so, to see you two,' an' then he went ahead an' shook hands with + Jone, an' told him he'd know'd me a long time; but he didn't say nuthin' + about havin' histed me out of a winder, for which I was obliged to him. + An' then he come back to me an' says he, 'Good-mornin', I must go to the + office. I hope you'll have a good time for the rest of your trip. If you + happen to run short o' lunertics, jus' let me know, and I'll furnish you + with another pair.' 'All right,' says I; 'but you mustn't bring your + little girl along.' + </p> + <p> + “He kinder laughed at this, as we walked away, an' then he turned around + an' come back, and says he, 'Have you been to any the-ay-ters, or + anything, since you've been in town?' 'No,' says I, 'not one.' 'Well,' + says he, 'you ought to go. Which do you like best, the the-ay-ter, the + cir-cus, or wild-beasts?' I did really like the the-ay-ter best, havin' + thought of bein' a play-actor, as you know, but I considered I'd better + let that kind o' thing slide jus' now, as bein' a little too romantic, + right after the 'sylum, an' so I says, 'I've been once to a circus, an' + once to a wild-beast garden, an' I like 'em both. I hardly know which I + like best—the roarin' beasts, a-prancin' about in their cages, with + the smell of blood an' hay, an' the towerin' elephants; or the horses, an' + the music, an' the gauzy figgers at the circus, an' the splendid knights + in armor an' flashin' pennants, all on fiery steeds, a-plungin' ag'in the + sides of the ring, with their flags a-flyin' in the grand entry,' says I, + real excited with what I remembered about these shows. + </p> + <p> + “'Well,' says he, 'I don't wonder at your feelin's. An' now, here's two + tickets for to-night, which you an' your husband can have, if you like, + for I can't go. They're to a meetin' of the Hudson County Enter-mo-logical + Society, over to Hoboken, at eight o'clock.' + </p> + <p> + “'Over to Hoboken!' says I; 'that's a long way.' + </p> + <p> + “'Oh no, it isn't,' says he. 'An' it wont cost you a cent, but the ferry. + They couldn't have them shows in the city, for, if the creatures was to + get loose, there's no knowin' what might happen. So take 'em, an' have as + much fun as you can for the rest of your trip. Good-bye!' An' off he went. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we kep' straight on to the doctor's, an' glad we was when we got + there, an' mad he was when we lef' Mrs. Jackson an' the General on his + hands, for we wouldn't have no more to do with 'em, an' he couldn't help + undertaking' to see that they got back to the asylum. I thought at first + he wouldn't lift a finger to get us our trunk; but he cooled down after a + bit, an' said he hoped we'd try some different kind of institution for the + rest of our trip, which we said we thought we would. + </p> + <p> + “That afternoon we gawked around, a-lookin' at all the outside shows, for + Jone said he'd have to be pretty careful of his money now, an' he was glad + when I told him I had two free tickets in my pocket for a show in the + evenin.' + </p> + <p> + “As we was a-walkin' down to the ferry, after supper, says he: + </p> + <p> + “'Suppose you let me have a look at them tickets.' + </p> + <p> + “So I hands 'em to him. He reads one of 'em, and then he reads the other, + which he needn't 'a' done, for they was both alike, an' then he turns to + me, an' says he: + </p> + <p> + “'What kind of a man is your boarder-as-was?' + </p> + <p> + “It wasn't the easiest thing in the world to say jus' what he was, but I + give Jone the idea, in a general sort of way, that he was pretty lively. + </p> + <p> + “'So I should think,' says he. 'He's been tryin' a trick on us, and + sendin' us to the wrong place. It's rather late in the season for a show + of the kind, but the place we ought to go to is a potato-field.' + </p> + <p> + “'What on earth are you talkin' about?' says I, dumbfoundered. + </p> + <p> + “'Well,' says he, 'it's a trick he's been playin'. He thought a bridal + trip like ours ought to have some sort of a outlandish wind-up, an' so he + sent us to this place, which is a meetin' of chaps who are agoin' to talk + about insec's,—principally potato-bugs, I expec'—an' anything + stupider than that, I s'pose your boarder-as-was couldn't think of, + without havin' a good deal o' time to consider.' + </p> + <p> + “'It's jus' like him,' says I. 'Let's turn round and go back,' which we + did, prompt. + </p> + <p> + “We gave the tickets to a little boy who was sellin' papers, but I don't + believe he went. + </p> + <p> + “'Now then,' says Jone, after he'd been thinkin' awhile, 'there'll be no + more foolin' on this trip. I've blocked out the whole of the rest of it, + an' we'll wind up a sight better than that boarder-as-was has any idea of. + To-morrow we'll go to father's an' if the old gentleman has got any money + on the crops, which I expec' he has, by this time, I'll take up a part o' + my share, an' we'll have a trip to Washington, an' see the President, an' + Congress, an' the White House, an' the lamp always a-burnin' before the + Supreme Court, an'—' + </p> + <p> + “'Don't say no more, says I, 'it's splendid!' + </p> + <p> + “So, early the nex' day, we goes off jus' as fast as trains would take us + to his father's, an' we hadn't been there mor'n ten minutes, before Jone + found out he had been summoned on a jury. + </p> + <p> + “'When must you go?' says I, when he come, lookin' a kind o' pale, to tell + me this. + </p> + <p> + “'Right off,' says he. 'The court meets this mornin'. If I don't hurry up, + I'll have some of 'em after me. But I wouldn't cry about it. I don't + believe the case'll last more'n a day.' + </p> + <p> + “The old man harnessed up an' took Jone to the court-house, an' I went + too, for I might as well keep up the idea of a bridal-trip as not. I went + up into the gallery, and Jone, he was set among the other men in the + jury-box. + </p> + <p> + “The case was about a man named Brown, who married the half-sister of a + man named Adams, who afterward married Brown's mother, and sold Brown a + house he had got from Brown's grandfather, in trade for half a grist-mill, + which the other half of was owned by Adams's half-sister's first husband, + who left all his property to a soup society, in trust, till his son should + come of age, which he never did, but left a will which give his half of + the mill to Brown, and the suit was between Brown and Adams and Brown + again, and Adams's half-sister, who was divorced from Brown, and a man + named Ramsey, who had put up a new over-shot wheel to the grist-mill.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh my!” exclaimed Euphemia. “How could you remember all that?” + </p> + <p> + “I heard it so often, I couldn't help remembering it,” replied Pomona. And + she went on with her narrative. + </p> + <p> + “That case wasn't a easy one to understand, as you may see for yourselves, + and it didn't get finished that day. They argyed over it a full week. When + there wasn't no more witnesses to carve up, one lawyer made a speech, an' + he set that crooked case so straight, that you could see through it from + the over-shot wheel clean back to Brown's grandfather. Then another feller + made a speech, and he set the whole thing up another way. It was jus' as + clear, to look through, but it was another case altogether, no more like + the other one than a apple-pie is like a mug o' cider. An' then they both + took it up, an' they swung it around between them, till it was all twisted + an' knotted an' wound up, an' tangled, worse than a skein o' yarn in a + nest o' kittens, an' then they give it to the jury. + </p> + <p> + “Well, when them jurymen went out, there wasn't none of 'em, as Jone tole + me afterward, as knew whether is was Brown or Adams as was dead, or + whether the mill was to grind soup, or to be run by soup-power. Of course + they couldn't agree; three of 'em wanted to give a verdict for the boy + that died, two of 'em was for Brown's grandfather, an' the rest was + scattered, some goin' in for damages to the witnesses, who ought to get + somethin' for havin' their char-ac-ters ruined. Jone he jus' held back, + ready to jine the other eleven as soon as they'd agree. But they couldn't + do it, an' they was locked up three days and four nights. You'd better + believe I got pretty wild about it, but I come to court every day an' + waited an' waited, bringin' somethin' to eat in a baskit. + </p> + <p> + “One day, at dinner-time, I seed the judge astandin' at the court-room + door, a-wipin' his forrid with a handkerchief, an' I went up to him an' + said, 'Do you think, sir, they'll get through this thing soon?' + </p> + <p> + “'I can't say, indeed,' said he. 'Are you interested in the case?' + </p> + <p> + “'I should think I was,' said I, an' then I told him about Jone's bein' a + juryman, an' how we was on our bridal-trip. + </p> + <p> + “'You've got my sympathy, madam,' says he, 'but it's a difficult case to + decide, an' I don't wonder it takes a good while.' + </p> + <p> + “'Nor I nuther,' says I, 'an' my opinion about these things is, that if + you'd jus' have them lawyers shut up in another room, an' make 'em do + their talkin' to theirselves, the jury could keep their minds clear, and + settle the cases in no time.' + </p> + <p> + “'There's some sense in that, madam,' says he, an' then he went into court + ag'in. + </p> + <p> + “Jone never had no chance to jine in with the other fellers, for they + couldn't agree, an' they were all discharged, at last. So the whole thing + went for nuthin. + </p> + <p> + “When Jone come out, he looked like he'd been drawn through a pump-log, + an' he says to me, tired-like, + </p> + <p> + “'Has there been a frost?' + </p> + <p> + “'Yes,' says I, 'two of 'em.' + </p> + <p> + “'All right, then,' says he. 'I've had enough of bridal-trips, with their + dry falls, their lunatic asylums, and their jury-boxes. Let's go home and + settle down. We needn't be afraid, now that there's been a frost.'” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, why will you live in such a dreadful place?” cried Euphemia. “You + ought to go somewhere where you needn't be afraid of chills.” + </p> + <p> + “That's jus' what I thought, ma'am,” returned Pomona. “But Jone an' me got + a disease-map of this country an' we looked all over it careful, an' + wherever there wasn't chills there was somethin' that seemed a good deal + wuss to us. An' says Jone, 'If I'm to have anything the matter with me, + give me somethin' I'm used to. It don't do for a man o' my time o' life to + go changin' his diseases.'” + </p> + <p> + “So home we went. An' there we is now. An' as this is the end of the + bridal-trip story, I'll go an' take a look at the cow an' the chickens an' + the horse, if you don't mind.” + </p> + <p> + Which we didn't,—and we gladly went with her over the estate. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. IN WHICH WE TAKE A VACATION AND LOOK FOR DAVID DUTTON. + </h2> + <p> + It was about noon of a very fair July day, in the next summer, when + Euphemia and myself arrived at the little town where we were to take the + stage up into the mountains. We were off for a two weeks' vacation and our + minds were a good deal easier than when we went away before, and left + Pomona at the helm. We had enlarged the boundaries of Rudder Grange, + having purchased the house, with enough adjoining land to make quite a + respectable farm. Of course I could not attend to the manifold duties on + such a place, and my wife seldom had a happier thought than when she + proposed that we should invite Pomona and her husband to come and live + with us. Pomona was delighted, and Jonas was quite willing to run our + farm. So arrangements were made, and the young couple were established in + apartments in our back building, and went to work as if taking care of us + and our possessions was the ultimate object of their lives. Jonas was such + a steady fellow that we feared no trouble from tree-man or lightning + rodder during this absence. + </p> + <p> + Our destination was a country tavern on the stage-road, not far from the + point where the road crosses the ridge of the mountain-range, and about + sixteen miles from the town. We had heard of this tavern from a friend of + ours, who had spent a summer there. The surrounding country was lovely, + and the house was kept by a farmer, who was a good soul, and tried to make + his guests happy. These were generally passing farmers and wagoners, or + stage-passengers, stopping for a meal, but occasionally a person from the + cities, like our friend, came to spend a few weeks in the mountains. + </p> + <p> + So hither we came, for an out-of-the-world spot like this was just what we + wanted. When I took our places at the stage-office, I inquired for David + Dutton, the farmer tavern-keeper before mentioned, but the agent did not + know of him. + </p> + <p> + “However,” said he, “the driver knows everybody on the road, and he'll set + you down at the house.” + </p> + <p> + So, off we started, having paid for our tickets on the basis that we were + to ride about sixteen miles. We had seats on top, and the trip, although + slow,—for the road wound uphill steadily,—was a delightful + one. Our way lay, for the greater part of the time, through the woods, but + now and then we came to a farm, and a turn in the road often gave us + lovely views of the foot-hills and the valleys behind us. + </p> + <p> + But the driver did not know where Dutton's tavern was. This we found out + after we had started. Some persons might have thought it wiser to settle + this matter before starting, but I am not at all sure that it would have + been so. We were going to this tavern, and did not wish to go anywhere + else. If people did not know where it was, it would be well for us to go + and look for it. We knew the road that it was on, and the locality in + which it was to be found. + </p> + <p> + Still, it was somewhat strange that a stage-driver, passing along the road + every week-day,—one day one way, and the next the other way,—should + not know a public-house like Dutton's. + </p> + <p> + “If I remember rightly,” I said, “the stage used to stop there for the + passengers to take supper.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, it aint on this side o' the ridge,” said the driver; “we stop + for supper, about a quarter of a mile on the other side, at Pete Lowry's. + Perhaps Dutton used to keep that place. Was it called the 'Ridge House'?” + </p> + <p> + I did not remember the name of the house, but I knew very well that it was + not on the other side of the ridge. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said the driver, “I'm sure I don't know where it is. But I've only + been on the road about a year, and your man may 'a' moved away afore I + come. But there aint no tavern this side the ridge, arter ye leave Delhi, + and, that's nowhere's nigh the ridge.” + </p> + <p> + There were a couple of farmers who were sitting by the driver, and who had + listened with considerable interest to this conversation. Presently, one + of them turned around to me and said: + </p> + <p> + “Is it Dave Dutton ye're askin' about?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I replied, “that's his name.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I think he's dead,” said he. + </p> + <p> + At this, I began to feel uneasy, and I could see that my wife shared my + trouble. + </p> + <p> + Then the other farmer spoke up. + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe he's dead, Hiram,” said he to his companion “I heered of + him this spring. He's got a sheep-farm on the other side o' the mountain, + and he's a livin' there. That's what I heered, at any rate. But he don't + live on this road any more,” he continued, turning to us. “He used to keep + tavern on this road, and the stages did used to stop fur supper—or + else dinner, I don't jist ree-collect which. But he don't keep tavern on + this road no more.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not,” said his companion, “if he's a livin' over the mountain. + But I b'lieve he's dead.” + </p> + <p> + I asked the other farmer if he knew how long it had been since Dutton had + left this part of the country. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know fur certain,” he said, “but I know he was keeping tavern + here two year' ago, this fall, fur I came along here, myself, and stopped + there to git supper—or dinner, I don't jist ree-collect which.” + </p> + <p> + It had been three years since our friend had boarded at Dutton's house. + There was no doubt that the man was not living at his old place now. My + wife and I now agreed that it was very foolish in us to come so far + without making more particular inquiries. But we had had an idea that a + man who had a place like Dutton's tavern would live there always. + </p> + <p> + “What are ye goin' to do?” asked the driver, very much interested, for it + was not every day that he had passengers who had lost their destination. + “Ye might go on to Lowry's. He takes boarders sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + But Lowry's did not attract us. An ordinary country-tavern, where + stage-passengers took supper, was not what we came so far to find. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know where this house o' Dutton's is?” said the driver, to the man + who had once taken either dinner or supper there. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes! I'd know the house well enough, if I saw it. It's the fust house + this side o' Lowry's.” + </p> + <p> + “With a big pole in front of it?” asked the driver. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, there was a sign-pole in front of it.” + </p> + <p> + “An a long porch?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! well!” said the driver, settling himself in his seat. “I know all + about that house. That's a empty house. I didn't think you meant that + house. There's nobody lives there. An' yit, now I come to remember, I have + seen people about, too. I tell ye what ye better do. Since ye're so set on + staying on this side the ridge, ye better let me put ye down at Dan + Carson's place. That's jist about quarter of a mile from where Dutton used + to live. Dan's wife can tell ye all about the Duttons, an' about everybody + else, too, in this part o' the country, and if there aint nobody livin' at + the old tavern, ye can stay all night at Carson's, and I'll stop an' take + you back, to-morrow, when I come along.” + </p> + <p> + We agreed to this plan, for there was nothing better to be done, and, late + in the afternoon, we were set down with our small trunk—for we were + traveling under light weight—at Dan Carson's door. The stage was + rather behind time, and the driver whipped up and left us to settle our + own affairs. He called back, however, that he would keep a good lookout + for us to-morrow. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Carson soon made her appearance, and, very naturally, was somewhat + surprised to see visitors with their baggage standing on her little porch. + She was a plain, coarsely dressed woman, with an apron full of chips and + kindling wood, and a fine mind for detail, as we soon discovered. + </p> + <p> + “Jist so,” said she, putting down the chips, and inviting us to seats on a + bench. “Dave Dutton's folks is all moved away. Dave has a good farm on the + other side o' the mountain, an' it never did pay him to keep that tavern, + 'specially as he didn't sell liquor. When he went away, his son Al come + there to live with his wife, an' the old man left a good deal o' furniter + and things fur him, but Al's wife aint satisfied here, and, though they've + been here, off an' on, the house is shet up most o' the time. It's fur + sale an' to rent, both, ef anybody wants it. I'm sorry about you, too, fur + it was a nice tavern, when Dave kept it.” + </p> + <p> + We admitted that we were also very sorry, and the kind-hearted woman + showed a great deal of sympathy. + </p> + <p> + “You might stay here, but we haint got no fit room where you two could + sleep.” + </p> + <p> + At this, Euphemia and I looked very blank. “But you could go up to the + house and stay, jist as well as not,” Mrs. Carson continued. “There's + plenty o' things there, an' I keep the key. For the matter o' that, ye + might take the house for as long as ye want to stay; Dave 'd be glad + enough to rent it; and, if the lady knows how to keep house, it wouldn't + be no trouble at all, jist for you two. We could let ye have all the + victuals ye'd want, cheap, and there's plenty o' wood there, cut, and + everything handy.” + </p> + <p> + We looked at each other. We agreed. Here was a chance for a rare good + time. It might be better, perhaps, than anything we had expected. + </p> + <p> + The bargain was struck. Mrs. Carson, who seemed vested with all the + necessary powers of attorney, appeared to be perfectly satisfied with our + trustworthiness, and when I paid on the spot the small sum she thought + proper for two weeks' rent, she evidently considered she had done a very + good thing for Dave Dutton and herself. + </p> + <p> + “I'll jist put some bread, an' eggs, an' coffee, an' pork, an' things in a + basket, an' I'll have 'em took up fur ye, with yer trunk, an' I'll go with + ye an' take some milk. Here, Danny!” she cried, and directly her husband, + a long, thin, sun-burnt, sandy-headed man, appeared, and to him she told, + in a few words, our story, and ordered him to hitch up the cart and be + ready to take our trunk and the basket up to Dutton's old house. + </p> + <p> + When all was ready, we walked up the hill, followed by Danny and the cart. + We found the house a large, low, old-fashioned farm-house, standing near + the road with a long piazza in front, and a magnificent view of + mountain-tops in the rear. Within, the lower rooms were large and low, + with quite a good deal of furniture in them. There was no earthly reason + why we should not be perfectly jolly and comfortable here. The more we + saw, the more delighted we were at the odd experience we were about to + have. Mrs. Carson busied herself in getting things in order for our supper + and general accommodation. She made Danny carry our trunk to a bedroom in + the second story, and then set him to work building a fire in a great + fire-place, with a crane for the kettle. + </p> + <p> + When she had done all she could, it was nearly dark, and after lighting a + couple of candles, she left us, to go home and get supper for her own + family. + </p> + <p> + As she and Danny were about to depart in the cart, she ran back to ask us + if we would like to borrow a dog. + </p> + <p> + “There aint nuthin to be afeard of,” she said; “for nobody hardly ever + takes the trouble to lock the doors in these parts, but bein' city folks, + I thought ye might feel better if ye had a dog.” + </p> + <p> + We made haste to tell her that we were not city folks, but declined the + dog. Indeed, Euphemia remarked that she would be much more afraid of a + strange dog than of robbers. + </p> + <p> + After supper, which we enjoyed as much as any meal we ever ate in our + lives, we each took a candle, and after arranging our bedroom for the + night, we explored the old house. There were lots of curious things + everywhere,—things that were apparently so “old timey,” as my wife + remarked, that David Dutton did not care to take them with him to his new + farm, and so left them for his son, who probably cared for them even less + than his father did. There was a garret extending over the whole house, + and filled with old spinning-wheels, and strings of onions, and all sorts + of antiquated bric-a-brac, which was so fascinating to me that I could + scarcely tear myself away from it; but Euphemia, who was dreadfully afraid + that I would set the whole place on fire, at length prevailed on me to + come down. + </p> + <p> + We slept soundly that night, in what was probably the best bedroom of the + house, and awoke with a feeling that we were about to enter on a period of + some uncommon kind of jollity, which we found to be true when we went down + to get breakfast. I made the fire, Euphemia made the coffee, and Mrs. + Carson came with cream and some fresh eggs. The good woman was in high + spirits. She was evidently pleased at the idea of having neighbors, + temporary though they were, and it had probably been a long time since she + had had such a chance of selling milk, eggs and sundries. It was almost + the same as opening a country store. We bought groceries and everything of + her. + </p> + <p> + We had a glorious time that day. We were just starting out for a mountain + stroll when our stage-driver came along on his down trip. + </p> + <p> + “Hello!” he called out. “Want to go back this morning?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit of it,” I cried. “We wont go back for a couple of weeks. We've + settled here for the present.” + </p> + <p> + The man smiled. He didn't seem to understand it exactly, but he was + evidently glad to see us so well satisfied. If he had had time to stop and + have the matter explained to him, he would probably have been better + satisfied; but as it was, he waved his whip to us and drove on. He was a + good fellow. + </p> + <p> + We strolled all day, having locked up the house and taken our lunch with + us; and when we came back, it seemed really like coming home. Mrs. Carson + with whom we had left the key, had brought the milk and was making the + fire. This woman was too kind. We determined to try and repay her in some + way. After a splendid supper we went to bed happy. + </p> + <p> + The next day was a repetition of this one, but the day after it rained. So + we determined to enjoy the old tavern, and we rummaged about everywhere. I + visited the garret again, and we went to the old barn, with its mows half + full of hay, and had rare times climbing about there. We were delighted + that it happened to rain. In a wood-shed, near the house, I saw a big + square board with letters on it. I examined the board, and found it was a + sign,—a hanging sign,—and on it was painted in letters that + were yet quite plain: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “FARMERS' + AND + MECHANICS' + HOTEL.” + </pre> + <p> + I called to Euphemia and told her that I had found the old tavern sign. + She came to look at it, and I pulled it out. + </p> + <p> + “Soldiers and sailors!” she exclaimed; “that's funny.” + </p> + <p> + I looked over on her side of the sign, and, sure enough, there was the + inscription: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “SOLDIERS + AND + SAILORS' + HOUSE.” + </pre> + <p> + “They must have bought this comprehensive sign in some town,” I said. + “Such a name would never have been chosen for a country tavern like this. + But I wish they hadn't taken it down. The house would look more like what + it ought to be with its sign hanging before it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then,” said Euphemia, “let's put it up.” I agreed instantly to this + proposition, and we went to look for a ladder. We found one in the + wagon-house, and carried it out to the sign-post in the front of the + house. It was raining, gently, during these performances, but we had on + our old clothes, and were so much interested in our work that we did not + care for a little rain. I carried the sign to the post, and then, at the + imminent risk of breaking my neck, I hung it on its appropriate hooks on + the transverse beam of the sign-post. Now our tavern was really what it + pretended to be. We gazed on the sign with admiration and content. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think we had better keep it up all the time?” I asked of my wife. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said she. “It's a part of the house. The place isn't complete + without it.” + </p> + <p> + “But suppose some one should come along and want to be entertained?” + </p> + <p> + “But no one will. And if people do come, I'll take care of the soldiers + and sailors, if you will attend to the farmers and mechanics.” + </p> + <p> + I consented to this, and we went in-doors to prepare dinner. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII. OUR TAVERN. + </h2> + <p> + The next day was clear again, and we rambled in the woods until the sun + was nearly down, and so were late about supper. We were just taking our + seats at the table when we heard a footstep on the front porch. Instantly + the same thought came into each of our minds. + </p> + <p> + “I do believe,” said Euphemia, “that's somebody who has mistaken this for + a tavern. I wonder whether it's a soldier or a farmer or a sailor; but you + had better go and see.” + </p> + <p> + I went to see, prompted to move quickly by the new-comer pounding his cane + on the bare floor of the hall. I found him standing just inside of the + front door. He was a small man, with long hair and beard, and dressed in a + suit of clothes of a remarkable color,—something of the hue of faded + snuff. He had a big stick, and carried a large flat valise in one hand. + </p> + <p> + He bowed to me very politely. + </p> + <p> + “Can I stop here to-night?” he asked, taking off his hat, as my wife put + her head out of the kitchen-door. + </p> + <p> + “Why,—no, sir,” I said. “This is not a tavern.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a tavern!” he exclaimed. “I don't understand that. You have a sign + out.” + </p> + <p> + “That is true,” I said; “but that is only for fun, so to speak. We are + here temporarily, and we put up that sign just to please ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “That is pretty poor fun for me,” said the man. “I am very tired, and more + hungry than tired. Couldn't you let me have a little supper at any rate?” + </p> + <p> + Euphemia glanced at me. I nodded. + </p> + <p> + “You are welcome to some supper,” she said, “Come in! We eat in the + kitchen because it is more convenient, and because it is so much more + cheerful than the dining-room. There is a pump out there, and here is a + towel, if you would like to wash your hands.” + </p> + <p> + As the man went out the back door I complimented my wife. She was really + an admirable hostess. + </p> + <p> + The individual in faded snuff-color was certainly hungry, and he seemed to + enjoy his supper. During the meal he gave us some account of himself. He + was an artist and had traveled, mostly on foot it would appear, over a + great part of the country. He had in his valise some very pretty little + colored sketches of scenes in Mexico and California, which he showed us + after supper. Why he carried these pictures—which were done on stiff + paper—about with him I do not know. He said he did not care to sell + them, as he might use them for studies for larger pictures some day. His + valise, which he opened wide on the table, seemed to be filled with + papers, drawings, and matters of that kind. I suppose he preferred to wear + his clothes, instead of carrying them about in his valise. + </p> + <p> + After sitting for about half an hour after supper, he rose, with an + uncertain sort of smile, and said he supposed he must be moving on,—asking, + at the same time, how far it was to the tavern over the ridge. + </p> + <p> + “Just wait one moment, if you please,” said Euphemia. And she beckoned me + out of the room. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think,” said she, “that we could keep him all night? There's no + moon, and it would be a fearful dark walk, I know, to the other side of + the mountain. There is a room upstairs that I can fix for him in ten + minutes, and I know he's honest.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know it?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Well, because he wears such curious-colored clothes. No criminal would + ever wear such clothes. He could never pass unnoticed anywhere; and being + probably the only person in the world who dressed that way, he could + always be detected.” + </p> + <p> + “You are doubtless correct,” I replied. “Let us keep him.” + </p> + <p> + When we told the good man that he could stay all night, he was extremely + obliged to us, and went to bed quite early. After we had fastened the + house and had gone to our room, my wife said to me, + </p> + <p> + “Where is your pistol?” + </p> + <p> + I produced it. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said she, “I think you ought to have it where you can get at it.” + </p> + <p> + “Why so?” I asked. “You generally want me to keep it out of sight and + reach.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but when there is a strange man in the house we ought to take extra + precautions.” + </p> + <p> + “But this man you say is honest,” I replied. “If he committed a crime he + could not escape,—his appearance is so peculiar.” + </p> + <p> + “But that wouldn't do us any good, if we were both murdered,” said + Euphemia, pulling a chair up to my side of the bed, and laying the pistol + carefully thereon, with the muzzle toward the bed. + </p> + <p> + We were not murdered, and we had a very pleasant breakfast with the + artist, who told us more anecdotes of his life in Mexico and other places. + When, after breakfast, he shut up his valise, preparatory to starting + away, we felt really sorry. When he was ready to go, he asked for his + bill. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! There is no bill,” I exclaimed. “We have no idea of charging you + anything. We don't really keep a hotel, as I told you.” + </p> + <p> + “If I had known that,” said he, looking very grave, “I would not have + stayed. There is no reason why you should give me food and lodgings, and I + would not, and did not, ask it. I am able to pay for such things, and I + wish to do so.” + </p> + <p> + We argued with him for some time, speaking of the habits of country people + and so on, but he would not be convinced. He had asked for accommodation + expecting to pay for it, and would not be content until he had done so. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Euphemia, “we are not keeping this house for profit, and you + can't force us to make anything out of you. If you will be satisfied to + pay us just what it cost us to entertain you, I suppose we shall have to + let you do that. Take a seat for a minute, and I will make out your bill.” + </p> + <p> + So the artist and I sat down and talked of various matters, while my wife + got out her traveling stationery-box, and sat down to the dining-table to + make out the bill. After a long, long time, as it appeared to me, I said: + </p> + <p> + “My dear, if the amount of that bill is at all proportioned to the length + of time it takes to make it out, I think our friend here will wish he had + never said anything about it.” + </p> + <p> + “It's nearly done,” said she, without raising her head, and, in about ten + or fifteen minutes more, she rose and presented the bill to our guest. As + I noticed that he seemed somewhat surprised at it, I asked him to let me + look over it with him. The bill, of which I have a copy, read as follows: + </p> + <p> + July 12th, 187- ARTIST, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To the S. and S. Hotel and F. and M. House. + + To 1/3 one supper, July 11th, which supper consisted of: + + 1/14 lb. coffee, at 35 cts. 2 cts. + + “ “ sugar, “ 14 “ 1 ” + + 1/6 qt. milk, “ 6 “ 1 ” + + 1/2 loaf bread “ 6 “ 3 ” + + 1/8 lb. butter “ 25 “ 3 1/8 ” + + 1/2 “ bacon “ 25 “ 12 1/2 ” + + 1/16 pk. potatoes at 60 cts. per bush 15/16 ” + + 1/2 pt. hominy at 6 cts 3 ” + ———— + 27 1/16 + + 1/3 of total 09 1/48 cts. + + To 1/3 one breakfast, July 12th (same as above, with exception of eggs + instead of bacon, and with hominy omitted), + ———— + 24 1/6 + + 1/3 total 08 1/48 ” + + To rent of one room and furniture, for one night, in furnished house of + fifteen rooms at $6.00 per week for whole house 05 3/8 ” + —————— + Amount due 22 17/24 cts. +</pre> + <p> + The worthy artist burst out laughing when he read this bill, and so did I. + </p> + <p> + “You needn't laugh,” said Euphemia, reddening a little. “That is exactly + what your entertainment cost, and we do not intend to take a cent more. We + get things here in such small quantities that I can tell quite easily what + a meal costs us, and I have calculated that bill very carefully.” + </p> + <p> + “So I should think, madam,” said the artist, “but it is not quite right. + You have charged nothing for your trouble and services.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said my wife, “for I took no additional trouble to get your meals. + What I did, I should have done if you had not come. To be sure I did spend + a few minutes preparing your room. I will charge you seven twenty-fourths + of a cent for that, thus making your bill twenty-three cents—even + money.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot gainsay reasoning like yours, madam,” he said, and he took a + quarter from a very fat old pocket-book, and handed it to her. She gravely + gave him two cents change, and then taking the bill, receipted it, and + handed it back to him. + </p> + <p> + We were sorry to part with our guest, for he was evidently a good fellow. + I walked with him a little way up the road, and got him to let me copy his + bill in my memorandum-book. The original, he said, he would always keep. + </p> + <p> + A day or two after the artist's departure, we were standing on the front + piazza. We had had a late breakfast—consequent upon a long tramp the + day before—and had come out to see what sort of a day it was likely + to be. We had hardly made up our minds on the subject when the morning + stage came up at full speed and stopped at our gate. + </p> + <p> + “Hello!” cried the driver. He was not our driver. He was a tall man in + high boots, and had a great reputation as a manager of horses—so + Danny Carson told me afterward. There were two drivers on the line, and + each of them made one trip a day, going up one day in the afternoon, and + down the next day in the morning. + </p> + <p> + I went out to see what this driver wanted. + </p> + <p> + “Can't you give my passengers breakfast?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why, no!” I exclaimed, looking at the stage loaded inside and out. “This + isn't a tavern. We couldn't get breakfast for a stage-load of people.” + </p> + <p> + “What have you got a sign up fur, then?” roared the driver, getting red in + the face. + </p> + <p> + “That's so,” cried two or three men from the top of the stage. “If it aint + a tavern, what's that sign doin' there?” + </p> + <p> + I saw I must do something. I stepped up close to the stage and looked in + and up. + </p> + <p> + “Are there any sailors in this stage?” I said. There was no response. “Any + soldiers? Any farmers or mechanics?” + </p> + <p> + At the latter question I trembled, but fortunately no one answered. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said I, “you have no right to ask to be accommodated; for, as you + may see from the sign, our house is only for soldiers, sailors, farmers, + and mechanics.” + </p> + <p> + “And besides,” cried Euphemia from the piazza, “we haven't anything to + give you for breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + The people in and on the stage grumbled a good deal at this, and looked as + if they were both disappointed and hungry, while the driver ripped out an + oath, which, had he thrown it across a creek, would soon have made a + good-sized millpond. + </p> + <p> + He gathered up his reins and turned a sinister look on me. + </p> + <p> + “I'll be even with you, yit,” he cried as he dashed off. + </p> + <p> + In the afternoon Mrs. Carson came up and told us that the stage had + stopped there, and that she had managed to give the passengers some + coffee, bread and butter and ham and eggs, though they had had to wait + their turns for cups and plates. It appeared that the driver had quarreled + with the Lowry people that morning because the breakfast was behindhand + and he was kept waiting. So he told his passengers that there was another + tavern, a few miles down the road, and that he would take them there to + breakfast. + </p> + <p> + “He's an awful ugly man, that he is,” said Mrs. Carson, “an' he'd better + 'a' stayed at Lowry's, fur he had to wait a good sight longer, after all, + as it turned out. But he's dreadful mad at you, an' says he'll bring ye + farmers, an' soldiers, and sailors, an' mechanics, if that's what ye want. + I 'spect he'll do his best to git a load of them particular people an' + drop 'em at yer door. I'd take down that sign, ef I was you. Not that me + an' Danny minds, fur we're glad to git a stage to feed, an' ef you've any + single man that wants lodgin' we've fixed up a room and kin keep him + overnight.” + </p> + <p> + Notwithstanding this warning, Euphemia and I decided not to take in our + sign. We were not to be frightened by a stage-driver. The next day our own + driver passed us on the road as he was going down. + </p> + <p> + “So ye're pertickler about the people ye take in, are ye?” said he, + smiling. “That's all right, but ye made Bill awful mad.” + </p> + <p> + It was quite late on a Monday afternoon that Bill stopped at our house + again. He did not call out this time. He simply drew up, and a man with a + big black valise clambered down from the top of the stage. Then Bill + shouted to me as I walked down to the gate, looking rather angry I + suppose: + </p> + <p> + “I was agoin' to git ye a whole stage-load, to stay all night, but that + one'll do ye, I reckon. Ha, ha!” And off he went, probably fearing that I + would throw his passenger up on the top of the stage again. + </p> + <p> + The new-comer entered the gate. He was a dark man, with black hair and + black whiskers and mustache, and black eyes. He wore clothes that had been + black, but which were now toned down by a good deal of dust, and, as I + have said, he carried a black valise. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you stop here?” said I, rather inhospitably. “Don't you know that + we do not accommodate—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know,” he said, walking up on the piazza and setting down his + valise, “that you only take soldiers, sailors, farmers, and mechanics at + this house. I have been told all about it, and if I had not thoroughly + understood the matter I should not have thought of such a thing as + stopping here. If you will sit down for a few moments I will explain.” + Saying this, he took a seat on a bench by the door, but Euphemia and I + continued to stand. + </p> + <p> + “I am,” he continued, “a soldier, a sailor, a farmer, and a mechanic. Do + not doubt my word; I will prove it to you in two minutes. When but + seventeen years of age, circumstances compelled me to take charge of a + farm in New Hampshire, and I kept up that farm until I was twenty-five. + During this time I built several barns, wagon-houses, and edifices of the + sort on my place, and, becoming expert in this branch of mechanical art, I + was much sought after by the neighboring farmers, who employed me to do + similar work for them. In time I found this new business so profitable + that I gave up farming altogether. But certain unfortunate speculations + threw me on my back, and finally, having gone from bad to worse, I found + myself in Boston, where, in sheer desperation, I went on board a coasting + vessel as landsman. I remained on this vessel for nearly a year, but it + did not suit me. I was often sick, and did not like the work. I left the + vessel at one of the Southern ports, and it was not long after she sailed + that, finding myself utterly without means, I enlisted as a soldier. I + remained in the army for some years, and was finally honorably discharged. + So you see that what I said was true. I belong to each and all of these + businesses and professions. And now that I have satisfied you on this + point, let me show you a book for which I have the agency in this + country.” He stooped down, opened his valise, and took out a good-sized + volume. “This book,” said he, “is the 'Flora and Fauna of Carthage + County;' it is written by one of the first scientific men of the country, + and gives you a description, with an authentic wood-cut, of each of the + plants and animals of the county—indigenous or naturalized. Owing to + peculiar advantages enjoyed by our firm, we are enabled to put this book + at the very low price of three dollars and seventy-five cents. It is sold + by subscription only, and should be on the center-table in every parlor in + this county. If you will glance over this book, sir, you will find it as + interesting as a novel, and as useful as an encyclopaedia—” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want the book,” I said, “and I don't care to look at it.” + </p> + <p> + “But if you were to look at it you would want it, I'm sure.” + </p> + <p> + “That's a good reason for not looking at it, then,” I answered. “If you + came to get us to subscribe for that book we need not take up any more of + your time, for we shall not subscribe.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I did not come for that alone,” he said. “I shall stay here to-night + and start out in the morning to work up the neighborhood. If you would + like this book—and I'm sure you have only to look at it to do that—you + can deduct the amount of my bill from the subscription price, and—” + </p> + <p> + “What did you say you charged for this book?” asked Euphemia, stepping + forward and picking up the volume. + </p> + <p> + “Three seventy-five is the subscription price, ma'am, but that book is not + for sale. That is merely a sample. If you put your name down on my list + you will be served with your book in two weeks. As I told your husband, it + will come very cheap to you, because you can deduct what you charge me for + supper, lodging, and breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” said my wife, and then she remarked that she must go in the + house and get supper. + </p> + <p> + “When will supper be ready?” the man asked, as she passed him. + </p> + <p> + At first she did not answer him, but then she called back: + </p> + <p> + “In about half an hour.” + </p> + <p> + “Good,” said the man; “but I wish it was ready now. And now, sir, if you + would just glance over this book, while we are waiting for supper—” + </p> + <p> + I cut him very short and went out into the road. I walked up and down in + front of the house, in a bad humor. I could not bear to think of my wife + getting supper for this fellow, who was striding about on the piazza, as + if he was very hungry and very impatient. Just as I returned to the house, + the bell rang from within. + </p> + <p> + “Joyful sound!” said the man, and in he marched. I followed close behind + him. On one end of the table, in the kitchen, supper was set for one + person, and, as the man entered, Euphemia motioned him to the table. The + supper looked like a remarkably good one. A cup of coffee smoked by the + side of the plate; there was ham and eggs and a small omelette; there were + fried potatoes, some fresh radishes, a plate of hot biscuit, and some + preserves. The man's eyes sparkled. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry,” said he, “that I am to eat alone, for I hoped to have your + good company; but, if this plan suits you, it suits me,” and he drew up a + chair. + </p> + <p> + “Stop!” said Euphemia, advancing between him and the table. “You are not + to eat that. This is a sample supper. If you order a supper like it, one + will be served to you in two weeks.” + </p> + <p> + At this I burst into a roar of laughter; my wife stood pale and + determined, and the man drew back, looking first at one of us, and then at + the other. + </p> + <p> + “Am I to understand—?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I interrupted, “you are. There is nothing more to be said on this + subject. You may go now. You came here to annoy us, knowing that we did + not entertain travelers, and now you see what you have made by it,” and I + opened the door. + </p> + <p> + The man evidently thought that a reply was not necessary, and he walked + out without a word. Taking up his valise, which he had put in the hall, he + asked if there was any public-house near by. + </p> + <p> + “No,” I said; “but there is a farm-house a short distance down the road, + where they will be glad to have you.” And down the road he went to Mrs. + Carson's. I am sorry to say that he sold her a “Flora and Fauna” before he + went to bed that night. + </p> + <p> + We were much amused at the termination of this affair, and I became, if + possible, a still greater admirer of Euphemia's talents for management. + But we both agreed that it would not do to keep up the sign any longer. We + could not tell when the irate driver might not pounce down upon us with a + customer. + </p> + <p> + “But I hate to take it down,” said Euphemia; “it looks so much like a + surrender.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not trouble yourself,” said I. “I have an idea.” + </p> + <p> + The next morning I went down to Danny Carson's little shop,—he was a + wheelwright as well as a farmer,—and I got from him two pots of + paint—one black and one white—and some brushes. I took down + our sign, and painted out the old lettering, and, instead of it, I + painted, in bold and somewhat regular characters, new names for our + tavern. + </p> + <p> + On one side of the sign I painted: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “SOAP-MAKER'S + AND + BOOK-BINDER'S + HOTEL.” + </pre> + <p> + And on the other side: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “UPHOLSTERERS' + AND + DENTISTS' + HOUSE.” + </pre> + <p> + “Now then,” I said, “I don't believe any of those people will be traveling + along the road while we are here, or, at any rate, they won't want to + stop.” + </p> + <p> + We admired this sign very much, and sat on the piazza, that afternoon, to + see how it would strike Bill, as he passed by. It seemed to strike him + pretty hard, for he gazed with all his eyes at one side of it, as he + approached, and then, as he passed it, he actually pulled up to read the + other side. + </p> + <p> + “All right!” he called out, as he drove off. “All right! All right!” + </p> + <p> + Euphemia didn't like the way he said “all right.” It seemed to her, she + said, as if he intended to do something which would be all right for him, + but not at all so for us. I saw she was nervous about it, for that evening + she began to ask me questions about the traveling propensities of + soap-makers, upholsterers, and dentists. + </p> + <p> + “Do not think anything more about that, my dear,” I said. “I will take the + sign down in the morning. We are here to enjoy ourselves, and not to be + worried.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet,” said she, “it would worry me to think that that driver + frightened us into taking down the sign. I tell you what I wish you would + do. Paint out those names, and let me make a sign. Then I promise you I + will not be worried.” + </p> + <p> + The next day, therefore, I took down the sign and painted out my + inscriptions. It was a good deal of trouble, for my letters were fresh, + but it was a rainy day, and I had plenty of time, and succeeded tolerably + well. Then I gave Euphemia the black-paint pot and the freedom of the + sign. + </p> + <p> + I went down to the creek to try a little fishing in wet weather, and when + I returned the new sign was done. On one side it read: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + FLIES' + AND + WASPS' + HOTEL. +</pre> + <p> + On the other: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HUNDRED-LEGGERS' + AND + RED-ANTS' + HOUSE. +</pre> + <p> + “You see,” said euphemia, “if any individuals mentioned thereon apply for + accommodation, we can say we are full.” + </p> + <p> + This sign hung triumphantly for several days, when one morning, just as we + had finished breakfast, we were surprised to hear the stage stop at the + door, and before we could go out to see who had arrived, into the room + came our own stage-driver, as we used to call him. He had actually left + his team to come and see us. + </p> + <p> + “I just thought I'd stop an' tell ye,” said he, “that ef ye don't look + out, Bill'll get ye inter trouble. He's bound to git the best o' ye, an' I + heared this mornin', at Lowry's, that he's agoin' to bring the county + clerk up here to-morrow, to see about yer license fur keepin' a hotel. He + says ye keep changin' yer signs, but that don't differ to him, for he kin + prove ye've kept travelers overnight, an' ef ye haven't got no license + he'll make the county clerk come down on ye heavy, I'm sure o' that, fur I + know Bill. An' so, I thought I'd stop an' tell ye.” + </p> + <p> + I thanked him, and admitted that this was a rather serious view of the + case. Euphemia pondered a moment. Then said she: + </p> + <p> + “I don't see why we should stay here any longer. It's going to rain again, + and our vacation is up to-morrow, anyway. Could you wait a little while, + while we pack up?” she said to the driver. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes!” he replied. “I kin wait, as well as not. I've only got one + passenger, an' he's on top, a-holdin' the horses. He aint in any hurry, I + know, an' I'm ahead o' time.” + </p> + <p> + In less than twenty minutes we had packed our trunk, locked up the house, + and were in the stage, and, as we drove away, we cast a last admiring look + at Euphemia's sign, slowly swinging in the wind. I would much like to know + if it is swinging there yet. I feel certain there has been no lack of + custom. + </p> + <p> + We stopped at Mrs. Carson's, paid her what we owed her, and engaged her to + go up to the tavern and put things in order. She was very sorry we were + going, but hoped we would come back again some other summer. We said that + it was quite possible that we might do so; but that, next time, we did not + think we would try to have a tavern of our own. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX. THE BABY AT RUDDER GRANGE. + </h2> + <p> + For some reason, not altogether understood by me, there seemed to be a + continued series of new developments at our home. I had supposed, when the + events spoken of in the last chapter had settled down to their proper + places in our little history, that our life would flow on in an even, + commonplace way, with few or no incidents worthy of being recorded. But + this did not prove to be the case. After a time, the uniformity and quiet + of our existence was considerably disturbed. + </p> + <p> + This disturbance was caused by a baby, not a rude, imperious baby, but a + child who was generally of a quiet and orderly turn of mind. But it + disarranged all our plans; all our habits; all the ordinary disposition of + things. + </p> + <p> + It was in the summer-time, during my vacation, that it began to exert its + full influence upon us. A more unfortunate season could not have been + selected. At first, I may say that it did not exert its full influence + upon me. I was away, during the day, and, in the evening, its influence + was not exerted, to any great extent, upon anybody. As I have said, its + habits were exceedingly orderly. But, during my vacation, the things came + to pass which have made this chapter necessary. + </p> + <p> + I did not intend taking a trip. As in a former vacation, I proposed + staying at home and enjoying those delights of the country which my + business in town did not allow me to enjoy in the working weeks and months + of the year. I had no intention of camping out, or of doing anything of + that kind, but many were the trips, rides, and excursions I had planned. + </p> + <p> + I found, however, that if I enjoyed myself in this wise, I must do it, for + the most part, alone. It was not that Euphemia could not go with me—there + was really nothing to prevent—it was simply that she had lost, for + the time, her interest in everything except that baby. + </p> + <p> + She wanted me to be happy, to amuse myself, to take exercise, to do + whatever I thought was pleasant, but she, herself, was so much engrossed + with the child, that she was often ignorant of what I intended to do, or + had done. She thought she was listening to what I said to her, but, in + reality, she was occupied, mind and body, with the baby, or listening for + some sound which should indicate that she ought to go and be occupied with + it. + </p> + <p> + I would often say to her: “Why can't you let Pomona attend to it? You + surely need not give up your whole time and your whole mind to the child.” + </p> + <p> + But she would always answer that Pomona had a great many things to do, and + that she couldn't, at all times, attend to the baby. Suppose, for + instance, that she should be at the barn. + </p> + <p> + I once suggested that a nurse should be procured, but at this she laughed. + </p> + <p> + “There is very little to do,” she said, “and I really like to do it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said I, “but you spend so much of your time in thinking how glad + you will be to do that little, when it is to be done, that you can't give + me any attention, at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Now you have no cause to say that,” she exclaimed. “You know very well—, + there!” and away she ran. It had just begun to cry! + </p> + <p> + Naturally, I was getting tired of this. I could never begin a sentence and + feel sure that I would be allowed to finish it. Nothing was important + enough to delay attention to an infantile whimper. + </p> + <p> + Jonas, too, was in a state of unrest. He was obliged to wear his good + clothes, a great part of the time, for he was continually going on errands + to the village, and these errands were so important that they took + precedence of everything else. It gave me a melancholy sort of pleasure, + sometimes, to do Jonas's work when he was thus sent away. + </p> + <p> + I asked him, one day, how he liked it all? + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said he, reflectively, “I can't say as I understand it, exactly. + It does seem queer to me that such a little thing should take up pretty + nigh all the time of three people. I suppose, after a while,” this he said + with a grave smile, “that you may be wanting to turn in and help.” I did + not make any answer to this, for Jonas was, at that moment, summoned to + the house, but it gave me an idea. In fact, it gave me two ideas. + </p> + <p> + The first was that Jonas's remark was not entirely respectful. He was my + hired man, but he was a very respectable man, and an American man, and + therefore might sometimes be expected to say things which a foreigner, not + known to be respectable, would not think of saying, if he wished to keep + his place. The fact that Jonas had always been very careful to treat me + with much civility, caused this remark to make more impression on me. I + felt that he had, in a measure, reason for it. + </p> + <p> + The other idea was one which grew and developed in my mind until I + afterward formed a plan upon it. I determined, however, before I carried + out my plan, to again try to reason with Euphemia. + </p> + <p> + “If it was our own baby,” I said, “or even the child of one of us, by a + former marriage, it would be a different thing; but to give yourself up so + entirely to Pomona's baby, seems, to me, unreasonable. Indeed, I never + heard of any case exactly like it. It is reversing all the usages of + society for the mistress to take care of the servant's baby.” + </p> + <p> + “The usages of society are not worth much, sometimes,” said Euphemia, “and + you must remember that Pomona is a very different kind of a person from an + ordinary servant. She is much more like a member of the family—I + can't exactly explain what kind of a member, but I understand it myself. + She has very much improved since she has been married, and you know, + yourself, how quiet and—and, nice she is, and as for the baby, it's + just as good and pretty as any baby, and it may grow up to be better than + any of us. Some of our presidents have sprung from lowly parents.” + </p> + <p> + “But this one is a girl,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Well then,” replied Euphemia, “she may be a president's wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Another thing,” I remarked, “I don't believe Jonas and Pomona like your + keeping their baby so much to yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” said Euphemia, “a girl in Pomona's position couldn't help + being glad to have a lady take an interest in her baby, and help bring it + up. And as for Jonas, he would be a cruel man if he wasn't pleased and + grateful to have his wife relieved of so much trouble. Pomona! is that + you? You can bring it here, now, if you want to get at your + clear-starching.” + </p> + <p> + I don't believe that Pomona hankered after clear-starching, but she + brought the baby and I went away. I could not see any hope ahead. Of + course, in time, it would grow up, but then it couldn't grow up during my + vacation. + </p> + <p> + Then it was that I determined to carry out my plan. + </p> + <p> + I went to the stable and harnessed the horse to the little carriage. Jonas + was not there, and I had fallen out of the habit of calling him. I drove + slowly through the yard and out of the gate. No one called to me or asked + where I was going. How different this was from the old times! Then, some + one would not have failed to know where I was going, and, in all + probability, she would have gone with me. But now I drove away, quietly + and undisturbed. + </p> + <p> + About three miles from our house was a settlement known as New Dublin. It + was a cluster of poor and doleful houses, inhabited entirely by Irish + people, whose dirt and poverty seemed to make them very contented and + happy. The men were generally away, at their work, during the day, but + there was never any difficulty in finding some one at home, no matter at + what house one called. I was acquainted with one of the matrons of this + locality, a Mrs. Duffy, who had occasionally undertaken some odd jobs at + our house, and to her I made a visit. + </p> + <p> + She was glad to see me, and wiped off a chair for me. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Duffy,” said I, “I want to rent a baby.” + </p> + <p> + At first, the good woman could not understand me, but when I made plain to + her that I wished for a short time, to obtain the exclusive use and + control of a baby, for which I was willing to pay a liberal rental, she + burst into long and violent laughter. It seemed to her like a person + coming into the country to purchase weeds. Weeds and children were so + abundant in New Dublin. But she gradually began to see that I was in + earnest, and as she knew I was a trusty person, and somewhat noted for the + care I took of my live stock, she was perfectly willing to accommodate me, + but feared she had nothing on hand of the age I desired. + </p> + <p> + “Me childther are all agoin' about,” she said. “Ye kin see a poile uv 'em + out yon, in the road, an' there's more uv 'em on the fince. But ye nade + have no fear about gittin' wan. There's sthacks of 'em in the place. I'll + jist run over to Mrs. Hogan's, wid ye. She's got sixteen or siventeen, + mostly small, for Hogan brought four or five wid him when he married her, + an' she'll be glad to rint wan uv 'em.” So, throwing her apron over her + head, she accompanied me to Mrs. Hogan's. + </p> + <p> + That lady was washing, but she cheerfully stopped her work while Mrs. + Duffy took her to one side and explained my errand. Mrs. Hogan did not + appear to be able to understand why I wanted a baby-especially for so + limited a period,—but probably concluded that if I would take good + care of it and would pay well for it, the matter was my own affair, for + she soon came and said, that if I wanted a baby, I'd come to the right + place. Then she began to consider what one she would let me have. I + insisted on a young one—there was already a little baby at our + house, and the folks there would know how to manage it. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, ye want it fer coompany for the ither one, is that it?” said Mrs. + Hogan, a new light breaking in upon her. “An' that's a good plan, sure. It + must be dridful lownly in a house wid ownly wan baby. Now there's one—Polly—would + she do?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, she can run,” I said. “I don't want one that can run.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear!” said Mrs. Hogan, with a sigh, “they all begin to run, very + airly. Now Polly isn't owld, at all, at all.” + </p> + <p> + “I can see that,” said I, “but I want one that you can put in a cradle—one + that will have to stay there, when you put it in.” + </p> + <p> + It was plain that Mrs. Hogan's present stock did not contain exactly what + I wanted, and directly Mrs. Duffy exclaimed! “There's Mary McCann—an' + roight across the way!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hogan said “Yis, sure,” and we all went over to a little house, + opposite. + </p> + <p> + “Now, thin,” said Mrs. Duffy, entering the house, and proudly drawing a + small coverlid from a little box-bed in a corner, “what do you think of + that?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, there are two of them,” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “To be sure,” said Mrs. Duffy. “They're tweens. There's always two uv em, + when they're tweens. An' they're young enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said I, doubtfully, “but I couldn't take both. Do you think their + mother would rent one of them?” + </p> + <p> + The women shook their heads. “Ye see, sir,” said Mrs. Hogan, “Mary McCann + isn't here, bein' gone out to a wash, but she ownly has four or foive + childther, an' she aint much used to 'em yit, an' I kin spake fer her that + she'd niver siparate a pair o' tweens. When she gits a dozen hersilf, and + marries a widow jintleman wid a lot uv his own, she'll be glad enough to + be lettin' ye have yer pick, to take wan uv 'em fer coompany to yer own + baby, at foive dollars a week. Moind that.” + </p> + <p> + I visited several houses after this, still in company with Mrs. Hogan and + Mrs. Duffy, and finally secured a youngish infant, who, having been left + motherless, had become what Mrs. Duffy called a “bottle-baby,” and was in + charge of a neighboring aunt. It seemed strange that this child, so + eminently adapted to purposes of rental, was not offered to me, at first, + but I suppose the Irish ladies, who had the matter in charge, wanted to + benefit themselves, or some of their near friends, before giving the + general public of New Dublin a chance. + </p> + <p> + The child suited me very well, and I agreed to take it for as many days as + I might happen to want it, but to pay by the week, in advance. It was a + boy, with a suggestion of orange-red bloom all over its head, and what + looked, to me, like freckles on its cheeks; while its little nose turned + up, even more than those of babies generally turn—above a very long + upper lip. His eyes were blue and twinkling, and he had the very mouth + “fer a leetle poipe,” as Mrs. Hogan admiringly remarked. + </p> + <p> + He was hastily prepared for his trip, and when I had arranged the + necessary business matters with his aunt, and had assured her that she + could come to see him whenever she liked, I got into the carriage, and + having spread the lap-robe over my knees, the baby, carefully wrapped in a + little shawl, was laid in my lap. Then his bottle, freshly filled, for he + might need a drink on the way, was tucked between the cushions on the seat + beside me, and taking the lines in my left hand, while I steadied my + charge with the other, I prepared to drive away. + </p> + <p> + “What's his name?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “It's Pat,” said his aunt, “afther his dad, who's away in the moines.” + </p> + <p> + “But ye kin call him onything ye bike,” Mrs. Duffy remarked, “fer he don't + ansther to his name yit.” + </p> + <p> + “Pat will do very well,” I said, as I bade the good women farewell, and + carefully guided the horse through the swarms of youngsters who had + gathered around the carriage. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX. THE OTHER BABY AT RUDDER GRANGE. + </h2> + <p> + I drove slowly home, and little Pat lay very quiet, looking up steadily at + me with his twinkling blue eyes. For a time, everything went very well, + but happening to look up, I saw in the distance a carriage approaching. It + was an open barouche, and I knew it belonged to a family of our + acquaintance, in the village, and that it usually contained ladies. + </p> + <p> + Quick as thought, I rolled up Pat in his shawl and stuffed him under the + seat. Then rearranging the lap-robe over my knees, I drove on, trembling a + little, it is true. + </p> + <p> + As I supposed, the carriage contained ladies, and I knew them all. The + coachman instinctively drew up, as we approached. We always stopped and + spoke, on such occasions. + </p> + <p> + They asked me after my wife, apparently surprised to see me alone, and + made a number of pleasant observations, to all of which I replied with as + unconcerned and easy an air as I could assume. The ladies were in + excellent spirits, but in spite of this, there seemed to be an air of + repression about them, which I thought of when I drove on, but could not + account for, for little Pat never moved or whimpered, during the whole of + the interview. + </p> + <p> + But when I took him again in my lap, and happened to turn, as I arranged + the robe, I saw his bottle sticking up boldly by my side from between the + cushions. Then I did not wonder at the repression. + </p> + <p> + When I reached home, I drove directly to the barn. Fortunately, Jonas was + there. When I called him and handed little Pat to him I never saw a man + more utterly amazed. He stood, and held the child without a word. But when + I explained the whole affair to him, he comprehended it perfectly, and was + delighted. I think he was just as anxious for my plan to work as I was + myself, although he did not say so. + </p> + <p> + I was about to take the child into the house, when Jonas remarked that it + was barefooted. + </p> + <p> + “That won't do,” I said. “It certainly had socks on, when I got it. I saw + them.” + </p> + <p> + “Here they are,” said Jonas, fishing them out from the shawl, “he's kicked + them off.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we must put them on,” I said, “it won't do to take him in, that + way. You hold him.” + </p> + <p> + So Jonas sat down on the feed-box, and carefully taking little Pat, he + held him horizontally, firmly pressed between his hands and knees, with + his feet stuck out toward me, while I knelt down before him and tried to + put on the little socks. But the socks were knit or worked very loosely, + and there seemed to be a good many small holes in them, so that Pat's + funny little toes, which he kept curling up and uncurling, were + continually making their appearance in unexpected places through the sock. + But, after a great deal of trouble, I got them both on, with the heels in + about the right places. + </p> + <p> + “Now they ought to be tied on,” I said, “Where are his garters?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe babies have garters,” said Jonas, doubtfully, “but I + could rig him up a pair.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said I; “we wont take the time for that. I'll hold his legs apart, + as I carry him in. It's rubbing his feet together that gets them off.” + </p> + <p> + As I passed the kitchen window, I saw Pomona at work. She looked at me, + dropped something, and I heard a crash. I don't know how much that crash + cost me. Jonas rushed in to tell Pomona about it, and in a moment I heard + a scream of laughter. At this, Euphemia appeared at an upper window, with + her hand raised and saying, severely: “Hush-h!” But the moment she saw me, + she disappeared from the window and came down-stairs on the run. She met + me, just as I entered the dining-room. + </p> + <p> + “What IN the world!” she breathlessly exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “This,” said I, taking Pat into a better position in my arms, “is my + baby.” + </p> + <p> + “Your—baby!” said Euphemia. “Where did you get it? what are you + going to do with it?” + </p> + <p> + “I got it in New Dublin,” I replied, “and I want it to amuse and occupy me + while I am at home. I haven't anything else to do, except things that take + me away from you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Euphemia. + </p> + <p> + At this moment, little Pat gave his first whimper. Perhaps he felt the + searching glance that fell upon him from the lady in the middle of the + room. + </p> + <p> + I immediately began to walk up and down the floor with him, and to sing to + him. I did not know any infant music, but I felt sure that a soothing tune + was the great requisite, and that the words were of small importance. So I + started on an old Methodist tune, which I remembered very well, and which + was used with the hymn containing the lines: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Weak and wounded, sick and sore,” + </pre> + <p> + and I sang, as soothingly as I could: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Lit-tle Pat-sy, Wat-sy, Sat-sy, + Does he feel a lit-ty bad? + Me will send and get his bot-tle + He sha'n't have to cry-wy-wy.” + </pre> + <p> + “What an idiot!” said Euphemia, laughing in spite of her vexation. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “No, we aint no id-i-otses + What we want's a bot-ty mik.” + </pre> + <p> + So I sang as I walked to the kitchen door, and sent Jonas to the barn for + the bottle. + </p> + <p> + Pomona was in spasms of laughter in the kitchen, and Euphemia was trying + her best not to laugh at all. + </p> + <p> + “Who's going to take care of it, I'd like to know?” she said, as soon as + she could get herself into a state of severe inquiry. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Some-times me, and some-times Jonas,” + </pre> + <p> + I sang, still walking up and down the room with a long, slow step, + swinging the baby from side to side, very much as if it were grass-seed in + a sieve, and I were sowing it over the carpet. + </p> + <p> + When the bottle came, I took it, and began to feed little Pat. Perhaps the + presence of a critical and interested audience embarrassed us, for Jonas + and Pomona were at the door, with streaming eyes, while Euphemia stood + with her handkerchief to the lower part of her face, or it may have been + that I did not understand the management of bottles, but, at any rate, I + could not make the thing work, and the disappointed little Pat began to + cry, just as the whole of our audience burst into a wild roar of laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Here! Give me that child!” cried Euphemia, forcibly taking Pat and the + bottle from me. “You'll make it swallow the whole affair, and I'm sure its + mouth's big enough.” + </p> + <p> + “You really don't think,” she said, when we were alone, and little Pat, + with his upturned blue eyes serenely surveying the features of the good + lady who knew how to feed him, was placidly pulling away at his + india-rubber tube, “that I will consent to your keeping such a creature as + this in the house? Why, he's a regular little Paddy! If you kept him he'd + grow up into a hod-carrier.” + </p> + <p> + “Good!” said I. “I never thought of that. What a novel thing it would be + to witness the gradual growth of a hod-carrier! I'll make him a little + hod, now, to begin with. He couldn't have a more suitable toy.” + </p> + <p> + “I was talking in earnest,” she said. “Take your baby, and please carry + him home as quick as you can, for I am certainly not going to take care of + him.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not,” said I. “Now that I see how it's done, I'm going to do it + myself. Jonas will mix his feed and I will give it to him. He looks sleepy + now. Shall I take him upstairs and lay him on our bed?” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed,” cried Euphemia. “You can put him on a quilt on the floor, + until after luncheon, and then you must take him home.” + </p> + <p> + I laid the young Milesian on the folded quilt which Euphemia prepared for + him, where he turned up his little pug nose to the ceiling and went + contentedly to sleep. + </p> + <p> + That afternoon I nailed four legs on a small packing-box and made a + bedstead for him. This, with a pillow in the bottom of it, was very + comfortable, and instead of taking him home, I borrowed, in the evening, + some baby night-clothes from Pomona, and set about preparing Pat for the + night. + </p> + <p> + This Euphemia would not allow, but silently taking him from me, she put + him to bed. + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow,” she said, “you must positively take him away. I wont stand + it. And in our room, too.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't talk in that way about the baby you adopted,” I said. + </p> + <p> + To this she made no answer, but went away to attend, as usual, to Pomona's + baby, while its mother washed the dishes. + </p> + <p> + That night little Pat woke up, several times, and made things unpleasant + by his wails. On the first two occasions, I got up and walked him about, + singing impromptu lines to the tune of “weak and wounded,” but the third + time, Euphemia herself arose, and declaring that that doleful tune was a + great deal worse than the baby's crying, silenced him herself, and + arranging his couch more comfortably, he troubled us no more. + </p> + <p> + In the morning, when I beheld the little pad of orange fur in the box, my + heart almost misgave me, but as the day wore on, my courage rose again, + and I gave myself up, almost entirely, to my new charge, composing a vast + deal of blank verse, while walking him up and down the house. + </p> + <p> + Euphemia scolded and scolded, and said she would put on her hat and go for + the mother. But I told her the mother was dead, and that seemed to be an + obstacle. She took a good deal of care of the child, for she said she + would not see an innocent creature neglected, even if it was an incipient + hod-carrier, but she did not relax in the least in her attention to + Pomona's baby. + </p> + <p> + The next day was about the same, in regard to infantile incident, but, on + the day after, I began to tire of my new charge, and Pat, on his side, + seemed to be tired of me, for he turned from me when I went to take him + up, while he would hold out his hands to Euphemia, and grin delightedly + when she took him. + </p> + <p> + That morning I drove to the village and spent an hour or two there. On my + return I found Euphemia sitting in our room, with little Pat on her lap. I + was astonished at the change in the young rascal. He was dressed, from + head to foot, in a suit of clothes belonging to Pomona's baby; the glowing + fuzz on his head was brushed and made as smooth as possible, while his + little muslin sleeves were tied up with blue ribbon. + </p> + <p> + I stood speechless at the sight. + </p> + <p> + “Don't he look nice?” said Euphemia, standing him up on her knees. “It + shows what good clothes will do. I'm glad I helped Pomona make up so many. + He's getting ever so fond of me, ze itty Patsy, watsy! See how strong he + is! He can almost stand on his legs! Look how he laughs! He's just as + cunning as he can be. And oh! I was going to speak about that box. I + wouldn't have him sleep in that old packing-box. There are little wicker + cradles at the store—I saw them last week—they don't cost + much, and you could bring one up in the carriage. There's the other baby, + crying, and I don't know where Pomona is. Just you mind him a minute, + please!” and out she ran. + </p> + <p> + I looked out of the window. The horse still stood harnessed to the + carriage, as I had left him. I saw Pat's old shawl lying in a corner. I + seized it, and rolling him in it, new clothes and all, I hurried + down-stairs, climbed into the carriage, hastily disposed Pat in my lap, + and turned the horse. The demeanor of the youngster was very different + from what it was when I first took him in my lap to drive away with him. + There was no confiding twinkle in his eye, no contented munching of his + little fists. He gazed up at me with wild alarm, and as I drove out of the + gate, he burst forth into such a yell that Lord Edward came bounding + around the house to see what was the matter. Euphemia suddenly appeared at + an upper window and called out to me, but I did not hear what she said. I + whipped up the horse and we sped along to New Dublin. Pat soon stopped + crying, but he looked at me with a tear-stained and reproachful visage. + </p> + <p> + The good women of the settlement were surprised to see little Pat return + so soon. + </p> + <p> + “An' wasn't he good?” said Mrs. Hogan as she took him from my hands. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes!” I said. “He was as good as he could be. But I have no further + need of him.” + </p> + <p> + I might have been called upon to explain this statement, had not the whole + party of women, who stood around burst into wild expressions of delight at + Pat's beautiful clothes. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! jist look at 'em!” cried Mrs. Duffy. “An' see thim leetle pittycoots, + thrimmed wid lace! Oh, an' it was good in ye, sir, to give him all thim, + an' pay the foive dollars, too.” + </p> + <p> + “An' I'm glad he's back,” said the fostering aunt, “for I was a coomin' + over to till ye that I've been hearin' from owle Pat, his dad, an' he's a + coomin' back from the moines, and I don't know what he'd a' said if he'd + found his leetle Pat was rinted. But if ye iver want to borry him, for a + whoile, after owle Pat's gone back, ye kin have him, rint-free; an' it's + much obloiged I am to ye, sir, fur dressin' him so foine.” + </p> + <p> + I made no encouraging remarks as to future transactions in this line, and + drove slowly home. + </p> + <p> + Euphemia met me at the door. She had Pomona's baby in her arms. We walked + together into the parlor. + </p> + <p> + “And so you have given up the little fellow that you were going to do so + much for?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have given him up,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “It must have been a dreadful trial to you,” she continued. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dreadful!” I replied. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you thought he would take up so much of your time and thoughts, + that we couldn't be to each other what we used to be, didn't you?” she + said. + </p> + <p> + “Not exactly,” I replied. “I only thought that things promised to be twice + as bad as they were before.” + </p> + <p> + She made no answer to this, but going to the back door of the parlor she + opened it and called Pomona. When that young woman appeared, Euphemia + stepped toward her and said: “Here, Pomona, take your baby.” + </p> + <p> + They were simple words, but they were spoken in such a way that they meant + a good deal. Pomona knew what they meant. Her eyes sparkled, and as she + went out, I saw her hug her child to her breast, and cover it with kisses, + and then, through the window, I could see her running to the barn and + Jonas. + </p> + <p> + “Now, then,” said Euphemia, closing the door and coming toward me, with + one of her old smiles, and not a trace of preoccupation about her, “I + suppose you expect me to devote myself to you.” + </p> + <p> + I did expect it, and I was not mistaken. + </p> + <p> + Since these events, a third baby has come to Rudder Grange. It is not + Pomona's, nor was it brought from New Dublin. It is named after a little + one, who died very young, before this story was begun, and the strangest + thing about it is that never, for a moment, does it seem to come between + Euphemia and myself. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Rudder Grange, by Frank R. 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Stockton + +Posting Date: November 7, 2008 [EBook #2011] +Release Date: December, 1999 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RUDDER GRANGE *** + + + + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer + + + + + +RUDDER GRANGE + +By Frank R. Stockton + + + + +CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER I. + + Treating of a Novel Style of Dwelling-house + + + CHAPTER II. + + Treating of a Novel Style of Boarder + + + CHAPTER III. + + Treating of a Novel Style of Girl + + + CHAPTER IV. + + Treating of a Novel Style of Burglar + + + CHAPTER V. + + Pomona Produces a Partial Revolution in Rudder Grange + + + CHAPTER VI. + + The New Rudder Grange + + + CHAPTER VII. + + Treating of an Unsuccessful Broker and a Dog + + + CHAPTER VIII. + + Pomona Once More + + + CHAPTER IX. + + We Camp Out + + + CHAPTER X. + + Wet Blankets + + + CHAPTER XI. + + The Boarder's Visit + + + CHAPTER XII. + + Lord Edward and the Tree-man + + + CHAPTER XIII. + + Pomona's Novel + + + CHAPTER XIV. + + Pomona takes a Bridal Trip + + + CHAPTER XV. + + In which two New Friends disport themselves + + + CHAPTER XVI. + + In which an Old Friend appears, and the Bridal Trip takes a Fresh Start + + + CHAPTER XVII. + + In which we take a Vacation and look for David Dutton + + + CHAPTER XVIII. + + Our Tavern + + + CHAPTER XIX. + + The Baby at Rudder Grange + + + CHAPTER XX. + + The Other Baby at Rudder Grange + + + + +RUDDER GRANGE. + + + +CHAPTER I. TREATING OF A NOVEL STYLE OF DWELLING HOUSE. + + +For some months after our marriage, Euphemia and I boarded. But we did +not like it. Indeed, there was no reason why we should like it. Euphemia +said that she never felt at home except when she was out, which feeling, +indicating such an excessively unphilosophic state of mind, was enough +to make me desire to have a home of my own, where, except upon rare and +exceptional occasions, my wife would never care to go out. + +If you should want to rent a house, there are three ways to find one. +One way is to advertise; another is to read the advertisements of other +people. This is a comparatively cheap way. A third method is to apply to +an agent. But none of these plans are worth anything. The proper way +is to know some one who will tell you of a house that will exactly suit +you. Euphemia and I thoroughly investigated this matter, and I know that +what I say is a fact. + +We tried all the plans. When we advertised, we had about a dozen +admirable answers, but in these, although everything seemed to suit, the +amount of rent was not named. (None of those in which the rent was named +would do at all.) And when I went to see the owners, or agents of these +suitable houses, they asked much higher rents than those mentioned in +the unavailable answers--and this, notwithstanding the fact that they +always asserted that their terms were either very reasonable or else +greatly reduced on account of the season being advanced. (It was now the +fifteenth of May.) + +Euphemia and I once wrote a book,--this was just before we were +married,--in which we told young married people how to go to +housekeeping and how much it would cost them. We knew all about it, for +we had asked several people. Now the prices demanded as yearly rental +for small furnished houses, by the owners and agents of whom I have been +speaking, were, in many cases, more than we had stated a house could be +bought and furnished for! + +The advertisements of other people did not serve any better. There was +always something wrong about the houses when we made close inquiries, +and the trouble was generally in regard to the rent. With agents we +had a little better fortune. Euphemia sometimes went with me on my +expeditions to real estate offices, and she remarked that these offices +were always in the basement, or else you had to go up to them in an +elevator. There was nothing between these extremes. And it was a good +deal the same way, she said, with their houses. They were all very low +indeed in price and quality, or else too high. + +One trouble was that we wanted a house in a country place, not very far +from the city, and not very far from the railroad station or steamboat +landing. We also wanted the house to be nicely shaded and fully +furnished, and not to be in a malarial neighborhood, or one infested by +mosquitoes. + +"If we do go to housekeeping," said Euphemia, "we might as well get a +house to suit us while we are about it. Moving is more expensive than a +fire." + +There was one man who offered us a house that almost suited us. It was +near the water, had rooms enough, and some--but not very much--ground, +and was very accessible to the city. The rent, too, was quite +reasonable. But the house was unfurnished. The agent, however, did not +think that this would present any obstacle to our taking it. He was +sure that the owner would furnish it if we paid him ten per cent, on the +value of the furniture he put into it. We agreed that if the landlord +would do this and let us furnish the house according to the plans laid +down in our book, that we would take the house. But unfortunately this +arrangement did not suit the landlord, although he was in the habit of +furnishing houses for tenants and charging them ten per cent. on the +cost. + +I saw him myself and talked to him about it. + +"But you see," said he, when I had shown him our list of articles +necessary for the furnishing of a house, "it would not pay me to buy +all these things, and rent them out to you. If you only wanted heavy +furniture, which would last for years, the plan would answer, but you +want everything. I believe the small conveniences you have on this list +come to more money than the furniture and carpets." + +"Oh, yes," said I. "We are not so very particular about furniture +and carpets, but these little conveniences are the things that make +housekeeping pleasant, and,--speaking from a common-sense point of +view,--profitable." + +"That may be," he answered, "but I can't afford to make matters pleasant +and profitable for you in that way. Now, then, let us look at one or two +particulars. Here, on your list, is an ice-pick: twenty-five cents. +Now, if I buy that ice-pick and rent it to you at two and a-half cents +a year, I shall not get my money back unless it lasts you ten years. And +even then, as it is not probable that I can sell that ice-pick after +you have used it for ten years, I shall have made nothing at all by +my bargain. And there are other things in that list, such as +feather-dusters and lamp-chimneys, that couldn't possibly last ten +years. Don't you see my position?" + +I saw it. We did not get that furnished house. Euphemia was greatly +disappointed. + +"It would have been just splendid," she said, "to have taken our book +and have ordered all these things at the stores, one after another, +without even being obliged to ask the price." + +I had my private doubts in regard to this matter of price. I am afraid +that Euphemia generally set down the lowest price and the best things. +She did not mean to mislead, and her plan certainly made our book +attractive. But it did not work very well in practice. We have a friend +who undertook to furnish her house by our book, and she never could get +the things as cheaply as we had them quoted. + +"But you see," said Euphemia, to her, "we had to put them down at very +low prices, because the model house we speak of in the book is to be +entirely furnished for just so much." + +But, in spite of this explanation, the lady was not satisfied. + +We found ourselves obliged to give up the idea of a furnished house. We +would have taken an unfurnished one and furnished it ourselves, but we +had not money enough. We were dreadfully afraid that we should have to +continue to board. + +It was now getting on toward summer, at least there was only a part of +a month of spring left, and whenever I could get off from my business +Euphemia and I made little excursions into the country round about the +city. One afternoon we went up the river, and there we saw a sight that +transfixed us, as it were. On the bank, a mile or so above the city, +stood a canal-boat. I say stood, because it was so firmly imbedded +in the ground by the river-side, that it would have been almost as +impossible to move it as to have turned the Sphinx around. This boat we +soon found was inhabited by an oyster-man and his family. They had lived +there for many years and were really doing quite well. The boat was +divided, inside, into rooms, and these were papered and painted and +nicely furnished. There was a kitchen, a living-room, a parlor and +bedrooms. There were all sorts of conveniences--carpets on the floors, +pictures, and everything, at least so it seemed to us, to make a home +comfortable. This was not all done at once, the oyster-man told me. They +had lived there for years and had gradually added this and that until +the place was as we saw it. He had an oyster-bed out in the river and +he made cider in the winter, but where he got the apples I don't know. +There was really no reason why he should not get rich in time. + +Well, we went all over that house and we praised everything so much that +the oyster-man's wife was delighted, and when we had some stewed oysters +afterward,--eating them at a little table under a tree near by,--I +believe that she picked out the very largest oysters she had, to stew +for us. When we had finished our supper and had paid for it, and were +going down to take our little boat again,--for we had rowed up the +river,--Euphemia stopped and looked around her. Then she clasped her +hands and exclaimed in an ecstatic undertone: + +"We must have a canal-boat!" + +And she never swerved from that determination. + +After I had seriously thought over the matter, I could see no good +reason against adopting this plan. It would certainly be a cheap method +of living, and it would really be housekeeping. I grew more and more in +favor of it. After what the oyster-man had done, what might not we do? +HE had never written a book on housekeeping, nor, in all probability, +had he considered the matter, philosophically, for one moment in all his +life. + +But it was not an easy thing to find a canal-boat. There were none +advertised for rent--at least, not for housekeeping purposes. + +We made many inquiries and took many a long walk along the water-courses +in the vicinity of the city, but all in vain. Of course, we talked a +great deal about our project and our friends became greatly interested +in it, and, of course, too, they gave us a great deal of advice, but we +didn't mind that. We were philosophical enough to know that you can't +have shad without bones. They were good friends and, by being careful in +regard to the advice, it didn't interfere with our comfort. + +We were beginning to be discouraged, at least Euphemia was. Her +discouragement is like water-cresses, it generally comes up in a very +short time after she sows her wishes. But then it withers away rapidly, +which is a comfort. One evening we were sitting, rather disconsolately, +in our room, and I was reading out the advertisements of country board +in a newspaper, when in rushed Dr. Heare--one of our old friends. He was +so full of something that he had to say that he didn't even ask us how +we were. In fact, he didn't appear to want to know. + +"I tell you what it is," said he, "I have found just the very thing you +want." + +"A canal-boat?" I cried. + +"Yes," said he, "a canal-boat." + +"Furnished?" asked Euphemia, her eyes glistening. + +"Well, no," answered the doctor, "I don't think you could expect that." + +"But we can't live on the bare floor," said Euphemia; "our house MUST be +furnished." + +"Well, then, I suppose this won't do," said the doctor, ruefully, "for +there isn't so much as a boot-jack in it. It has most things that +are necessary for a boat, but it hasn't anything that you could call +house-furniture; but, dear me, I should think you could furnish it very +cheaply and comfortably out of your book." + +"Very true," said Euphemia, "if we could pick out the cheapest things +and then get some folks to buy a lot of the books." + +"We could begin with very little," said I, trying hard to keep calm. + +"Certainly," said the doctor, "you need make no more rooms, at first, +than you could furnish." + +"Then there are no rooms," said Euphemia. + +"No, there is nothing but one vast apartment extending from stem to +stern." + +"Won't it be glorious!" said Euphemia to me. "We can first make a +kitchen, and then a dining-room, and a bedroom, and then a parlor--just +in the order in which our book says they ought to be furnished." + +"Glorious!" I cried, no longer able to contain my enthusiasm; "I should +think so. Doctor, where is this canal-boat?" + +The doctor then went into a detailed statement. The boat was stranded +on the shore of the Scoldsbury river not far below Ginx's. We knew where +Ginx's was, because we had spent a very happy day there, during our +honeymoon. + +The boat was a good one, but superannuated. That, however, did not +interfere with its usefulness as a dwelling. We could get it--the doctor +had seen the owner--for a small sum per annum, and here was positively +no end to its capabilities. + +We sat up until twenty minutes past two, talking about that house. We +ceased to call it a boat at about a quarter of eleven. + +The next day I "took" the boat and paid a month's rent in advance. Three +days afterward we moved into it. + +We had not much to move, which was a comfort, looking at it from one +point of view. A carpenter had put up two partitions in it which made +three rooms--a kitchen, a dining-room and a very long bedroom, which +was to be cut up into a parlor, study, spare-room, etc., as soon as +circumstances should allow, or my salary should be raised. Originally, +all the doors and windows were in the roof, so to speak, but our +landlord allowed us to make as many windows to the side of the boat +as we pleased, provided we gave him the wood we cut out. It saved him +trouble, he said, but I did not understand him at the time. Accordingly, +the carpenter made several windows for us, and put in sashes, which +opened on hinges like the hasp of a trunk. Our furniture did not amount +to much, at first. The very thought of living in this independent, +romantic way was so delightful, Euphemia said, that furniture seemed a +mere secondary matter. + +We were obliged indeed to give up the idea of following the plan +detailed in our book, because we hadn't the sum upon which the +furnishing of a small house was therein based. + +"And if we haven't the money," remarked Euphemia, "it would be of no +earthly use to look at the book. It would only make us doubt our own +calculations. You might as well try to make brick without mortar, as the +children of Israel did." + +"I could do that myself, my dear," said I, "but we won't discuss that +subject now. We will buy just what we absolutely need, and then work up +from that." + +Acting on this plan, we bought first a small stove, because Euphemia +said that we could sleep on the floor, if it were necessary, but we +couldn't make a fire on the floor--at least not often. Then we got +a table and two chairs. The next thing we purchased was some hanging +shelves for our books, and Euphemia suddenly remembered the kitchen +things. These, which were few, with some crockery, nearly brought us to +the end of our resources, but we had enough for a big easy-chair which +Euphemia was determined I should have, because I really needed it when +I came home at night, tired with my long day's work at the office. I had +always been used to an easy-chair, and it was one of her most delightful +dreams to see me in a real nice one, comfortably smoking my pipe in my +own house, after eating my own delicious little supper in company with +my own dear wife. We selected the chair, and then we were about to order +the things sent out to our future home, when I happened to think that we +had no bed. I called Euphemia's attention to the fact. + +She was thunderstruck. + +"I never thought of that," she said. "We shall have to give up the +stove." + +"Not at all," said I, "we can't do that. We must give up the +easy-chair." + +"Oh, that would be too bad," said she. "The house would seem like +nothing to me without the chair!" + +"But we must do without it, my dear," said I, "at least for a while. I +can sit out on deck and smoke of an evening, you know." + +"Yes," said Euphemia. "You can sit on the bulwarks and I can sit by you. +That will do very well. I'm sure I'm glad the boat has bulwarks." + +So we resigned the easy-chair and bought a bedstead and some very plain +bedding. The bedstead was what is sometimes called a "scissors-bed." +We could shut it up when we did not want to sleep in it, and stand it +against the wall. + +When we packed up our trunks and left the boarding-house Euphemia fairly +skipped with joy. + +We went down to Ginx's in the first boat, having arranged that our +furniture should be sent to us in the afternoon. We wanted to be there +to receive it. The trip was just wildly delirious. The air was charming. +The sun was bright, and I had a whole holiday. When we reached Ginx's we +found that the best way to get our trunks and ourselves to our house was +to take a carriage, and so we took one. I told the driver to drive along +the river road and I would tell him where to stop. + +When we reached our boat, and had alighted, I said to the driver: + +"You can just put our trunks inside, anywhere." + +The man looked at the trunks and then looked at the boat. Afterward he +looked at me. + +"That boat ain't goin' anywhere," said he. + +"I should think not," said Euphemia. "We shouldn't want to live in it, +if it were." + +"You are going to live in it?" said the man. + +"Yes," said Euphemia. + +"Oh!" said the man, and he took our trunks on board, without another +word. + +It was not very easy for him to get the trunks into our new home. +In fact it was not easy for us to get there ourselves. There was a +gang-plank, with a rail on one side of it, which inclined from the shore +to the deck of the boat at an angle of forty-five degrees, and when the +man had staggered up this plank with the trunks (Euphemia said I ought +to have helped him, but I really thought that it would be better for one +person to fall off the plank than for two to go over together), and +we had paid him, and he had driven away in a speechless condition, we +scrambled up and stood upon the threshold, or, rather, the after-deck of +our home. + +It was a proud moment. Euphemia glanced around, her eyes full of happy +tears, and then she took my arm and we went down stairs--at least we +tried to go down in that fashion, but soon found it necessary to go one +at a time. We wandered over the whole extent of our mansion and found +that our carpenter had done his work better than the woman whom we had +engaged to scrub and clean the house. Something akin to despair must +have seized upon her, for Euphemia declared that the floors looked +dirtier than on the occasion of her first visit, when we rented the +boat. + +But that didn't discourage us. We felt sure that we should get it clean +in time. + +Early in the afternoon our furniture arrived, together with the other +things we had bought, and the men who brought them over from the +steamboat landing had the brightest, merriest faces I ever noticed among +that class of people. Euphemia said it was an excellent omen to +have such cheerful fellows come to us on the very first day of our +housekeeping. + +Then we went to work. I put up the stove, which was not much trouble, +as there was a place all ready in the deck for the stove-pipe to be run +through. Euphemia was somewhat surprised at the absence of a chimney, +but I assured her that boats were very seldom built with chimneys. My +dear little wife bustled about and arranged the pots and kettles on +nails that I drove into the kitchen walls. Then she made the bed in the +bed-room and I hung up a looking-glass and a few little pictures that we +had brought in our trunks. + +Before four o'clock our house was in order. Then we began to be very +hungry. + +"My dear," said Euphemia, "we ought to have thought to bring something +to cook." + +"That is very true," said I, "but I think perhaps we had better walk +up to Ginx's and get our supper to-night. You see we are so tired and +hungry." + +"What!" cried Euphemia, "go to a hotel the very first day? I think it +would be dreadful! Why, I have been looking forward to this first meal +with the greatest delight. You can go up to the little store by the +hotel and buy some things and I will cook them, and we will have our +first dear little meal here all alone by ourselves, at our own table and +in our own house." + +So this was determined upon and, after a hasty counting of the fund I +had reserved for moving and kindred expenses, and which had been sorely +depleted during the day, I set out, and in about an hour returned with +my first marketing. + +I made a fire, using a lot of chips and blocks the carpenter had left, +and Euphemia cooked the supper, and we ate it from our little table, +with two large towels for a table-cloth. + +It was the most delightful meal I ever ate! + +And, when we had finished, Euphemia washed the dishes (the thoughtful +creature had put some water on the stove to heat for the purpose, +while we were at supper) and then we went on deck, or on the piazza, as +Euphemia thought we had better call it, and there we had our smoke. I +say WE, for Euphemia always helps me to smoke by sitting by me, and she +seems to enjoy it as much as I do. + +And when the shades of evening began to gather around us, I hauled in +the gang-plank (just like a delightful old draw-bridge, Euphemia said, +although I hope for the sake of our ancestors that draw-bridges were +easier to haul in) and went to bed. + +It is lucky we were tired and wanted to go to bed early, for we had +forgotten all about lamps or candles. + +For the next week we were two busy and happy people. I rose about +half-past five and made the fire,--we found so much wood on the shore, +that I thought I should not have to add fuel to my expenses,--and +Euphemia cooked the breakfast. I then went to a well belonging to a +cottage near by where we had arranged for water-privileges, and filled +two buckets with delicious water and carried them home for Euphemia's +use through the day. Then I hurried off to catch the train, for, as +there was a station near Ginx's, I ceased to patronize the steamboat, +the hours of which were not convenient. After a day of work and +pleasurable anticipation at the office, I hastened back to my home, +generally laden with a basket of provisions and various household +necessities. Milk was brought to us daily from the above-mentioned +cottage by a little toddler who seemed just able to carry the small tin +bucket which held a lacteal pint. If the urchin had been the child of +rich parents, as Euphemia sometimes observed, he would have been in his +nurse's arms--but being poor, he was scarcely weaned before he began to +carry milk around to other people. + +After I reached home came supper and the delightful evening hours, +when over my pipe (I had given up cigars, as being too expensive and +inappropriate, and had taken to a tall pipe and canaster tobacco) we +talked and planned, and told each other our day's experience. + +One of our earliest subjects of discussion was the name of our +homestead. Euphemia insisted that it should have a name. I was quite +willing, but we found it no easy matter to select an appropriate title. +I proposed a number of appellations intended to suggest the character of +our home. Among these were: "Safe Ashore," "Firmly Grounded," and some +other names of that style, but Euphemia did not fancy any of them. She +wanted a suitable name, of course, she said, but it must be something +that would SOUND like a house and BE like a boat. + +"Partitionville," she objected to, and "Gangplank Terrace," did not suit +her because it suggested convicts going out to work, which naturally was +unpleasant. + +At last, after days of talk and cogitation, we named our house "Rudder +Grange." + +To be sure, it wasn't exactly a grange, but then it had such an enormous +rudder that the justice of that part of the title seemed to over-balance +any little inaccuracy in the other portion. + +But we did not spend all our spare time in talking. An hour or two, +every evening was occupied in what we called "fixing the house," and +gradually the inside of our abode began to look like a conventional +dwelling. We put matting on the floors and cheap but very pretty paper +on the walls. We added now a couple of chairs, and now a table or +something for the kitchen. Frequently, especially of a Sunday, we had +company, and our guests were always charmed with Euphemia's cunning +little meals. The dear girl loved good eating so much that she could +scarcely fail to be a good cook. + +We worked hard, and were very happy. And thus the weeks passed on. + + + +CHAPTER II. TREATING OF A NOVEL STYLE OF BOARDER. + + +In this delightful way of living, only one thing troubled us. We didn't +save any money. There were so many little things that we wanted, and so +many little things that were so cheap, that I spent pretty much all +I made, and that was far from the philosophical plan of living that I +wished to follow. + +We talked this matter over a great deal after we had lived in our new +home for about a month, and we came at last to the conclusion that we +would take a boarder. + +We had no trouble in getting a boarder, for we had a friend, a young man +who was engaged in the flour business, who was very anxious to come +and live with us. He had been to see us two or three times, and had +expressed himself charmed with our household arrangements. + +So we made terms with him. The carpenter partitioned off another room, +and our boarder brought his trunk and a large red velvet arm-chair, and +took up his abode at "Rudder Grange." + +We liked our boarder very much, but he had some peculiarities. I suppose +everybody has them. Among other things, he was very fond of telling us +what we ought to do. He suggested more improvements in the first three +days of his sojourn with us than I had thought of since we commenced +housekeeping. And what made the matter worse, his suggestions were +generally very good ones. Had it been otherwise I might have borne his +remarks more complacently, but to be continually told what you ought to +do, and to know that you ought to do it, is extremely annoying. + +He was very anxious that I should take off the rudder, which was +certainly useless to a boat situated as ours was, and make an +ironing-table of it. I persisted that the laws of symmetrical propriety +required that the rudder should remain where it was--that the very name +of our home would be interfered with by its removal, but he insisted +that "Ironing-table Grange" would be just as good a name, and that +symmetrical propriety in such a case did not amount to a row of pins. + +The result was, that we did have the ironing-table, and that Euphemia +was very much pleased with it. A great many other improvements were +projected and carried out by him, and I was very much worried. He made +a flower-garden for Euphemia on the extreme forward-deck, and having +borrowed a wheelbarrow, he wheeled dozens of loads of arable dirt up +our gang-plank and dumped them out on the deck. When he had covered +the garden with a suitable depth of earth, he smoothed it off and then +planted flower-seeds. It was rather late in the season, but most of +them came up. I was pleased with the garden, but sorry I had not made it +myself. + +One afternoon I got away from the office considerably earlier than +usual, and I hurried home to enjoy the short period of daylight that I +should have before supper. It had been raining the day before, and as +the bottom of our garden leaked so that earthy water trickled down at +one end of our bed-room, I intended to devote a short time to stuffing +up the cracks in the ceiling or bottom of the deck--whichever seems the +most appropriate. + +But when I reached a bend in the river road, whence I always had the +earliest view of my establishment, I did not have that view. I +hurried on. The nearer I approached the place where I lived, the more +horror-stricken I became. There was no mistaking the fact. + +The boat was not there! + +In an instant the truth flashed upon me. + +The water was very high--the rain had swollen the river--my house had +floated away! + +It was Wednesday. On Wednesday afternoons our boarder came home early. + +I clapped my hat tightly on my head and ground my teeth. + +"Confound that boarder!" I thought. "He has been fooling with the +anchor. He always said it was of no use, and taking advantage of my +absence, he has hauled it up, and has floated away, and has gone--gone +with my wife and my home!" + +Euphemia and "Rudder Grange" had gone off together--where I knew +not,--and with them that horrible suggester! + +I ran wildly along the bank. I called aloud, I shouted and hailed each +passing craft--of which there were only two--but their crews must have +been very inattentive to the woes of landsmen, or else they did not hear +me, for they paid no attention to my cries. + +I met a fellow with an axe on his shoulder. I shouted to him before I +reached him: + +"Hello! did you see a boat--a house, I mean,--floating up the river?" + +"A boat-house?" asked the man. + +"No, a house-boat," I gasped. + +"Didn't see nuthin' like it," said the man, and he passed on, to his +wife and home, no doubt. But me! Oh, where was my wife and my home? + +I met several people, but none of them had seen a fugitive canal-boat. + +How many thoughts came into my brain as I ran along that river road! If +that wretched boarder had not taken the rudder for an ironing table he +might have steered in shore! Again and again I confounded--as far as +mental ejaculations could do it--his suggestions. + +I was rapidly becoming frantic when I met a person who hailed me. + +"Hello!" he said, "are you after a canal-boat adrift?" + +"Yes," I panted. + +"I thought you was," he said. "You looked that way. Well, I can tell you +where she is. She's stuck fast in the reeds at the lower end o' Peter's +Pint." + +"Where's that?" said I. + +"Oh, it's about a mile furder up. I seed her a-driftin' up with the +tide--big flood tide, to-day--and I thought I'd see somebody after her, +afore long. Anything aboard?" + +Anything! + +I could not answer the man. Anything, indeed! I hurried on up the river +without a word. Was the boat a wreck? I scarcely dared to think of it. I +scarcely dared to think at all. + +The man called after me and I stopped. I could but stop, no matter what +I might hear. + +"Hello, mister," he said, "got any tobacco?" + +I walked up to him. I took hold of him by the lapel of his coat. It was +a dirty lapel, as I remember even now, but I didn't mind that. + +"Look here," said I. "Tell me the truth, I can bear it. Was that vessel +wrecked?" + +The man looked at me a little queerly. I could not exactly interpret his +expression. + +"You're sure you kin bear it?" said he. + +"Yes," said I, my hand trembling as I held his coat. + +"Well, then," said he, "it's mor'n I kin," and he jerked his coat out of +my hand, and sprang away. When he reached the other side of the road, he +turned and shouted at me, as though I had been deaf. + +"Do you know what I think?" he yelled. "I think you're a darned +lunatic," and with that he went his way. + +I hastened on to Peter's Point. Long before I reached it, I saw the +boat. + +It was apparently deserted. But still I pressed on. I must know the +worst. When I reached the Point, I found that the boat had run aground, +with her head in among the long reeds and mud, and the rest of her hull +lying at an angle from the shore. + +There was consequently no way for me to get on board, but to wade +through the mud and reeds to her bow, and then climb up as well as I +could. + +This I did, but it was not easy to do. Twice I sank above my knees +in mud and water, and had it not been for reeds, masses of which I +frequently clutched when I thought I was going over, I believe I should +have fallen down and come to my death in that horrible marsh. When +I reached the boat, I stood up to my hips in water and saw no way of +climbing up. The gang-plank had undoubtedly floated away, and if it had +not, it would have been of no use to me in my position. + +But I was desperate. I clasped the post that they put in the bow of +canal-boats; I stuck my toes and my finger-nails in the cracks between +the boards--how glad I was that the boat was an old one and had +cracks!--and so, painfully and slowly, slipping part way down once or +twice, and besliming myself from chin to foot, I climbed up that post +and scrambled upon deck. In an instant, I reached the top of the stairs, +and in another instant I rushed below. + +There sat my wife and our boarder, one on each side of the dining-room +table, complacently playing checkers! + +My sudden entrance startled them. My appearance startled them still +more. + +Euphemia sprang to her feet and tottered toward me. + +"Mercy!" she exclaimed; "has anything happened?" + +"Happened!" I gasped. + +"Look here," cried the boarder, clutching me by the arm, "what a +condition you're in. Did you fall in?" + +"Fall in!" said I. + +Euphemia and the boarder looked at each other. I looked at them. Then I +opened my mouth in earnest. + +"I suppose you don't know," I yelled, "that you have drifted away!" + +"By George!" cried the boarder, and in two bounds he was on deck. + +Dirty as I was, Euphemia fell into my arms. I told her all. She hadn't +known a bit of it! + +The boat had so gently drifted off, and had so gently grounded among +the reeds, that the voyage had never so much as disturbed their games of +checkers. + +"He plays such a splendid game," Euphemia sobbed, "and just as you came, +I thought I was going to beat him. I had two kings and two pieces on the +next to last row, and you are nearly drowned. You'll get your death of +cold--and--and he had only one king." + +She led me away and I undressed and washed myself and put on my Sunday +clothes. + +When I reappeared I went out on deck with Euphemia. The boarder was +there, standing by the petunia bed. His arms were folded and he was +thinking profoundly. As we approached, he turned toward us. + +"You were right about that anchor," he said, "I should not have hauled +it in; but it was such a little anchor that I thought it would be of +more use on board as a garden hoe." + +"A very little anchor will sometimes do very well," said I, cuttingly, +"when it is hooked around a tree." + +"Yes, there is something in that," said he. + +It was now growing late, and as our agitation subsided we began to be +hungry. Fortunately, we had everything necessary on board, and, as it +really didn't make any difference in our household economy, where we +happened to be located, we had supper quite as usual. In fact, the +kettle had been put on to boil during the checker-playing. + +After supper, we went on deck to smoke, as was our custom, but there was +a certain coolness between me and our boarder. + +Early the next morning I arose and went upstairs to consider what had +better be done, when I saw the boarder standing on shore, near by. + +"Hello!" he cried, "the tide's down and I got ashore without any +trouble. You stay where you are. I've hired a couple of mules to tow the +boat back. They'll be here when the tide rises. And, hello! I've found +the gang-plank. It floated ashore about a quarter of a mile below here." + +In the course of the afternoon the mules and two men with a long rope +appeared, and we were then towed back to where we belonged. + +And we are there yet. Our boarder remains with us, as the weather is +still fine, and the coolness between us is gradually diminishing. But +the boat is moored at both ends, and twice a day I look to see if the +ropes are all right. + +The petunias are growing beautifully, but the geraniums do not seem to +flourish. Perhaps there is not a sufficient depth of earth for them. +Several times our boarder has appeared to be on the point of suggesting +something in regard to them, but, for some reason or other, he says +nothing. + + + +CHAPTER III. TREATING OF A NOVEL STYLE OF GIRL. + + +One afternoon, as I was hurrying down Broadway to catch the five o'clock +train, I met Waterford. He is an old friend of mine, and I used to like +him pretty well. + +"Hello!" said he, "where are you going?" + +"Home," I answered. + +"Is that so?" said he. "I didn't know you had one." + +I was a little nettled at this, and so I said, somewhat brusquely +perhaps: + +"But you must have known I lived somewhere." + +"Oh, yes! But I thought you boarded," said he. "I had no idea that you +had a home." + +"But I have one, and a very pleasant home, too. You must excuse me for +not stopping longer, as I must catch my train." + +"Oh! I'll walk along with you," said Waterford, and so we went down the +street together. + +"Where is your little house?" he asked. + +Why in the world he thought it was a little house I could not at the +time imagine, unless he supposed that two people would not require +a large one. But I know, now, that he lived in a very little house +himself. + +But it was of no use getting angry with Waterford, especially as I saw +he intended walking all the way down to the ferry with me, so I told him +I didn't live in any house at all. + +"Why, where DO you live?" he exclaimed, stopping short. + +"I live in a boat," said I. + +"A boat! A sort of 'Rob Roy' arrangement, I suppose. Well, I would not +have thought that of you. And your wife, I suppose, has gone home to her +people?" + +"She has done nothing of the kind," I answered. "She lives with me, and +she likes it very much. We are extremely comfortable, and our boat is +not a canoe, or any such nonsensical affair. It is a large, commodious +canal-boat." + +Waterford turned around and looked at me. + +"Are you a deck-hand?" he asked. + +"Deck-grandmother!" I exclaimed. + +"Well, you needn't get mad about it," he said. "I didn't mean to +hurt your feelings; but I couldn't see what else you could be on a +canal-boat. I don't suppose, for instance, that you're captain." + +"But I am," said I. + +"Look here!" said Waterford; "this is coming it rather strong, isn't +it?" + +As I saw he was getting angry, I told him all about it,--told him how we +had hired a stranded canal-boat and had fitted it up as a house, and how +we lived so cosily in it, and had called it "Rudder Grange," and how we +had taken a boarder. + +"Well!" said he, "this is certainly surprising. I'm coming out to see +you some day. It will be better than going to Barnum's." + +I told him--it is the way of society--that we would be glad to see him, +and we parted. Waterford never did come to see us, and I merely mention +this incident to show how some of our friends talked about Rudder +Grange, when they first heard that we lived there. + +After dinner that evening, when I went up on deck with Euphemia to have +my smoke, we saw the boarder sitting on the bulwarks near the garden, +with his legs dangling down outside. + +"Look here!" said he. + +I looked, but there was nothing unusual to see. + +"What is it?" I asked. + +He turned around and seeing Euphemia, said: + +"Nothing." + +It would be a very stupid person who could not take such a hint as that, +and so, after a walk around the garden, Euphemia took occasion to go +below to look at the kitchen fire. + +As soon as she had gone, the boarder turned to me and said: + +"I'll tell you what it is. She's working herself sick." + +"Sick?" said I. "Nonsense!" + +"No nonsense about it," he replied. + +The truth was, that the boarder was right and I was wrong. We had spent +several months at Rudder Grange, and during this time Euphemia had +been working very hard, and she really did begin to look pale and +thin. Indeed, it would be very wearying for any woman of culture and +refinement, unused to house-work, to cook and care for two men, and to +do all the work of a canal-boat besides. + +But I saw Euphemia so constantly, and thought so much of her, and had +her image so continually in my heart, that I did not notice this until +our boarder now called my attention to it. I was sorry that he had to do +it. + +"If I were in your place," said he, "I would get her a servant." + +"If you were in my place," I replied, somewhat cuttingly, "you would +probably suggest a lot of little things which would make everything very +easy for her." + +"I'd try to," he answered, without getting in the least angry. + +Although I felt annoyed that he had suggested it, still I made up my +mind that Euphemia must have a servant. + +She agreed quite readily when I proposed the plan, and she urged me +to go and see the carpenter that very day, and get him to come and +partition off a little room for the girl. + +It was some time, of course, before the room was made (for who ever +heard of a carpenter coming at the very time he was wanted?) and, when +it was finished, Euphemia occupied all her spare moments in getting it +in nice order for the servant when she should come. I thought she was +taking too much trouble, but she had her own ideas about such things. + +"If a girl is lodged like a pig, you must expect her to behave like a +pig, and I don't want that kind." + +So she put up pretty curtains at the girl's window, and with a box that +she stood on end, and some old muslin and a lot of tacks, she made a +toilet-table so neat and convenient that I thought she ought to take it +into our room and give the servant our wash-stand. + +But all this time we had no girl, and as I had made up my mind about the +matter, I naturally grew impatient, and at last I determined to go and +get a girl myself. + +So, one day at lunch-time, I went to an intelligence office in the city. +There I found a large room on the second floor, and some ladies, and one +or two men, sitting about, and a small room, back of it, crowded with +girls from eighteen to sixty-eight years old. There were also girls upon +the stairs, and girls in the hall below, besides some girls standing on +the sidewalk before the door. + +When I made known my business and had paid my fee, one of the several +proprietors who were wandering about the front room went into the +back apartment and soon returned with a tall Irishwoman with a bony +weather-beaten face and a large weather-beaten shawl. This woman was +told to take a chair by my side. Down sat the huge creature and stared +at me. I did not feel very easy under her scrutinizing gaze, but I bore +it as best I could, and immediately began to ask her all the appropriate +questions that I could think of. Some she answered satisfactorily, and +some she didn't answer at all; but as soon as I made a pause, she began +to put questions herself. + +"How many servants do you kape?" she asked. + +I answered that we intended to get along with one, and if she understood +her business, I thought she would find her work very easy, and the place +a good one. + +She turned sharp upon me and said: + +"Have ye stationary wash-tubs?" + +I hesitated. I knew our wash-tubs were not stationary, for I had helped +to carry them about. But they might be screwed fast and made stationary +if that was an important object. But, before making this answer, +I thought of the great conveniences for washing presented by our +residence, surrounded as it was, at high tide, by water. + +"Why, we live in a stationary wash-tub," I said, smiling. + +The woman looked at me steadfastly for a minute, and then she rose +to her feet. Then she called out, as if she were crying fish or +strawberries: + +"Mrs. Blaine!" + +The female keeper of the intelligence office, and the male keeper, and +a thin clerk, and all the women in the back room, and all the patrons in +the front room, jumped up and gathered around us. + +Astonished and somewhat disconcerted, I rose to my feet and confronted +the tall Irishwoman, and stood smiling in an uncertain sort of a way, as +if it were all very funny; but I couldn't see the point. I think I must +have impressed the people with the idea that I wished I hadn't come. + +"He says," exclaimed the woman, as if some other huckster were crying +fish on the other side of the street--"he says he lives in a wash-toob." + +"He's crazy!" ejaculated Mrs. Blaine, with an air that indicated +"policeman" as plainly as if she had put her thought into words. + +A low murmur ran through the crowd of women, while the thin clerk edged +toward the door. + +I saw there was no time to lose. I stepped back a little from the tall +savage, who was breathing like a hot-air engine in front of me, and made +my explanations to the company. I told the tale of "Rudder Grange," and +showed them how it was like to a stationary wash-tub--at certain stages +of the tide. + +I was listened to with great attention. When I had finished, the tall +woman turned around and faced the assemblage. + +"An' he wants a cook to make soup! In a canal-boat!" said she, and off +she marched into the back-room, followed closely by all the other women. + +"I don't think we have any one here who would suit you," said Mrs. +Blaine. + +I didn't think so either. What on earth would Euphemia have done with +that volcanic Irishwoman in her little kitchen! I took up my hat and +bade Mrs. Blaine good morning. + +"Good morning," said she, with a distressing smile. + +She had one of those mouths that look exactly like a gash in the face. + +I went home without a girl. In a day or two Euphemia came to town and +got one. Apparently she got her without any trouble, but I am not sure. + +She went to a "Home"--Saint Somebody's Home--a place where they keep +orphans to let, so to speak. Here Euphemia selected a light-haired, +medium-sized orphan, and brought her home. + +The girl's name was Pomona. Whether or not her parents gave her this +name is doubtful. At any rate, she did not seem quite decided in her +mind about it herself, for she had not been with us more than two weeks +before she expressed a desire to be called Clare. This longing of her +heart, however, was denied her. So Euphemia, who was always correct, +called her Pomona. I did the same whenever I could think not to say +Bologna--which seemed to come very pat for some reason or other. + +As for the boarder, he generally called her Altoona, connecting her in +some way with the process of stopping for refreshments, in which she was +an adept. + +She was an earnest, hearty girl. She was always in a good humor, and +when I asked her to do anything, she assented in a bright, cheerful way, +and in a loud tone full of good-fellowship, as though she would say: + +"Certainly, my high old cock! To be sure I will. Don't worry about +it--give your mind no more uneasiness on that subject. I'll bring the +hot water." + +She did not know very much, but she was delighted to learn, and she was +very strong. Whatever Euphemia told her to do, she did instantly with a +bang. What pleased her better than anything else was to run up and +down the gang-plank, carrying buckets of water to water the garden. +She delighted in out-door work, and sometimes dug so vigorously in +our garden that she brought up pieces of the deck-planking with every +shovelful. + +Our boarder took the greatest interest in her, and sometimes watched her +movements so intently that he let his pipe go out. + +"What a whacking girl that would be to tread out grapes in the vineyards +of Italy! She'd make wine cheap," he once remarked. + +"Then I'm glad she isn't there," said Euphemia, "for wine oughtn't to be +cheap." + +Euphemia was a thorough little temperance woman. + +The one thing about Pomona that troubled me more than anything else was +her taste for literature. It was not literature to which I objected, but +her very peculiar taste. She would read in the kitchen every night after +she had washed the dishes, but if she had not read aloud, it would not +have made so much difference to me. But I am naturally very sensitive to +external impressions, and I do not like the company of people who, like +our girl, cannot read without pronouncing in a measured and distinct +voice every word of what they are reading. And when the matter thus read +appeals to one's every sentiment of aversion, and there is no way of +escaping it, the case is hard indeed. + +From the first, I felt inclined to order Pomona, if she could not attain +the power of silent perusal, to cease from reading altogether; but +Euphemia would not hear to this. + +"Poor thing!" said she; "it would be cruel to take from her her only +recreation. And she says she can't read any other way. You needn't +listen if you don't want to." + +That was all very well in an abstract point of view; but the fact was, +that in practice, the more I didn't want to listen, the more I heard. + +As the evenings were often cool, we sat in our dining-room, and the +partition between this room and the kitchen seemed to have no influence +whatever in arresting sound. So that when I was trying to read or to +reflect, it was by no means exhilarating to my mind to hear from the +next room that: + +"The la dy ce sel i a now si zed the weep on and all though the boor ly +vil ly an re tain ed his vy gor ous hold she drew the blade through his +fin gers and hoorl ed it far be hind her dryp ping with jore." + +This sort of thing, kept up for an hour or so at a time, used to drive +me nearly wild. But Euphemia did not mind it. I believe that she had +so delicate a sense of what was proper, that she did not hear Pomona's +private readings. + +On one occasion, even Euphemia's influence could scarcely restrain me +from violent interference. + +It was our boarder's night out (when he was detained in town by his +business), and Pomona was sitting up to let him in. This was necessary, +for our front-door (or main-hatchway) had no night-latch, but was +fastened by means of a bolt. Euphemia and I used to sit up for him, but +that was earlier in the season, when it was pleasant to be out on +deck until quite a late hour. But Pomona never objected to sitting (or +getting) up late, and so we allowed this weekly duty to devolve on her. + +On this particular night I was very tired and sleepy, and soon after I +got into bed I dropped into a delightful slumber. But it was not long +before I was awakened by the fact that: + +"Sa rah did not fl inch but gras ped the heat ed i ron in her un in jur +ed hand and when the ra bid an i mal a proach ed she thr ust the lur id +po ker in his--" + +"My conscience!" said I to Euphemia, "can't that girl be stopped?" + +"You wouldn't have her sit there and do nothing, would you?" said she. + +"No; but she needn't read out that way." + +"She can't read any other way," said Euphemia, drowsily. + +"Yell af ter yell res oun ded as he wil dly spr rang--" + +"I can't stand that, and I won't," said I. "Why don't she go into the +kitchen?--the dining-room's no place for her." + +"She must not sit there," said Euphemia. "There's a window-pane out. +Can't you cover up your head?" + +"I shall not be able to breathe if I do; but I suppose that's no +matter," I replied. + +The reading continued. + +"Ha, ha! Lord Mar mont thun der ed thou too shalt suf fer all that this +poor--" + +I sprang out of bed. + +Euphemia thought I was going for my pistol, and she gave one bound and +stuck her head out of the door. + +"Pomona, fly!" she cried. + +"Yes, sma'am," said Pomona; and she got up and flew--not very fast, I +imagine. Where she flew to I don't know, but she took the lamp with her, +and I could hear distant syllables of agony and blood, until the boarder +came home and Pomona went to bed. + +I think that this made an impression upon Euphemia, for, although she +did not speak to me upon the subject (or any other) that night, the next +time I heard Pomona reading, the words ran somewhat thus: + +"The as ton ish ing che ap ness of land is ac count ed for by the want +of home mar kets, of good ro ads and che ap me ans of trans por ta ti on +in ma ny sec ti ons of the State." + + + +CHAPTER IV. TREATING OF A NOVEL STYLE OF BURGLAR. + + +I have spoken of my pistol. During the early part of our residence at +Rudder Grange I never thought of such a thing as owning a pistol. + +But it was different now. I kept a Colt's revolver loaded in the bureau +drawer in our bedroom. + +The cause of this change was burglars. Not that any of these unpleasant +persons had visited us, but we much feared they would. Several houses in +the vicinity had been entered during the past month, and we could never +tell when our turn would come. + +To be sure, our boarder suggested that if we were to anchor out a little +further at night, no burglar would risk catching his death of cold by +swimming out to us; but Euphemia having replied that it would be rather +difficult to move a canal-boat every night without paddle-wheels, or +sails, or mules, especially if it were aground, this plan was considered +to be effectually disposed of. + +So we made up our minds that we must fasten up everything very securely, +and I bought a pistol and two burglar-alarms. One of these I affixed to +the most exposed window, and the other to the door which opened on the +deck. These alarms were very simple affairs, but they were good enough. +When they were properly attached to a window or door, and it was opened, +a little gong sounded like a violently deranged clock, striking all the +hours of the day at once. + +The window did not trouble us much, but it was rather irksome to have +to make the attachment to the door every night and to take it off every +morning. However, as Euphemia said, it was better to take a little +trouble than to have the house full of burglars, which was true enough. + +We made all the necessary arrangements in case burglars should make an +inroad upon us. At the first sound of the alarm, Euphemia and the girl +were to lie flat on the floor or get under their beds. Then the boarder +and I were to stand up, back to back, each with pistol in hand, and fire +away, revolving on a common centre the while. In this way, by aiming +horizontally at about four feet from the floor, we could rake the +premises, and run no risk of shooting each other or the women of the +family. + +To be sure, there were some slight objections to this plan. The +boarder's room was at some distance from ours, and he would probably not +hear the alarm, and the burglars might not be willing to wait while +I went forward and roused him up, and brought him to our part of the +house. But this was a minor difficulty. I had no doubt but that, if it +should be necessary, I could manage to get our boarder into position in +plenty of time. + +It was not very long before there was an opportunity of testing the +plan. + +About twelve o'clock one night one of the alarms (that on the kitchen +window) went off with a whirr and a wild succession of clangs. For a +moment I thought the morning train had arrived, and then I woke up. +Euphemia was already under the bed. + +I hurried on a few clothes, and then I tried to find the bureau in the +dark. This was not easy, as I lost my bearings entirely. But I found it +at last, got the top drawer open and took out my pistol. Then I slipped +out of the room, hurried up the stairs, opened the door (setting off the +alarm there, by the way), and ran along the deck (there was a cold night +wind), and hastily descended the steep steps that led into the boarder's +room. The door that was at the bottom of the steps was not fastened, +and, as I opened it, a little stray moonlight illumed the room. I +hastily stepped to the bed and shook the boarder by the shoulder. He +kept HIS pistol under his pillow. + +In an instant he was on his feet, his hand grasped my throat, and +the cold muzzle of his Derringer pistol was at my forehead. It was an +awfully big muzzle, like the mouth of a bottle. + +I don't know when I lived so long as during the first minute that he +held me thus. + +"Rascal!" he said. "Do as much as breathe, and I'll pull the trigger." + +I didn't breathe. + +I had an accident insurance on my life. Would it hold good in a case +like this? Or would Euphemia have to go back to her father? + +He pushed me back into the little patch of moonlight. + +"Oh! is it you?" he said, relaxing his grasp. "What do you want? A +mustard plaster?" + +He had a package of patent plasters in his room. You took one and dipped +it in hot water, and it was all ready. + +"No," said I, gasping a little. "Burglars." + +"Oh!" he said, and he put down his pistol and put on his clothes. + +"Come along," he said, and away we went over the deck. + +When we reached the stairs all was dark and quiet below. + +It was a matter of hesitancy as to going down. + +I started to go down first, but the boarder held me back. + +"Let me go down," he said. + +"No," said I, "my wife is there." + +"That's the very reason you should not go," he said. "She is safe enough +yet, and they would fire only at a man. It would be a bad job for her if +you were killed. I'll go down." + +So he went down, slowly and cautiously, his pistol in one hand, and his +life in the other, as it were. + +When he reached the bottom of the steps I changed my mind. I could not +remain above while the burglar and Euphemia were below, so I followed. + +The boarder was standing in the middle of the dining-room, into which +the stairs led. I could not see him, but I put my hand against him as I +was feeling my way across the floor. + +I whispered to him: + +"Shall we put our backs together and revolve and fire?" + +"No," he whispered back, "not now; he may be on a shelf by this time, or +under a table. Let's look him up." + +I confess that I was not very anxious to look him up, but I followed the +boarder, as he slowly made his way toward the kitchen door. As we opened +the door we instinctively stopped. + +The window was open, and by the light of the moon that shone in, we saw +the rascal standing on a chair, leaning out of the window, evidently +just ready to escape. Fortunately, we were unheard. + +"Let's pull him in," whispered the boarder. + +"No," I whispered in reply. "We don't want him in. Let's hoist him out." + +"All right," returned the boarder. + +We laid our pistols on the floor, and softly approached the window. +Being barefooted, out steps were noiseless. + +"Hoist when I count three," breathed the boarder into my ear. + +We reached the chair. Each of us took hold of two of its legs. + +"One--two--three!" said the boarder, and together we gave a tremendous +lift and shot the wretch out of the window. + +The tide was high, and there was a good deal of water around the boat. +We heard a rousing splash outside. + +Now there was no need of silence. + +"Shall we run on deck and shoot him as he swims?" I cried. + +"No," said the boarder, "we'll get the boat-hook, and jab him if he +tries to climb up." + +We rushed on deck. I seized the boat-hook and looked over the side. But +I saw no one. + +"He's gone to the bottom!" I exclaimed. + +"He didn't go very far then," said the boarder, "for it's not more than +two feet deep there." + +Just then our attention was attracted by a voice from the shore. + +"Will you please let down the gang-plank?" We looked ashore, and there +stood Pomona, dripping from every pore. + +We spoke no words, but lowered the gangplank. + +She came aboard. + +"Good night!" said the boarder, and he went to bed. + +"Pomona!" said I, "what have you been doing?" + +"I was a lookin' at the moon, sir, when pop! the chair bounced, and out +I went." + +"You shouldn't do that," I said, sternly. + +"Some day you'll be drowned. Take off your wet things and go to bed." + +"Yes, sma'am--sir, I mean," said she, as she went down-stairs. + +When I reached my room I lighted the lamp, and found Euphemia still +under the bed. + +"Is it all right?" she asked. + +"Yes," I answered. "There was no burglar. Pomona fell out of the +window." + +"Did you get her a plaster?" asked Euphemia, drowsily. + +"No, she did not need one. She's all right now. Were you worried about +me, dear?" + +"No, I trusted in you entirely, and I think I dozed a little under the +bed." + +In one minute she was asleep. + +The boarder and I did not make this matter a subject of conversation +afterward, but Euphemia gave the girl a lecture on her careless ways, +and made her take several Dover's powders the next day. + +An important fact in domestic economy was discovered about this time by +Euphemia and myself. Perhaps we were not the first to discover it, but +we certainly did find it out,--and this fact was, that housekeeping +costs money. At the end of every week we counted up our expenditures--it +was no trouble at all to count up our receipts--and every week the +result was more unsatisfactory. + +"If we could only get rid of the disagreeable balance that has to +be taken along all the time, and which gets bigger and bigger like a +snow-ball, I think we would find the accounts more satisfactory," said +Euphemia. + +This was on a Saturday night. We always got our pencils and paper and +money at the end of the week. + +"Yes," said I, with an attempt to appear facetious and unconcerned, "but +it would be all well enough if we could take that snow-ball to the fire +and melt it down." + +"But there never is any fire where there are snow-balls," said Euphemia. + +"No," said I, "and that's just the trouble." + +It was on the following Thursday, when I came home in the evening, that +Euphemia met me with a glowing face. It rather surprised me to see her +look so happy, for she had been very quiet and preoccupied for the first +part of the week. So much so, indeed, that I had thought of ordering +smaller roasts for a week or two, and taking her to a Thomas Concert +with the money saved. But this evening she looked as if she did not need +Thomas's orchestra. + +"What makes you so bright, my dear?" said I, when I had greeted her. +"Has anything jolly happened?" + +"No," said she; "nothing yet, but I am going to make a fire to melt +snow-balls." + +Of course I was very anxious to know how she was going to do it, but she +would not tell me. It was a plan that she intended to keep to herself +until she saw how it worked. I did not press her, because she had so few +secrets, and I did not hear anything about this plan until it had been +carried out. + +Her scheme was as follows: After thinking over our financial condition +and puzzling her brain to find out some way of bettering it, she +had come to the conclusion that she would make some money by her own +exertions, to help defray our household expenses. She never had made any +money, but that was no reason why she should not begin. It was too bad +that I should have to toil and toil and not make nearly enough money +after all. So she would go to work and earn something with her own +hands. + +She had heard of an establishment in the city, where ladies of limited +means, or transiently impecunious, could, in a very quiet and private +way, get sewing to do. They could thus provide for their needs without +any one but the officers of the institution knowing anything about it. + +So Euphemia went to this place, and she got some work. It was not a very +large bundle, but it was larger than she had been accustomed to carry, +and, what was perfectly dreadful, it was wrapped up in a newspaper! +When Euphemia told me the story, she said that this was too much for her +courage. She could not go on the cars, and perhaps meet people belonging +to our church, with a newspaper bundle under her arm. + +But her genius for expedients saved her from this humiliation. She had +to purchase some sewing-cotton, and some other little things, and when +she had bought them, she handed her bundle to the woman behind the +counter, and asked her if she would not be so good as to have that +wrapped up with the other things. It was a good deal to ask, she knew, +and the woman smiled, for the articles she had bought would not make a +package as large as her hand. However, her request was complied with, +and she took away a very decent package, with the card of the store +stamped on the outside. I suppose that there are not more than half a +dozen people in this country who would refuse Euphemia anything that she +would be willing to ask for. + +So she took the work home, and she labored faithfully at it for about +a week, She did not suppose it would take her so long; but she was not +used to such very plain sewing, and was much afraid that she would not +do it neatly enough. Besides this, she could only work on it in the +daytime--when I was away--and was, of course, interrupted a great +deal by her ordinary household duties, and the necessity of a careful +oversight of Pomona's somewhat erratic methods of doing her work. + +But at last she finished the job and took it into the city. She did not +want to spend any more money on the trip than was absolutely necessary, +and so was very glad to find that she had a remnant of pocket-money +sufficient to pay her fare both ways. + +When she reached the city, she walked up to the place where her work was +to be delivered, and found it much farther when she went on foot than it +had seemed to her riding in the street cars. She handed over her bundle +to the proper person, and, as it was soon examined and approved, she +received her pay therefor. + +It amounted to sixty cents. She had made no bargain, but she was a +little astonished. However, she said nothing, but left the place without +asking for any more work. In fact she forgot all about it. She had an +idea that everything was all wrong, and that idea engrossed her mind +entirely. There was no mistake about the sum paid, for the lady clerk +had referred to the printed table of prices when she calculated the +amount due. But something was wrong, and, at the moment, Euphemia could +not tell what it was. She left the place, and started to walk back to +the ferry. But she was so tired and weak, and hungry--it was now an hour +or two past her regular luncheon time--that she thought she should faint +if she did not go somewhere and get some refreshments. + +So, like a sensible little woman as she was, she went into a restaurant. +She sat down at a table, and a waiter came to her to see what she would +have. She was not accustomed to eating-houses, and perhaps this was +the first time that she had ever visited one alone. What she wanted +was something simple. So she ordered a cup of tea and some rolls, and a +piece of chicken. The meal was a very good one, and Euphemia enjoyed it. +When she had finished, she went up to the counter to settle. Her bill +was sixty cents. She paid the money that she had just received, and +walked down to the ferry--all in a daze, she said. When she got home she +thought it over, and then she cried. + +After a while she dried her eyes, and when I came home she told me all +about it. + +"I give it up," she said. "I don't believe I can help you any." + +Poor little thing! I took her in my arms and comforted her, and before +bedtime I had convinced her that she was fully able to help me better +than any one else on earth, and that without puzzling her brains about +business, or wearing herself out by sewing for pay. + +So we went on in our old way, and by keeping our attention on our weekly +balance, we prevented it from growing very rapidly. + +We fell back on our philosophy (it was all the capital we had), and +became as calm and contented as circumstances allowed. + + + +CHAPTER V. POMONA PRODUCES A PARTIAL REVOLUTION IN RUDDER GRANGE. + + +Euphemia began to take a great deal of comfort in her girl. Every +evening she had some new instance to relate of Pomona's inventive +abilities and aptness in adapting herself to the peculiarities of our +method of housekeeping. + +"Only to think!" said she, one afternoon, "Pomona has just done another +VERY smart thing. You know what a trouble it has always been for us +to carry all our waste water upstairs, and throw it over the bulwarks. +Well, she has remedied all that. She has cut a nice little low window +in the side of the kitchen, and has made a shutter of the piece she cut +out, with leather hinges to it, and now she can just open this window, +throw the water out, shut it again, and there it is! I tell you she's +smart." + +"Yes; there is no doubt of that," I said; "but I think that there is +danger of her taking more interest in such extraordinary and novel +duties than in the regular work of the house." + +"Now, don't discourage the girl, my dear," she said, "for she is of the +greatest use to me, and I don't want you to be throwing cold water about +like some people." + +"Not even if I throw it out of Pomona's little door, I suppose." + +"No. Don't throw it at all. Encourage people. What would the world be +if everybody chilled our aspirations and extraordinary efforts? Like +Fulton's steamboat." + +"All right," I said; "I'll not discourage her." + +It was now getting late in the season. It was quite too cool to sit out +on deck in the evening, and our garden began to look desolate. + +Our boarder had wheeled up a lot of fresh earth, and had prepared a +large bed, in which he had planted turnips. They made an excellent fall +crop, he assured us. + +From being simply cool it began to be rainy, and the weather grew +decidedly unpleasant. But our boarder bade us take courage. This was +probably the "equinoctial," and when it was over there would be a +delightful Indian summer, and the turnips would grow nicely. + +This sounded very well, but the wind blew up cold at night, and there +was a great deal of unpleasant rain. + +One night it blew what Pomona called a "whirlicane," and we went to +bed very early to keep warm. We heard our boarder on deck in the garden +after we were in bed, and Euphemia said she could not imagine what he +was about, unless he was anchoring his turnips to keep them from blowing +away. + +During the night I had a dream. I thought I was a boy again, and was +trying to stand upon my head, a feat for which I had been famous. But +instead of throwing myself forward on my hands, and then raising my +heels backward over my head, in the orthodox manner, I was on my back, +and trying to get on my head from that position. I awoke suddenly, and +found that the footboard of the bedstead was much higher than our heads. +We were lying on a very much inclined plane, with our heads downward. +I roused Euphemia, and we both got out of bed, when, at almost the same +moment, we slipped down the floor into ever so much water. + +Euphemia was scarcely awake, and she fell down gurgling. It was dark, +but I heard her fall, and I jumped over the bedstead to her assistance. +I had scarcely raised her up, when I heard a pounding at the front door +or main-hatchway, and our boarder shouted: + +"Get up! Come out of that! Open the door! The old boat's turning over!" + +My heart fell within me, but I clutched Euphemia. I said no word, and +she simply screamed. I dragged her over the floor, sometimes in the +water and sometimes out of it. I got the dining-room door open and set +her on the stairs. They were in a topsy-turvy condition, but they were +dry. I found a lantern which hung on a nail, with a match-box under +it, and I struck a light. Then I scrambled back and brought her some +clothes. + +All this time the boarder was yelling and pounding at the door. When +Euphemia was ready I opened the door and took her out. + +"You go dress yourself;" said the boarder. "I'll hold her here until you +come back." + +I left her and found my clothes (which, chair and all, had tumbled +against the foot of the bed and so had not gone into the water), and +soon reappeared on deck. The wind was blowing strongly, but it did not +now seem to be very cold. The deck reminded me of the gang-plank of a +Harlem steamboat at low tide. It was inclined at an angle of more than +forty-five degrees, I am sure. There was light enough for us to see +about us, but the scene and all the dreadful circumstances made me feel +the most intense desire to wake up and find it all a dream. There was no +doubt, however, about the boarder being wide awake. + +"Now then," said he, "take hold of her on that side and we'll help her +over here. You scramble down on that side; it's all dry just there. The +boat's turned over toward the water, and I'll lower her down to you. +I'll let a rope over the sides. You can hold on to that as you go down." + +I got over the bulwarks and let myself down to the ground. Then the +boarder got Euphemia up and slipped her over the side, holding to her +hands, and letting her gently down until I could reach her. She said +never a word, but screamed at times. I carried her a little way up the +shore and set her down. I wanted to take her up to a house near by, +where we bought our milk, but she declined to go until we had saved +Pomona. + +So I went back to the boat, having carefully wrapped up Euphemia, to +endeavor to save the girl. I found that the boarder had so arranged +the gang-plank that it was possible, without a very great exercise of +agility, to pass from the shore to the boat. When I first saw him, +on reaching the shelving deck, he was staggering up the stairs with a +dining-room chair and a large framed engraving of Raphael's Dante--an +ugly picture, but full of true feeling; at least so Euphemia always +declared, though I am not quite sure that I know what she meant. + +"Where is Pomona?" I said, endeavoring to stand on the hill-side of the +deck. + +"I don't know," said he, "but we must get the things out. The tide's +rising and the wind's getting up. The boat will go over before we know +it." + +"But we must find the girl," I said. "She can't be left to drown." + +"I don't think it would matter much," said he, getting over the side +of the boat with his awkward load. "She would be of about as much use +drowned as any other way. If it hadn't been for that hole she cut in the +side of the boat, this would never have happened." + +"You don't think it was that!" I said, holding the picture and the chair +while he let himself down to the gang-plank. + +"Yes, it was," he replied. "The tide's very high, and the water got over +that hole and rushed in. The water and the wind will finish this old +craft before very long." + +And then he took his load from me and dashed down the gang-plank. I went +below to look for Pomona. The lantern still hung on the nail, and I took +it down and went into the kitchen. There was Pomona, dressed, and with +her hat on, quietly packing some things in a basket. + +"Come, hurry out of this," I cried. "Don't you know that this +house--this boat, I mean, is a wreck?" + +"Yes, sma'am--sir, I mean--I know it, and I suppose we shall soon be at +the mercy of the waves." + +"Well, then, go as quickly as you can. What are you putting in that +basket?" + +"Food," she said. "We may need it." + +I took her by the shoulder and hurried her on deck, over the bulwark, +down the gang-plank, and so on to the place where I had left Euphemia. + +I found the dear girl there, quiet and collected, all up in a little +bunch, to shield herself from the wind. I wasted no time, but hurried +the two women over to the house of our milk-merchant. There, with some +difficulty, I roused the good woman, and after seeing Euphemia and +Pomona safely in the house, I left them to tell the tale, and ran back +to the boat. + +The boarder was working like a Trojan. He had already a pile of our +furniture on the beach. + +I set about helping him, and for an hour we labored at this hasty and +toilsome moving. It was indeed a toilsome business. The floors were +shelving, the stairs leaned over sideways, ever so far, and the +gang-plank was desperately short and steep. + +Still, we saved quite a number of household articles. Some things we +broke and some we forgot, and some things were too big to move in this +way; but we did very well, considering the circumstances. + +The wind roared, the tide rose, and the boat groaned and creaked. We +were in the kitchen, trying to take the stove apart (the boarder was +sure we could carry it up, if we could get the pipe out and the legs and +doors off), when we heard a crash. We rushed on deck and found that +the garden had fallen in! Making our way as well as we could toward the +gaping rent in the deck, we saw that the turnip-bed had gone down bodily +into the boarder's room. He did not hesitate, but scrambled down his +narrow stairs. I followed him. He struck a match that he had in his +pocket, and lighted a little lantern that hung under the stairs. His +room was a perfect rubbish heap. The floor, bed, chairs, pitcher, +basin--everything was covered or filled with garden mold and turnips. +Never did I behold such a scene. He stood in the midst of it, holding +his lantern high above his head. At length he spoke. + +"If we had time," he said, "we might come down here and pick out a lot +of turnips." + +"But how about your furniture?" I exclaimed. + +"Oh, that's ruined!" he replied. + +So we did not attempt to save any of it, but we got hold of his trunk +and carried that on shore. + +When we returned, we found that the water was pouring through his +partition, making the room a lake of mud. And, as the water was rising +rapidly below, and the boat was keeling over more and more, we thought +it was time to leave, and we left. + +It would not do to go far away from our possessions, which were piled up +in a sad-looking heap on the shore; and so, after I had gone over to the +milk-woman's to assure Euphemia of our safety, the boarder and I passed +the rest of the night--there was not much of it left--in walking up +and down the beach smoking some cigars which he fortunately had in his +pocket. + +In the morning I took Euphemia to the hotel, about a mile away--and +arranged for the storage of our furniture there, until we could find +another habitation. This habitation, we determined, was to be in a +substantial house, or part of a house, which should not be affected by +the tides. + +During the morning the removal of our effects was successfully +accomplished, and our boarder went to town to look for a furnished room. +He had nothing but his trunk to take to it. + +In the afternoon I left Euphemia at the hotel, where she was taking a +nap (she certainly needed it, for she had spent the night in a wooden +rocking-chair at the milk-woman's), and I strolled down to the river to +take a last look at the remains of old Rudder Grange. + +I felt sadly enough as I walked along the well-worn path to the +canal-boat, and thought how it had been worn by my feet more than any +other's, and how gladly I had walked that way, so often during that +delightful summer. I forgot all that had been disagreeable, and thought +only of the happy times we had had. + +It was a beautiful autumn afternoon, and the wind had entirely died +away. When I came within sight of our old home, it presented a doleful +appearance. The bow had drifted out into the river, and was almost +entirely under water. The stern stuck up in a mournful and ridiculous +manner, with its keel, instead of its broadside, presented to the view +of persons on the shore. As I neared the boat I heard a voice. I stopped +and listened. There was no one in sight. Could the sounds come from the +boat? I concluded that it must be so, and I walked up closer. Then I +heard distinctly the words: + +"He grasp ed her by the thro at and yell ed, swear to me thou nev er +wilt re veal my se cret, or thy hot heart's blood shall stain this mar +bel fib or; she gave one gry vy ous gasp and--" + +It was Pomona! + +Doubtless she had climbed up the stern of the boat and had descended +into the depths of the wreck to rescue her beloved book, the reading of +which had so long been interrupted by my harsh decrees. Could I break +in on this one hour of rapture? I had not the heart to do it, and as +I slowly moved away, there came to me the last words that I ever heard +from Rudder Grange: + +"And with one wild shry ik to heav en her heart's blo od spat ter ed +that prynce ly home of woe--" + + + +CHAPTER VI. THE NEW RUDDER GRANGE. + + +I have before given an account of the difficulties we encountered when +we started out house-hunting, and it was this doleful experience which +made Euphemia declare that before we set out on a second search for a +residence, we should know exactly what we wanted. + +To do this, we must know how other people live, we must examine into the +advantages and disadvantages of the various methods of housekeeping, and +make up our minds on the subject. + +When we came to this conclusion we were in a city boarding-house, and +were entirely satisfied that this style of living did not suit us at +all. + +At this juncture I received a letter from the gentleman who had boarded +with us on the canal-boat. Shortly after leaving us the previous fall, +he had married a widow lady with two children, and was now keeping house +in a French flat in the upper part of the city. We had called upon the +happy couple soon after their marriage, and the letter, now received, +contained an invitation for us to come and dine, and spend the night. + +"We'll go," said Euphemia. "There's nothing I want so much as to see how +people keep house in a French flat. Perhaps we'll like it. And I must +see those children." So we went. + +The house, as Euphemia remarked, was anything but flat. It was very tall +indeed--the tallest house in the neighborhood. We entered the vestibule, +the outer door being open, and beheld, on one side of us, a row +of bell-handles. Above each of these handles was the mouth of a +speaking-tube, and above each of these, a little glazed frame containing +a visiting-card. + +"Isn't this cute?" said Euphemia, reading over the cards. "Here's his +name and this is his bell and tube! Which would you do first, ring or +blow?" + +"My dear," said I, "you don't blow up those tubes. We must ring the +bell, just as if it were an ordinary front-door bell, and instead of +coming to the door, some one will call down the tube to us." + +I rang the bell under the boarder's name, and very soon a voice at the +tube said: + +"Well?" + +Then I told our names, and in an instant the front door opened. + +"Why, their flat must be right here," whispered Euphemia. "How quickly +the girl came!" + +And she looked for the girl as we entered. But there was no one there. + +"Their flat is on the fifth story," said I. "He mentioned that in his +letter. We had better shut the door and go up." + +Up and up the softly carpeted stairs we climbed, and not a soul we saw +or heard. + +"It is like an enchanted cavern," said Euphemia. "You say the magic +word, the door in the rock opens and you go on, and on, through the +vaulted passages--" + +"Until you come to the ogre," said the boarder, who was standing at the +top of the stairs. He did not behave at all like an ogre, for he was +very glad to see us, and so was his wife. After we had settled down +in the parlor and the boarder's wife had gone to see about something +concerning the dinner, Euphemia asked after the children. + +"I hope they haven't gone to bed," she said, "for I do so want to see +the dear little things." + +The ex-boarder, as Euphemia called him, smiled grimly. + +"They're not so very little," he said. "My wife's son is nearly grown. +He is at an academy in Connecticut, and he expects to go into a civil +engineer's office in the spring. His sister is older than he is. My wife +married--in the first instance--when she was very young--very young in +deed." + +"Oh!" said Euphemia; and then, after a pause, "And neither of them is at +home now?" + +"No," said the ex-boarder. "By the way, what do you think of this dado? +It is a portable one; I devised it myself. You can take it away with you +to another house when you move. But there is the dinner-bell. I'll show +you over the establishment after we have had something to eat." + +After our meal we made a tour of inspection. The flat, which included +the whole floor, contained nine or ten rooms, of all shapes and sizes. +The corners in some of the rooms were cut off and shaped up into closets +and recesses, so that Euphemia said the corners of every room were in +some other room. + +Near the back of the flat was a dumb-waiter, with bells and +speaking-tubes. When the butcher, the baker, or the kerosene-lamp maker, +came each morning, he rang the bell, and called up the tube to know what +was wanted. The order was called down, and he brought the things in the +afternoon. + +All this greatly charmed Euphemia. It was so cute, so complete. There +were no interviews with disagreeable trades-people, none of the ordinary +annoyances of housekeeping. Everything seemed to be done with a bell, a +speaking-tube or a crank. + +"Indeed," said the ex-boarder, "if it were not for people tripping +over the wires, I could rig up attachments by which I could sit in the +parlor, and by using pedals and a key-board, I could do all the work of +this house without getting out of my easy-chair." + +One of the most peculiar features of the establishment was the servant's +room. This was at the rear end of the floor, and as there was not much +space left after the other rooms had been made, it was very small; so +small, indeed, that it would accommodate only a very short bedstead. +This made it necessary for our friends to consider the size of the +servant when they engaged her. + +"There were several excellent girls at the intelligence office where I +called," said the ex-boarder, "but I measured them, and they were all +too tall. So we had to take a short one, who is only so so. There was +one big Scotch girl who was the very person for us, and I would have +taken her if my wife had not objected to my plan for her accommodation. + +"What was that?" I asked. + +"Well," said he, "I first thought of cutting a hole in the partition +wall at the foot of the bed, for her to put her feet through." + +"Never!" said his wife, emphatically. "I would never have allowed that." + +"And then," continued he, "I thought of turning the bed around, and +cutting a larger hole, through which she might have put her head into +the little room on this side. A low table could have stood under the +hole, and her head might have rested on a cushion on the table very +comfortably." + +"My dear," said his wife, "it would have frightened me to death to go +into that room and see that head on a cushion on a table--" + +"Like John the Baptist," interrupted Euphemia. + +"Well," said our ex-boarder, "the plan would have had its advantages." + +"Oh!" cried Euphemia, looking out of a back window. "What a lovely +little iron balcony! Do you sit out there on warm evenings?" + +"That's a fire-escape," said the ex-boarder. "We don't go out there +unless it is very hot indeed, on account of the house being on fire. +You see there is a little door in the floor of the balcony and an iron +ladder leading to the balcony beneath, and so on, down to the first +story." + +"And you have to creep through that hole and go down that dreadful steep +ladder every time there is a fire?" said Euphemia. + +"Well, I guess we would never go down but once," he answered. + +"No, indeed," said Euphemia; "you'd fall down and break your neck the +first time," and she turned away from the window with a very grave +expression on her face. + +Soon after this our hostess conducted Euphemia to the guest-chamber, +while her husband and I finished a bed-time cigar. + +When I joined Euphemia in her room, she met me with a mysterious +expression on her face. She shut the door, and then said in a very +earnest tone: + +"Do you see that little bedstead in the corner? I did not notice it +until I came in just now, and then, being quite astonished, I said, +'Why here's a child's bed; who sleeps here?' 'Oh,' says she, 'that's +our little Adele's bedstead. We have it in our room when she's here.' +'Little Adele!' said I, 'I didn't know she was little--not small enough +for that bed, at any rate.' 'Why, yes,' said she, 'Adele is only four +years old. The bedstead is quite large enough for her.' 'And she is not +here now?' I said, utterly amazed at all this. 'No,' she answered, 'she +is not here now, but we try to have her with us as much as we can, and +always keep her little bed ready for her.' 'I suppose she's with her +father's people,' I said, and she answered, 'Oh yes,' and bade me +good-night. What does all this mean? Our boarder told us that the +daughter is grown up, and here his wife declares that she is only four +years old! I don't know what in the world to make of this mystery!" + +I could give Euphemia no clue. I supposed there was some mistake, and +that was all I could say, except that I was sleepy, and that we could +find out all about it in the morning. But Euphemia could not dismiss the +subject from her mind. She said no more,--but I could see--until I fell +asleep--that she was thinking about it. + +It must have been about the middle of the night, perhaps later, when +I was suddenly awakened by Euphemia starting up in the bed, with the +exclamation: + +"I have it!" + +"What?" I cried, sitting up in a great hurry. "What is it? What have you +got? What's the matter?" + +"I know it!" she said, "I know it. Our boarder is a GRANDFATHER! Little +Adele is the grown-up daughter's child. He was quite particular to say +that his wife married VERY young. Just to think of it! So short a time +ago, he was living with us--a bachelor--and now, in four short months, +he is a grandfather!" + +Carefully propounded inquiries, in the morning, proved Euphemia's +conclusions to be correct. + +The next evening, when we were quietly sitting in our own room, Euphemia +remarked that she did not wish to have anything to do with French flats. + +"They seem to be very convenient," I said. + +"Oh yes, convenient enough, but I don't like them. I would hate to live +where everything let down like a table-lid, or else turned with a crank. +And when I think of those fire-escapes, and the boarder's grandchild, it +makes me feel very unpleasantly." + +"But the grandchild don't follow as a matter of course," said I. + +"No," she answered, "but I shall never like French flats." + +And we discussed them no more. + +For some weeks we examined into every style of economic and respectable +housekeeping, and many methods of living in what Euphemia called +"imitation comfort" were set aside as unworthy of consideration. + +"My dear," said Euphemia, one evening, "what we really ought to do is to +build. Then we would have exactly the house we want." + +"Very true," I replied; "but to build a house, a man must have money." + +"Oh no!" said she, "or at least not much. For one thing, you might join +a building association. In some of those societies I know that you only +have to pay a dollar a week." + +"But do you suppose the association builds houses for all its members?" +I asked. + +"Of course I suppose so. Else why is it called a building association?" + +I had read a good deal about these organizations, and I explained to +Euphemia that a dollar a week was never received by any of them in +payment for a new house. + +"Then build yourself," she said; "I know how that can be done." + +"Oh, it's easy enough," I remarked, "if you have the money." + +"No, you needn't have any money," said Euphemia, rather hastily. "Just +let me show you. Supposing, for instance, that you want to build a house +worth--well, say twenty thousand dollars, in some pretty town near the +city." + +"I would rather figure on a cheaper house than that for a country +place," I interrupted. + +"Well then, say two thousand dollars. You get masons, and carpenters, +and people to dig the cellar, and you engage them to build your house. +You needn't pay them until it's done, of course. Then when it's all +finished, borrow two thousand dollars and give the house as security. +After that you see, you have only to pay the interest on the borrowed +money. When you save enough money to pay back the loan, the house is +your own. Now, isn't that a good plan?" + +"Yes," said I, "if there could be found people who would build your +house and wait for their money until some one would lend you its full +value on a mortgage." + +"Well," said Euphemia, "I guess they could be found if you would only +look for them." + +"I'll look for them, when I go to heaven," I said. + +We gave up for the present, the idea of building or buying a house, and +determined to rent a small place in the country, and then, as Euphemia +wisely said, if we liked it, we might buy it. After she had dropped her +building projects she thought that one ought to know just how a house +would suit before having it on one's hands. + +We could afford something better than a canal-boat now, and therefore we +were not so restricted as in our first search for a house. But, the +one thing which troubled my wife--and, indeed, caused me much anxious +thought, was that scourge of almost all rural localities--tramps. It +would be necessary for me to be away all day,--and we could not afford +to keep a man,--so we must be careful to get a house somewhere off the +line of ordinary travel, or else in a well-settled neighborhood, where +there would be some one near at hand in case of unruly visitors. + +"A village I don't like," said Euphemia: "there is always so much +gossip, and people know all about what you have, and what you do. And +yet it would be very lonely, and perhaps dangerous, for us to live +off somewhere, all by ourselves. And there is another objection to a +village. We don't want a house with a small yard and a garden at the +back. We ought to have a dear little farm, with some fields for corn, +and a cow, and a barn and things of that sort. All that would be +lovely. I'll tell you what we want," she cried, seized with a sudden +inspiration; "we ought to try to get the end-house of a village. Then +our house could be near the neighbors, and our farm could stretch out a +little way into the country beyond us. Let us fix our minds upon such a +house and I believe we can get it." + +So we fixed our minds, but in the course of a week or two we unfixed +them several times to allow the consideration of places, which otherwise +would have been out of range; and during one of these intervals of +mental disfixment we took a house. + +It was not the end-house of a village, but it was in the outskirts of +a very small rural settlement. Our nearest neighbor was within vigorous +shouting distance, and the house suited us so well in other respects, +that we concluded that this would do. The house was small, but large +enough. There were some trees around it, and a little lawn in front. +There was a garden, a small barn and stable, a pasture field, and land +enough besides for small patches of corn and potatoes. The rent was low, +the water good, and no one can imagine how delighted we were. + +We did not furnish the whole house at first, but what mattered it? We +had no horse or cow, but the pasture and barn were ready for them. We +did not propose to begin with everything at once. + +Our first evening in that house was made up of hours of unalloyed bliss. +We walked from room to room; we looked out on the garden and the lawn; +we sat on the little porch while I smoked. + +"We were happy at Rudder Grange," said Euphemia; "but that was only +a canal-boat, and could not, in the nature of things, have been a +permanent home." + +"No," said I, "it could not have been permanent. But, in many respects, +it was a delightful home. The very name of it brings pleasant thoughts." + +"It was a nice name," said Euphemia, "and I'll tell you what we might +do: Let us call this place Rudder Grange--the New Rudder Grange! The +name will do just as well for a house as for a boat." + +I agreed on the spot, and the house was christened. + +Our household was small; we had a servant--a German woman; and we had +ourselves, that was all. + +I did not do much in the garden; it was too late in the season. The +former occupant had planted some corn and potatoes, with a few other +vegetables, and these I weeded and hoed, working early in the morning +and when I came home in the afternoon. Euphemia tied up the rose-vines, +trimmed the bushes, and with a little rake and hoe she prepared a +flower-bed in front of the parlor-window. This exercise gave us splendid +appetites, and we loved our new home more and more. + +Our German girl did not suit us exactly at first, and day by day she +grew to suit us less. She was a quiet, kindly, pleasant creature, and +delighted in an out-of-door life. She was as willing to weed in the +garden as she was to cook or wash. At first I was very much pleased with +this, because, as I remarked to Euphemia, you can find very few girls +who would be willing to work in the garden, and she might be made very +useful. + +But, after a time, Euphemia began to get a little out of patience with +her. She worked out-of-doors entirely too much. And what she did there, +as well as some of her work in the house, was very much like certain +German literature--you did not know how it was done, or what it was for. + +One afternoon I found Euphemia quite annoyed. + +"Look here," she said, "and see what that girl has been at work at, +nearly all this afternoon. I was upstairs sewing and thought she was +ironing. Isn't it too provoking?" + +It WAS provoking. The contemplative German had collected a lot of short +ham-bones--where she found them I cannot imagine--and had made of them +a border around my wife's flower-bed. The bones stuck up straight a few +inches above the ground, all along the edge of the bed, and the marrow +cavity of each one was filled with earth in which she had planted seeds. + +"'These,' she says, 'will spring up and look beautiful,'" said Euphemia; +"they have that style of thing in her country." + +"Then let her take them off with her to her country," I exclaimed. + +"No, no," said Euphemia, hurriedly, "don't kick them out. It would only +wound her feelings. She did it all for the best, and thought it +would please me to have such a border around my bed. But she is too +independent, and neglects her proper work. I will give her a week's +notice and get another servant. When she goes we can take these horrid +bones away. But I hope nobody will call on us in the meantime." + +"Must we keep these things here a whole week?" I asked. + +"Oh, I can't turn her away without giving her a fair notice. That would +be cruel." + +I saw the truth of the remark, and determined to bear with the bones and +her rather than be unkind. + +That night Euphemia informed the girl of her decision, and the next +morning, soon after I had left, the good German appeared with her bonnet +on and her carpet-bag in her hand, to take leave of her mistress. + +"What!" cried Euphemia. "You are not going to-day?" + +"If it is goot to go at all it is goot to go now," said the girl. + +"And you will go off and leave me without any one in the house, after my +putting myself out to give you a fair notice? It's shameful!" + +"I think it is very goot for me to go now," quietly replied the girl. +"This house is very loneful. I will go to-morrow in the city to see your +husband for my money. Goot morning." And off she trudged to the station. + +Before I reached the house that afternoon, Euphemia rushed out to tell +this story. I would not like to say how far I kicked those ham-bones. + +This German girl had several successors, and some of them suited as +badly and left as abruptly as herself; but Euphemia never forgot the +ungrateful stab given her by this "ham-bone girl," as she always +called her. It was her first wound of the kind, and it came in the +very beginning of the campaign when she was all unused to this domestic +warfare. + + + +CHAPTER VII. TREATING OF AN UNSUCCESSFUL BROKER AND A DOG. + + +It was a couple of weeks, or thereabouts, after this episode that +Euphemia came down to the gate to meet me on my return from the city. +I noticed a very peculiar expression on her face. She looked both +thoughtful and pleased. Almost the first words she said to me were +these: + +"A tramp came here to-day." + +"I am sorry to hear that," I exclaimed. "That's the worst news I have +had yet. I did hope that we were far enough from the line of travel to +escape these scourges. How did you get rid of him? Was he impertinent?" + +"You must not feel that way about all tramps," said she. "Sometimes they +are deserving of our charity, and ought to be helped. There is a great +difference in them." + +"That may be," I said; "but what of this one? When was he here, and when +did he go?" + +"He did not go at all. He is here now." + +"Here now!" I cried. "Where is he?" + +"Do not call out so loud," said Euphemia, putting her hand on my arm. +"You will waken him. He is asleep." + +"Asleep!" said I. "A tramp? Here?" + +"Yes. Stop, let me tell you about him. He told me his story, and it is +a sad one. He is a middle-aged man--fifty perhaps--and has been rich. +He was once a broker in Wall street, but lost money by the failure of +various railroads--the Camden and Amboy, for one." + +"That hasn't failed," I interrupted. + +"Well then it was the Northern Pacific, or some other one of them--at +any rate I know it was either a railroad or a bank,--and he soon became +very poor. He has a son in Cincinnati, who is a successful merchant, and +lives in a fine house, with horses and carriages, and all that; and this +poor man has written to his son, but has never had any answer. So now +he is going to walk to Cincinnati to see him. He knows he will not be +turned away if he can once meet his son, face to face. He was very tired +when he stopped here,--and he has ever and ever so far to walk yet, you +know,--and so after I had given him something to eat, I let him lie down +in the outer kitchen, on that roll of rag-carpet that is there. I spread +it out for him. It is a hard bed for one who has known comfort, but he +seems to sleep soundly." + +"Let me see him," said I, and I walked back to the outer kitchen. + +There lay the unsuccessful broker fast asleep. His face, which was +turned toward me as I entered, showed that it had been many days since +he had been shaved, and his hair had apparently been uncombed for about +the same length of time. His clothes were very old, and a good deal +torn, and he wore one boot and one shoe. + +"Whew!" said I. "Have you been giving him whisky?" + +"No," whispered Euphemia, "of course not. I noticed that smell, and he +said he had been cleaning his clothes with alcohol." + +"They needed it, I'm sure," I remarked as I turned away. "And now," said +I, "where's the girl?" + +"This is her afternoon out. What is the matter? You look frightened." + +"Oh, I'm not frightened, but I find I must go down to the station again. +Just run up and put on your bonnet. It will be a nice little walk for +you." + +I had been rapidly revolving the matter in my mind. What was I to do +with this wretch who was now asleep in my outer kitchen? If I woke him +up and drove him off,--and I might have difficulty in doing it,--there +was every reason to believe that he would not go far, but return +at night and commit some revengeful act. I never saw a more +sinister-looking fellow. And he was certainly drunk. He must not be +allowed to wander about our neighborhood. I would go for the constable +and have him arrested. + +So I locked the door from the kitchen into the house and then the +outside door of the kitchen, and when my wife came down we hurried off. +On the way I told her what I intended to do, and what I thought of +our guest. She answered scarcely a word, and I hoped that she was +frightened. I think she was. + +The constable, who was also coroner of our township, had gone to a +creek, three miles away, to hold an inquest, and there was nobody to +arrest the man. The nearest police-station was at Hackingford, six miles +away, on the railroad. I held a consultation with the station-master, +and the gentleman who kept the grocery-store opposite. + +They could think of nothing to be done except to shoot the man, and to +that I objected. + +"However," said I, "he can't stay there;" and a happy thought just then +striking me, I called to the boy who drove the village express-wagon, +and engaged him for a job. The wagon was standing at the station, and to +save time, I got in and rode to my house. Euphemia went over to call on +the groceryman's wife until I returned. + +I had determined that the man should be taken away, although, until I +was riding home, I had not made up my mind where to have him taken. But +on the road I settled this matter. + +On reaching the house, we drove into the yard as close to the kitchen +as we could go. Then I unlocked the door, and the boy--who was a big, +strapping fellow--entered with me. We found the ex-broker still wrapped +in the soundest slumber. Leaving the boy to watch him, I went upstairs +and got a baggage-tag which I directed to the chief of police at the +police station in Hackingford. I returned to the kitchen and fastened +this tag, conspicuously, on the lapel of the sleeper's coat. Then, with +a clothes-line, I tied him up carefully, hand and foot. To all this he +offered not the slightest opposition. When he was suitably packed, with +due regard to the probable tenderness of wrist and ankle in one brought +up in luxury, the boy and I carried him to the wagon. + +He was a heavy load, and we may have bumped him a little, but his sleep +was not disturbed. Then we drove him to the express office. This was at +the railroad station, and the station-master was also express agent. At +first he was not inclined to receive my parcel, but when I assured him +that all sorts of live things were sent by express, and that I could see +no reason for making an exception in this case, he added my arguments +to his own disposition, as a house-holder, to see the goods forwarded to +their destination, and so gave me a receipt, and pasted a label on the +ex-broker's shoulder. I set no value on the package, which I prepaid. + +"Now then," said the station-master, "he'll go all right, if the express +agent on the train will take him." + +This matter was soon settled, for, in a few minutes, the train stopped +at the station. My package was wheeled to the express car, and two +porters, who entered heartily into the spirit of the thing, hoisted it +into the car. The train-agent, who just then noticed the character of +the goods, began to declare that he would not have the fellow in his +car; but my friend the station-master shouted out that everything was +all right,--the man was properly packed, invoiced and paid for, and the +train, which was behind time, moved away before the irate agent could +take measures to get rid of his unwelcome freight. + +"Now," said I, "there'll be a drunken man at the police-station in +Hackingford in about half-an-hour. His offense will be as evident there +as here, and they can do what they please with him. I shall telegraph, +to explain the matter and prepare them for his arrival." + +When I had done this Euphemia and I went home. The tramp had cost me +some money, but I was well satisfied with my evening's work, and felt +that the township owed me, at least, a vote of thanks. + +But I firmly made up my mind that Euphemia should never again be left +unprotected. I would not even trust to a servant who would agree to have +no afternoons out. I would get a dog. + +The next day I advertised for a fierce watchdog, and in the course of +a week I got one. Before I procured him I examined into the merits, +and price, of about one hundred dogs. My dog was named Pete, but I +determined to make a change in that respect. He was a very tall, bony, +powerful beast, of a dull black color, and with a lower jaw that would +crack the hind-leg of an ox, so I was informed. He was of a varied +breed, and the good Irishman of whom I bought him said he had fine blood +in him, and attempted to refer him back to the different classes of dogs +from which he had been derived. But after I had had him awhile, I made +an analysis based on his appearance and character, and concluded that he +was mainly blood-hound, shaded with wolf-dog and mastiff, and picked out +with touches of bull-dog. + +The man brought him home for me, and chained him up in an unused +wood-shed, for I had no doghouse as yet. + +"Now thin," said he, "all you've got to do is to keep 'im chained up +there for three or four days till he gets used to ye. An' I'll tell ye +the best way to make a dog like ye. Jist give him a good lickin'. Then +he'll know yer his master, and he'll like ye iver aftherward. There's +plenty of people that don't know that. And, by the way, sir, that +chain's none too strong for 'im. I got it when he wasn't mor'n half +grown. Ye'd bether git him a new one." + +When the man had gone, I stood and looked at the dog, and could not +help hoping that he would learn to like me without the intervention of a +thrashing. Such harsh methods were not always necessary, I felt sure. + +After our evening meal--a combination of dinner and supper, of which +Euphemia used to say that she did not know whether to call it dinper or +supner--we went out together to look at our new guardian. + +Euphemia was charmed with him. + +"How massive!" she exclaimed. "What splendid limbs! And look at that +immense head! I know I shall never be afraid now. I feel that that is a +dog I can rely upon. Make him stand up, please, so I can see how tall he +is." + +"I think it would be better not to disturb him," I answered, "he may +be tired. He will get up of his own accord very soon. And indeed I +hope that he will not get up until I go to the store and get him a new +chain." + +As I said this I made a step forward to look at his chain, and at that +instant a low growl, like the first rumblings of an earthquake, ran +through the dog. + +I stepped back again and walked over to the village for the chain. The +dog-chains shown me at the store all seemed too short and too weak, and +I concluded to buy two chains such as used for hitching horses and to +join them so as to make a long as well as a strong one of them. I wanted +him to be able to come out of the wood-shed when it should be necessary +to show himself. + +On my way home with my purchase the thought suddenly struck me, How will +you put that chain on your dog? The memory of the rumbling growl was +still vivid. + +I never put the chain on him. As I approached him with it in my hand, he +rose to his feet, his eyes sparkled, his black lips drew back from his +mighty teeth, he gave one savage bark and sprang at me. + +His chain held and I went into the house. That night he broke loose and +went home to his master, who lived fully ten miles away. + +When I found in the morning that he was gone I was in doubt whether it +would be better to go and look for him or not. But I concluded to keep +up a brave heart, and found him, as I expected, at the place where I had +bought him. The Irishman took him to my house again and I had to pay for +the man's loss of time as well as for his fare on the railroad. But the +dog's old master chained him up with the new chain and I felt repaid for +my outlay. + +Every morning and night I fed that dog, and I spoke as kindly and gently +to him as I knew how. But he seemed to cherish a distaste for me, and +always greeted me with a growl. He was an awful dog. + +About a week after the arrival of this animal, I was astonished and +frightened on nearing the house to hear a scream from my wife. I rushed +into the yard and was greeted with a succession of screams from two +voices, that seemed to come from the vicinity of the wood-shed. Hurrying +thither, I perceived Euphemia standing on the roof of the shed in +perilous proximity to the edge, while near the ridge of the roof sat our +hired girl with her handkerchief over her head. + +"Hurry, hurry!" cried Euphemia. "Climb up here! The dog is loose! Be +quick! Be quick! Oh! he's coming, he's coming!" + +I asked for no explanation. There was a rail-fence by the side of the +shed and I sprang on this, and was on the roof just as the dog came +bounding and barking from the barn. + +Instantly Euphemia had me in her arms, and we came very near going off +the roof together. + +"I never feared to have you come home before," she sobbed. "I thought he +would tear you limb from limb." + +"But how did all this happen?" said I. + +"Och! I kin hardly remember," said the girl from under her handkerchief. + +"Well, I didn't ask you," I said, somewhat too sharply. + +"Oh, I'll tell you," said Euphemia. "There was a man at the gate and he +looked suspicious and didn't try to come in, and Mary was at the barn +looking for an egg, and I thought this was a good time to see whether +the dog was a good watch-dog or not, so I went and unchained him--" + +"Did you unchain that dog?" I cried. + +"Yes, and the minute he was loose he made a rush at the gate, but the +man was gone before he got there, and as he ran down the road I saw that +he was Mr. Henderson's man, who was coming here on an errand, I expect, +and then I went down to the barn to get Mary to come and help me chain +up the dog, and when she came out he began to chase me and then her; +and we were so frightened that we climbed up here, and I don't know, +I'm sure, how I ever got up that fence; and do you think he can climb up +here?" + +"Oh no! my dear," I said. + +"An' he's just the beast to go afther a stip-ladder," said the girl, in +muffled tones. + +"And what are we to do?" asked Euphemia. "We can't eat and sleep up +here. Don't you think that if we were all to shout out together, we +could make some neighbor hear?" + +"Oh yes!" I said, "there is no doubt of it. But then, if a neighbor +came, the dog would fall on him--" + +"And tear him limb from limb," interrupted Euphemia. + +"Yes, and besides, my dear, I should hate to have any of the neighbors +come and find us all up here. It would look so utterly absurd. Let me +try and think of some other plan." + +"Well, please be as quick as you can. It's dreadful to be--who's that?" + +I looked up and saw a female figure just entering the yard. + +"Oh, what shall we do" exclaimed Euphemia. "The dog will get her. Call +to her!" + +"No, no," said I, "don't make a noise. It will only bring the dog. He +seems to have gone to the barn, or somewhere. Keep perfectly quiet, and +she may go up on the porch, and as the front door is not locked, she may +rush into the house, if she sees him coming." + +"I do hope she will do that," said Euphemia, anxiously. + +"And yet," said I, "it's not pleasant to have strangers going into the +house when there's no one there." + +"But it's better than seeing a stranger torn to pieces before your +eyes," said Euphemia. + +"Yes," I replied, "it is. Don't you think we might get down now? The dog +isn't here." + +"No, no!" cried Euphemia. "There he is now, coming this way. And look at +that woman! She is coming right to this shed." + +Sure enough, our visitor had passed by the front door, and was walking +toward us. Evidently she had heard our voices. + +"Don't come here!" cried Euphemia. "You'll be killed! Run! run! The dog +is coming! Why, mercy on us! It's Pomona!" + + + +CHAPTER VIII. POMONA ONCE MORE. + + +Sure enough, it was Pomona. There stood our old servant-girl, of the +canal-boat, with a crooked straw bonnet on her head, a faded yellow +parasol in her hand, a parcel done up in newspaper under her arm, and an +expression of astonishment on her face. + +"Well, truly!" she ejaculated. + +"Into the house, quick!" I said. "We have a savage dog!" + +"And here he is!" cried Euphemia. "Oh! she will be torn to atoms." + +Straight at Pomona came the great black beast, barking furiously. But +the girl did not move; she did not even turn her head to look at the +dog, who stopped before he reached her and began to rush wildly around +her, barking terribly. + +We held our breath. I tried to say "get out!" or "lie down!" but my +tongue could not form the words. + +"Can't you get up here?" gasped Euphemia. + +"I don't want to," said the girl. + +The dog now stopped barking, and stood looking at Pomona, occasionally +glancing up at us. Pomona took not the slightest notice of him. + +"Do you know, ma'am," said she to Euphemia, "that if I had come here +yesterday, that dog would have had my life's blood." + +"And why don't he have it to-day?" said Euphemia, who, with myself, was +utterly amazed at the behavior of the dog. + +"Because I know more to-day than I did yesterday," answered Pomona. "It +is only this afternoon that I read something, as I was coming here on +the cars. This is it," she continued, unwrapping her paper parcel, and +taking from it one of the two books it contained. "I finished this part +just as the cars stopped, and I put my scissors in the place; I'll read +it to you." + +Standing there with one book still under her arm, the newspaper half +unwrapped from it, hanging down and flapping in the breeze, she opened +the other volume at the scissors-place, turned back a page or two, and +began to read as follows: + + +"Lord Edward slowly san-ter-ed up the bro-ad anc-es-tral walk, when +sudden-ly from out a cop-se, there sprang a fur-i-ous hound. The +marsh-man, con-ce-al-ed in a tree expected to see the life's blood of +the young nob-le-man stain the path. But no, Lord Edward did not stop +nor turn his head. With a smile, he strode stead-i-ly on. Well he knew +that if by be-traying no em-otion, he could show the dog that he was +walking where he had a right, the bru-te would re-cog-nize that right +and let him pass un-sca-thed. Thus in this moment of peril his nob-le +courage saved him. The hound, abashed, returned to his cov-ert, and Lord +Edward pass-ed on. + +"Foi-led again," mutter-ed the marsh-man. + + +"Now, then," said Pomona, closing the book, "you see I remembered +that, the minute I saw the dog coming, and I didn't betray any emotion. +Yesterday, now, when I didn't know it, I'd 'a been sure to betray +emotion, and he would have had my life's blood. Did he drive you up +there?" + +"Yes," said Euphemia; and she hastily explained the situation. + +"Then I guess I'd better chain him up," remarked Pomona; and advancing +to the dog she took him boldly by the collar and pulled him toward the +shed. The animal hung back at first, but soon followed her, and she +chained him up securely. + +"Now you can come down," said Pomona. + +I assisted Euphemia to the ground, and Pomona persuaded the hired girl +to descend. + +"Will he grab me by the leg?" asked the girl. + +"No; get down, gump," said Pomona, and down she scrambled. + +We took Pomona into the house with us and asked her news of herself. + +"Well," said she, "there ain't much to tell. I staid awhile at the +institution, but I didn't get much good there, only I learned to read +to myself, because if I read out loud they came and took the book away. +Then I left there and went to live out, but the woman was awful mean. +She throwed away one of my books and I was only half through it. It was +a real good book, named 'The Bridal Corpse, or Montregor's Curse,' and +I had to pay for it at the circulatin' library. So I left her quick +enough, and then I went on the stage." + +"On the stage!" cried Euphemia. "What did you do on the stage?" + +"Scrub," replied Pomona. "You see that I thought if I could get anything +to do at the theayter, I could work my way up, so I was glad to get +scrubbin'. I asked the prompter, one morning, if he thought there was a +chance for me to work up, and he said yes, I might scrub the galleries, +and then I told him that I didn't want none of his lip, and I pretty +soon left that place. I heard you was akeepin' house out here, and so I +thought I'd come along and see you, and if you hadn't no girl I'd like +to live with you again, and I guess you might as well take me, for that +other girl said, when she got down from the shed, that she was goin' +away to-morrow; she wouldn't stay in no house where they kept such a +dog, though I told her I guessed he was only cuttin' 'round because he +was so glad to get loose." + +"Cutting around!" exclaimed Euphemia. "It was nothing of the kind. If +you had seen him you would have known better. But did you come now to +stay? Where are your things?" + +"On me," replied Pomona. + +When Euphemia found that the Irish girl really intended to leave, we +consulted together and concluded to engage Pomona, and I went so far as +to agree to carry her books to and from the circulating library to which +she subscribed, hoping thereby to be able to exercise some influence +on her taste. And thus part of the old family of Rudder Grange had come +together again. True, the boarder was away, but, as Pomona remarked, +when she heard about him, "You couldn't always expect to ever regain the +ties that had always bound everybody." + +Our delight and interest in our little farm increased day by day. In +a week or two after Pomona's arrival I bought a cow. Euphemia was +very anxious to have an Alderney,--they were such gentle, beautiful +creatures,--but I could not afford such a luxury. I might possibly +compass an Alderney calf, but we would have to wait a couple of years +for our milk, and Euphemia said it would be better to have a common cow +than to do that. + +Great was our inward satisfaction when the cow, our OWN cow, walked +slowly and solemnly into our yard and began to crop the clover on our +little lawn. Pomona and I gently drove her to the barn, while Euphemia +endeavored to quiet the violent demonstrations of the dog (fortunately +chained) by assuring him that this was OUR cow and that she was to live +here, and that he was to take care of her and never bark at her. All +this and much more, delivered in the earnest and confidential tone in +which ladies talk to infants and dumb animals, made the dog think that +he was to be let loose to kill the cow, and he bounded and leaped with +delight, tugging at his chain so violently that Euphemia became a little +frightened and left him. This dog had been named Lord Edward, at the +earnest solicitation of Pomona, and he was becoming somewhat reconciled +to his life with us. He allowed me to unchain him at night and I could +generally chain him up in the morning without trouble if I had a good +big plate of food with which to tempt him into the shed. + +Before supper we all went down to the barn to see the milking. Pomona, +who knew all about such things, having been on a farm in her first +youth, was to be the milkmaid. But when she began operations, she did no +more than begin. Milk as industriously as she might, she got no milk. + +"This is a queer cow," said Pomona. + +"Are you sure that you know how to milk?" asked Euphemia anxiously. + +"Can I milk?" said Pomona. "Why, of course, ma'am. I've seen 'em milk +hundreds of times." + +"But you never milked, yourself?" I remarked. + +"No, sir, but I know just how it's done." + +That might be, but she couldn't do it, and at last we had to give up the +matter in despair, and leave the poor cow until morning, when Pomona was +to go for a man who occasionally worked on the place, and engage him to +come and milk for us. + +That night as we were going to bed I looked out of the window at the +barn which contained the cow, and was astonished to see that there was a +light inside of the building. + +"What!" I exclaimed. "Can't we be left in peaceful possession of a cow +for a single night?" And, taking my revolver, I hurried down-stairs and +out-of-doors, forgetting my hat in my haste. Euphemia screamed after me +to be careful and keep the pistol pointed away from me. + +I whistled for the dog as I went out, but to my surprise he did not +answer. + +"Has he been killed?" I thought, and, for a moment, I wished that I was +a large family of brothers--all armed. + +But on my way to the barn I met a person approaching with a lantern and +a dog. It was Pomona, and she had a milk-pail on her arm. + +"See here, sir," she said, "it's mor'n half full. I just made up my mind +that I'd learn to milk--if it took me all night. I didn't go to bed at +all, and I've been at the barn fur an hour. And there ain't no need of +my goin' after no man in the mornin'," said she, hanging up the barn key +on its nail. + +I simply mention this circumstance to show what kind of a girl Pomona +had grown to be. + +We were all the time at work in some way, improving our little place. +"Some day we will buy it," said Euphemia. We intended to have some wheat +put in in the fall and next year we would make the place fairly crack +with luxuriance. We would divide the duties of the farm, and, among +other things, Euphemia would take charge of the chickens. She wished to +do this entirely herself, so that there might be one thing that should +be all her own, just as my work in town was all my own. As she wished +to buy the chickens and defray all the necessary expenses out of her own +private funds, I could make no objections, and, indeed, I had no desire +to do so. She bought a chicken-book, and made herself mistress of +the subject. For a week, there was a strong chicken flavor in all our +conversation. + +This was while the poultry yard was building. There was a chicken-house +on the place, but no yard, and Euphemia intended to have a good big one, +because she was going into the business to make money. + +"Perhaps my chickens may buy the place," she said, and I very much hoped +they would. + +Everything was to be done very systematically. She would have Leghorns, +Brahmas, and common fowls. The first, because they laid so many eggs; +the second, because they were such fine, big fowls, and the third, +because they were such good mothers. + +"We will eat, and sell the eggs of the first and third classes," she +said, "and set the eggs of the second class, under the hens of the third +class." + +"There seems to be some injustice in that arrangement," I said, "for the +first class will always be childless; the second class will have nothing +to do with their offspring, while the third will be obliged to bring up +and care for the children of others." + +But I really had no voice in this matter. As soon as the carpenter +had finished the yard, and had made some coops and other necessary +arrangements, Euphemia hired a carriage and went about the country to +buy chickens. It was not easy to find just what she wanted, and she was +gone all day. + +However, she brought home an enormous Brahma cock and ten hens, which +number was pretty equally divided into her three classes. She was very +proud of her purchases, and indeed they were fine fowls. In the +evening I made some allusion to the cost of all this carpenter work, +carriage-hire, etc., besides the price of the chickens. + +"O!" said she, "you don't look at the matter in the right light. You +haven't studied it up as I have. Now, just let me show you how this +thing will pay, if carried on properly." Producing a piece of paper +covered with figures, she continued: "I begin with ten hens--I got +four common ones, because it would make it easier to calculate. After a +while, I set these ten hens on thirteen eggs each; three of these eggs +will probably spoil,--that leaves ten chickens hatched out. Of these, I +will say that half die, that will make five chickens for each hen; you +see, I leave a large margin for loss. This makes fifty chickens, and +when we add the ten hens, we have sixty fowls at the end of the first +year. Next year I set these sixty and they bring up five chickens +each,--I am sure there will be a larger proportion than this, but I want +to be safe,--and that is three hundred chickens; add the hens, and we +have three hundred and sixty at the end of the second year. In the third +year, calculating in the same safe way, we shall have twenty-one hundred +and sixty chickens; in the fourth year there will be twelve thousand +nine hundred and sixty, and at the end of the fifth year, which is as +far as I need to calculate now, we shall have sixty-four thousand and +eight hundred chickens. What do you think of that? At seventy-five cents +apiece,--a very low price,--that would be forty-eight thousand and +six hundred dollars. Now, what is the petty cost of a fence, and a few +coops, by the side of a sum like that?" + +"Nothing at all," I answered. "It is lost like a drop in the ocean. I +hate, my dear, to interfere in any way with such a splendid calculation +as that, but I would like to ask you one question." + +"Oh, of course," she said, "I suppose you are going to say something +about the cost of feeding all this poultry. That is to come out of the +chickens supposed to die. They won't die. It is ridiculous to suppose +that each hen will bring up but five chickens. The chickens that will +live, out of those I consider as dead, will more than pay for the feed." + +"That is not what I was going to ask you, although of course it ought to +be considered. But you know you are only going to set common hens, and +you do not intend to raise any. Now, are those four hens to do all the +setting and mother-work for five years, and eventually bring up over +sixty-four thousand chickens?" + +"Well, I DID make a mistake there," she said, coloring a little. "I'll +tell you what I'll do; I'll set every one of my hens every year." + +"But all those chickens may not be hens. You have calculated that every +one of them would set as soon as it was old enough." + +She stopped a minute to think this over. + +"Two heads are better than one, I see," she said, directly. "I'll allow +that one-half of all the chickens are roosters, and that will make the +profits twenty-four thousand three hundred dollars--more than enough to +buy this place." + +"Ever so much more," I cried. "This Rudder Grange is ours!" + + + +CHAPTER IX. WE CAMP OUT. + + +My wife and I were both so fond of country life and country pursuits +that month after month passed by at our little farm in a succession of +delightful days. Time flew like a "limited express" train, and it was +September before we knew it. + +I had been working very hard at the office that summer, and was glad to +think of my two weeks' vacation, which were to begin on the first +Monday of the month. I had intended spending these two weeks in +rural retirement at home, but an interview in the city with my family +physician caused me to change my mind. I told him my plan. + +"Now," said he, "if I were you, I'd do nothing of the kind. You have +been working too hard; your face shows it. You need rest and change. +Nothing will do you so much good as to camp out; that will be fifty +times better than going to any summer resort. You can take your wife +with you. I know she'll like it. I don't care where you go so that it's +a healthy spot. Get a good tent and an outfit, be off to the woods, and +forget all about business and domestic matters for a few weeks." + +This sounded splendid, and I propounded the plan to Euphemia that +evening. She thought very well of it, and was sure we could do it. +Pomona would not be afraid to remain in the house, under the protection +of Lord Edward, and she could easily attend to the cow and the chickens. +It would be a holiday for her too. Old John, the man who occasionally +worked for us, would come up sometimes and see after things. With her +customary dexterity Euphemia swept away every obstacle to the plan, and +all was settled before we went to bed. + +As my wife had presumed, Pomona made no objections to remaining in +charge of the house. The scheme pleased her greatly. So far, so good. I +called that day on a friend who was in the habit of camping out to talk +to him about getting a tent and the necessary "traps" for a life in the +woods. He proved perfectly competent to furnish advice and everything +else. He offered to lend me all I needed. He had a complete outfit; had +done with them for the year, and I was perfectly welcome. Here was rare +luck. He gave me a tent, camp-stove, dishes, pots, gun, fishing-tackle, +a big canvas coat with dozens of pockets riveted on it, a canvas hat, +rods, reels, boots that came up to my hips, and about a wagon-load of +things in all. He was a real good fellow. + +We laid in a stock of canned and condensed provisions, and I bought +a book on camping out so as to be well posted on the subject. On +the Saturday before the first Monday in September we would have been +entirely ready to start had we decided on the place where we were to go. + +We found it very difficult to make this decision. There were thousands +of places where people went to camp out, but none of them seemed to be +the place for us. Most of them were too far away. We figured up the cost +of taking ourselves and our camp equipage to the Adirondacks, the lakes, +the trout-streams of Maine, or any of those well-known resorts, and we +found that we could not afford such trips, especially for a vacation of +but fourteen days. + +On Sunday afternoon we took a little walk. Our minds were still troubled +about the spot toward which we ought to journey next day, and we needed +the soothing influences of Nature. The country to the north and west of +our little farm was very beautiful. About half a mile from the house +a modest river ran; on each side of it were grass-covered fields and +hills, and in some places there were extensive tracks of woodlands. + +"Look here!" exclaimed Euphemia, stopping short in the little path that +wound along by the river bank. "Do you see this river, those woods, +those beautiful fields, with not a soul in them or anywhere near them; +and those lovely blue mountains over there?"--as she spoke she waved +her parasol in the direction of the objects indicated, and I could not +mistake them. "Now what could we want better than this?" she continued. +"Here we can fish, and do everything that we want to. I say, let us camp +here on our own river. I can take you to the very spot for the tent. +Come on!" And she was so excited about it that she fairly ran. + +The spot she pointed out was one we had frequently visited in our rural +walks. It was a grassy peninsula, as I termed it, formed by a sudden +turn of a creek which, a short distance below, flowed into the river. +It was a very secluded spot. The place was approached through a +pasture-field,--we had found it by mere accident,--and where the +peninsula joined the field (we had to climb a fence just there), there +was a cluster of chestnut and hickory trees, while down near the point +stood a wide-spreading oak. + +"Here, under this oak, is the place for the tent," said Euphemia, her +face flushed, her eyes sparkling, and her dress a little torn by getting +over the fence in a hurry. "What do we want with your Adirondacks and +your Dismal Swamps? This is the spot for us!" + +"Euphemia," said I, in as composed a tone as possible, although my whole +frame was trembling with emotion, "Euphemia, I am glad I married you!" + +Had it not been Sunday, we would have set up our tent that night. + +Early the next morning, old John's fifteen-dollar horse drew from +our house a wagon-load of camp-fixtures. There was some difficulty in +getting the wagon over the field, and there were fences to be taken down +to allow of its passage; but we overcame all obstacles, and reached the +camp-ground without breaking so much as a teacup. Old John helped me +pitch the tent, and as neither of us understood the matter very well, +it took us some time. It was, indeed, nearly noon when old John left us, +and it may have been possible that he delayed matters a little so as to +be able to charge for a full half-day for himself and horse. Euphemia +got into the wagon to ride back with him, that she might give some +parting injunctions to Pomona. + +"I'll have to stop a bit to put up the fences, ma'am," said old John, +"or Misther Ball might make a fuss." + +"Is this Mr. Ball's land?" I asked. + +"Oh yes, sir, it's Mr. Ball's land." + +"I wonder how he'll like our camping on it?" I said, thoughtfully. + +"I'd 'a' thought, sir, you'd 'a' asked him that before you came," said +old John, in a tone that seemed to indicate that he had his doubts about +Mr. Ball. + +"Oh, there'll be no trouble about that," cried Euphemia. "You can drive +me past Mr. Ball's,--it's not much out of the way,--and I'll ask him." + +"In that wagon?" said I. "Will you stop at Mr. Ball's door in that?" + +"Certainly," said she, as she arranged herself on the board which served +as a seat. "Now that our campaign has really commenced, we ought to +begin to rough it, and should not be too proud to ride even in a--in +a--" + +She evidently couldn't think of any vehicle mean enough for her purpose. + +"In a green-grocery cart," I suggested. + +"Yes, or in a red one. Go ahead, John." + +When Euphemia returned on foot, I had a fire in the camp-stove and the +kettle was on. + +"Well," said Euphemia, "Mr. Ball says it's all right, if we keep the +fence up. He don't want his cows to get into the creek, and I'm sure we +don't want 'em walking over us. He couldn't understand, though, why +we wanted to live out here. I explained the whole thing to him very +carefully, but it didn't seem to make much impression on him. I believe +he thinks Pomona has something the matter with her, and that we have +come to stay out here in the fresh air so as not to take it." + +"What an extremely stupid man Mr. Ball must be!" I said. + +The fire did not burn very well, and while I was at work at it, Euphemia +spread a cloth upon the grass, and set forth bread and butter, cheese, +sardines, potted ham, preserves, biscuits, and a lot of other things. + +We did not wait for the kettle to boil, but concluded to do without tea +or coffee, for this meal, and content ourselves with pure water. For +some reason or other, however, the creek water did not seem to be very +pure, and we did not like it a bit. + +"After lunch," said I, "we will go and look for a spring; that will be a +good way of exploring the country." + +"If we can't find one," said Euphemia, "we shall have to go to the house +for water, for I can never drink that stuff." + +Soon after lunch we started out. We searched high and low, near and far, +for a spring, but could not find one. + +At length, by merest accident, we found ourselves in the vicinity of old +John's little house. I knew he had a good well, and so we went in to get +a drink, for our ham and biscuits had made us very thirsty. + +We told old John, who was digging potatoes, and was also very much +surprised to see us so soon, about our unexpected trouble in finding a +spring. + +"No," said he, very slowly, "there is no spring very near to you. Didn't +you tell your gal to bring you water?" + +"No," I replied; "we don't want her coming down to the camp. She is to +attend to the house." + +"Oh, very well," said John; "I will bring you water, morning and +night,--good, fresh water,--from my well, for,--well, for ten cents a +day." + +"That will be nice," said Euphemia, "and cheap, too. And then it will be +well to have John come every day; he can carry our letters." + +"I don't expect to write any letters." + +"Neither do I," said Euphemia; "but it will be pleasant to have some +communication with the outer world." + +So we engaged old John to bring us water twice a day. I was a little +disappointed at this, for I thought that camping on the edge of a stream +settled the matter of water. But we have many things to learn in this +world. + +Early in the afternoon I went out to catch some fish for supper. We +agreed to dispense with dinner, and have breakfast, lunch, and a good +solid supper. + +For some time I had poor luck. There were either very few fish in the +creek, or they were not hungry. + +I had been fishing an hour or more when I saw Euphemia running toward +me. + +"What's the matter?" said I. + +"Oh! nothing. I've just come to see how you were getting along. Haven't +you been gone an awfully long time? And are those all the fish you've +caught? What little bits of things they are! I thought people who camped +out caught big fish and lots of them?" + +"That depends a good deal upon where they go," said I. + +"Yes, I suppose so," replied Euphemia; "but I should think a stream as +big as this would have plenty of fish in it. However, if you can't +catch any, you might go up to the road and watch for Mr. Mulligan. He +sometimes comes along on Mondays." + +"I'm not going to the road to watch for any fish-man," I replied, a +little more testily than I should have spoken. "What sort of a camping +out would that be? But we must not be talking here or I shall never get +a bite. Those fish are a little soiled from jumping about in the dust. +You might wash them off at that shallow place, while I go a little +further on and try my luck." + +I went a short distance up the creek, and threw my line into a dark, +shadowy pool, under some alders, where there certainly should be fish. +And, sure enough, in less than a minute I got a splendid bite,--not only +a bite, but a pull. I knew that I had certainly hooked a big fish! The +thing actually tugged at my line so that I was afraid the pole would +break. I did not fear for the line, for that, I knew, was strong. I +would have played the fish until he was tired, and I could pull him out +without risk to the pole, but I did not know exactly how the process +of "playing" was conducted. I was very much excited. Sometimes I gave a +jerk and a pull, and then the fish would give a jerk and a pull. + +Directly I heard some one running toward me, and then I heard Euphemia +cry out: + +"Give him the butt! Give him the butt!" + +"Give him what?" I exclaimed, without having time even to look up at +her. + +"The butt! the butt!" she cried, almost breathlessly. "I know that's +right! I read how Edward Everett Hale did it in the Adirondacks." + +"No, it wasn't Hale at all," said I, as I jumped about the bank; "it was +Mr. Murray." + +"Well, it was one of those fishing ministers, and I know that it caught +the fish." + +"I know, I know. I read it, but I don't know how to do it." + +"Perhaps you ought to punch him with it," said she. + +"No! no!" I hurriedly replied, "I can't do anything like that. I'm going +to try to just pull him out lengthwise. You take hold of the pole and go +in shore as far as you can and I'll try and get hold of the line." + +Euphemia did as I bade her, and drew the line in so that I could reach +it. As soon as I had a firm hold of it, I pulled in, regardless of +consequences, and hauled ashore an enormous cat-fish. + +"Hurrah!" I shouted, "here is a prize." + +Euphemia dropped the pole, and ran to me. + +"What a horrid beast!" she exclaimed. "Throw it in again." + +"Not at all!" said I. "This is a splendid fish, if I can ever get him +off the hook. Don't come near him! If he sticks that back-fin into you, +it will poison you." + +"Then I should think it would poison us to eat him," said she. + +"No; it's only his fin." + +"I've eaten cat-fish, but I never saw one like that," she said. "Look at +its horrible mouth! And it has whiskers like a cat!" + +"Oh! you never saw one with its head on," I said. "What I want to do is +to get this hook out." + +I had caught cat-fish before, but never one so large as this, and I was +actually afraid to take hold of it, knowing, as I did, that you must be +very careful how you clutch a fish of the kind. I finally concluded to +carry it home as it was, and then I could decapitate it, and take out +the hook at my leisure. So back to camp we went, Euphemia picking up the +little fish as we passed, for she did not think it right to catch fish +and not eat them. They made her hands smell, it is true; but she did not +mind that when we were camping. + +I prepared the big fish (and I had a desperate time getting the skin +off), while my wife, who is one of the daintiest cooks in the world, +made the fire in the stove, and got ready the rest of the supper. She +fried the fish, because I told her that was the way cat-fish ought to be +cooked, although she said that it seemed very strange to her to camp out +for the sake of one's health, and then to eat fried food. + +But that fish was splendid! The very smell of it made us hungry. +Everything was good, and when supper was over and the dishes washed, I +lighted my pipe and we sat down under a tree to enjoy the evening. + +The sun had set behind the distant ridge; a delightful twilight was +gently subduing every color of the scene; the night insects were +beginning to hum and chirp, and a fire that I had made under a tree +blazed up gayly, and threw little flakes of light into the shadows under +the shrubbery. + +"Now isn't this better than being cooped up in a narrow, constricted +house?" said I. + +"Ever so much better!" said Euphemia. "Now we know what Nature is. We +are sitting right down in her lap, and she is cuddling us up. Isn't that +sky lovely? Oh! I think this is perfectly splendid," said she, making a +little dab at her face,--"if it wasn't for the mosquitoes." + +"They ARE bad," I said. "I thought my pipe would keep them off, but it +don't. There must be plenty of them down at that creek." + +"Down there!" exclaimed Euphemia. "Why there are thousands of them here! +I never saw anything like it. They're getting worse every minute." + +"I'll tell you what we must do," I exclaimed, jumping up. "We must make +a smudge." + +"What's that? do you rub it on yourself?" asked Euphemia, anxiously. + +"No, it's only a great smoke. Come, let us gather up dry leaves and make +a smoldering fire of them." + +We managed to get up a very fair smudge, and we stood to the leeward of +it, until Euphemia began to cough and sneeze, as if her head would +come off. With tears running from her eyes, she declared that she would +rather go and be eaten alive, than stay in that smoke. + +"Perhaps we were too near it," said I. + +"That may be," she answered, "but I have had enough smoke. Why didn't +I think of it before? I brought two veils! We can put these over our +faces, and wear gloves." + +She was always full of expedients. + +Veiled and gloved, we bade defiance to the mosquitoes, and we sat +and talked for half an hour or more. I made a little hole in my veil, +through which I put the mouth-piece of my pipe. + +When it became really dark, I lighted the lantern, and we prepared for a +well-earned night's rest. The tent was spacious and comfortable, and we +each had a nice little cot-bed. + +"Are you going to leave the front-door open all night?" said Euphemia, +as I came in after a final round to see that all was right. + +"I should hardly call this canvas-flap a front-door," I said, "but I +think it would be better to leave it open; otherwise we should smother. +You need not be afraid. I shall keep my gun here by my bedside, and if +any one offers to come in, I'll bring him to a full stop quick enough." + +"Yes, if you are awake. But I suppose we ought not to be afraid of +burglars here. People in tents never are. So you needn't shut it." + +It was awfully quiet and dark and lonely, out there by that creek, when +the light had been put out, and we had gone to bed. For some reason I +could not go to sleep. After I had been lying awake for an hour or two, +Euphemia spoke: + +"Are you awake?" said she, in a low voice, as if she were afraid of +disturbing the people in the next room. + +"Yes," said I. "How long have you been awake?" + +"I haven't been asleep." + +"Neither have I." + +"Suppose we light the lantern," said she. "Don't you think it would be +pleasanter?" + +"It might be," I replied; "but it would draw myriads of mosquitoes. +I wish I had brought a mosquito-net and a clock. It seems so lonesome +without the ticking. Good-night! We ought to have a long sleep, if we do +much tramping about to-morrow." + +In about half an hour more, just as I was beginning to be a little +sleepy, she said: + +"Where is that gun?" + +"Here by me," I answered. + +"Well, if a man should come in, try and be sure to put it up close to +him before you fire. In a little tent like this, the shot might scatter +everywhere, if you're not careful." + +"All right," I said. "Good-night!" + +"There's one thing we never thought of!" she presently exclaimed. + +"What's that," said I. + +"Snakes," said she. + +"Well, don't let's think of them. We must try and get a little sleep." + +"Dear knows! I've been trying hard enough," she said, plaintively, and +all was quiet again. + +We succeeded this time in going to sleep, and it was broad daylight +before we awoke. + +That morning, old John came with our water before breakfast was ready. +He also brought us some milk, as he thought we would want it. We +considered this a good idea, and agreed with him to bring us a quart a +day. + +"Don't you want some wegetables?" said he. "I've got some nice corn and +some tomatoes, and I could bring you cabbage and peas." + +We had hardly expected to have fresh vegetables every day, but there +seemed to be no reason why old John should not bring them, as he had to +come every day with the water and milk. So we arranged that he should +furnish us daily with a few of the products of his garden. + +"I could go to the butcher's and get you a steak or some chops, if you'd +let me know in the morning," said he, intent on the profits of further +commissions. + +But this was going too far. We remembered we were camping out, and +declined to have meat from the butcher. + +John had not been gone more than ten minutes before we saw Mr. Ball +approaching. + +"Oh, I hope he isn't going to say we can't stay!" exclaimed Euphemia. + +"How d'ye do?" said Mr. Ball, shaking hands with us. "Did you stick it +out all night?" + +"Oh yes, indeed," I replied, "and expect to stick it out for a many more +nights if you don't object to our occupying your land." + +"No objection in the world," said he; "but it seems a little queer for +people who have a good house to be living out here in the fields in a +tent, now, don't it?" + +"Oh, but you see," said I, and I went on and explained the whole thing +to him,--the advice of the doctor, the discussion about the proper place +to go to, and the good reasons for fixing on this spot. + +"Ye-es," said he, "that's all very well, no doubt. But how's the girl?" + +"What girl?" I asked. + +"Your girl. The hired girl you left at the house." + +"Oh, she's all right," said I; "she's always well." + +"Well," said Mr. Ball, slowly turning on his heel, "if you say so, I +suppose she is. But you're going up to the house to-day to see about +her, aren't you?" + +"Oh, no," said Euphemia. "We don't intend to go near the house until our +camping is over." + +"Just so,--just so," said Mr. Ball; "I expected as much. But look here, +don't you think it would be well for me to ask Dr. Ames to stop in and +see how she is gettin' along? I dare say you've fixed everything for +her, but that would be safer, you know. He's coming this morning to +vaccinate my baby, and he might stop there, just as well as not, after +he has left my house." + +Euphemia and I could see no necessity for this proposed visit of the +doctor, but we could not well object to it, and so Mr. Ball said he +would be sure and send him. + +After our visitor had gone, the significance of his remarks flashed on +me. He still thought that Pomona was sick with something catching, and +that we were afraid to stay in the house with her. But I said nothing +about this to Euphemia. It would only worry her, and our vacation was to +be a season of unalloyed delight. + + + +CHAPTER X. WET BLANKETS. + + +We certainly enjoyed our second day in camp. All the morning, and a +great part of the afternoon, we "explored." We fastened up the tent +as well as we could, and then, I with my gun, and Euphemia with the +fishing-pole, we started up the creek. We did not go very far, for it +would not do to leave the tent too long. I did not shoot anything, but +Euphemia caught two or three nice little fish, and we enjoyed the sport +exceedingly. + +Soon after we returned in the afternoon, and while we were getting +things in order for supper, we had a call from two of our neighbors, +Captain Atkinson and wife. The captain greeted us hilariously. + +"Hello!" he cried. "Why, this is gay. Who would ever have thought of +a domestic couple like you going on such a lark as this. We just heard +about it from old John, and we came down to see what you are up to. +You've got everything very nice. I think I'd like this myself. Why, you +might have a rifle-range out here. You could cut down those bushes on +the other side of the creek, and put up your target over there on that +hill. Then you could lie down here on the grass and bang away all day. +If you'll do that, I'll come down and practice with you. How long are +you going to keep it up?" + +I told him that we expected to spend my two weeks' vacation here. + +"Not if it rains, my boy," said he. "I know what it is to camp out in +the rain." + +Meanwhile, Mrs. Atkinson had been with Euphemia examining the tent, and +our equipage generally. + +"It would be very nice for a day's picnic," she said; "but I wouldn't +want to stay out-of-doors all night." + +And then, addressing me, she asked: + +"Do you have to breathe the fresh air all the time, night as well as +day? I expect that is a very good prescription, but I would not like to +have to follow it myself." + +"If the fresh air is what you must have," said the captain, "you might +have got all you wanted of that without taking the trouble to come out +here. You could have sat out on your back porch night and day for the +whole two weeks, and breathed all the fresh air that any man could +need." + +"Yes," said I, "and I might have gone down cellar and put my head in the +cold-air box of the furnace. But there wouldn't have been much fun in +that." + +"There are a good many things that there's no fun in," said the captain. +"Do you cook your own meals, or have them sent from the house?" + +"Cook them ourselves, of course," said Euphemia. "We are going to have +supper now. Won't you wait and take some?" + +"Thank you," said Mrs. Atkinson, "but we must go." + +"Yes, we must be going," said the captain. "Good-bye. If it rains I'll +come down after you with an umbrella." + +"You need not trouble yourself about that," said I. "We shall rough it +out, rain or shine." + +"I'd stay here now," said Euphemia, when they had gone, "if it rained +pitch." + +"You mean pitchforks," I suggested. + +"Yes, anything," she answered. + +"Well, I don't know about the pitchforks," I said, looking over the +creek at the sky; "but am very much afraid that it is going to rain +rain-water to-morrow. But that won't drive us home, will it?" + +"No, indeed!" said she. "We're prepared for it. But I wish they'd staid +at home." + +Sure enough, it commenced to rain that night, and we had showers all +the next day. We staid in camp during the morning, and I smoked and +we played checkers, and had a very cosy time, with a wood fire burning +under a tree near by. We kept up this fire, not to dry the air, but to +make things look comfortable. In the afternoon I dressed myself up in +water-proof coat, boots and hat, and went out fishing. I went down to +the water and fished along the banks for an hour, but caught nothing of +any consequence. This was a great disappointment, for we had expected to +live on fresh fish for a great part of the time while we were camping. +With plenty of fish, we could do without meat very well. + +We talked the matter over on my return, and we agreed that as it seemed +impossible to depend upon a supply of fish, from the waters about our +camp, it would be better to let old John bring fresh meat from the +butcher, and as neither of us liked crackers, we also agreed that he +should bring bread. + +Our greatest trouble, that evening, was to make a fire. The wood, of +which there was a good deal lying about under the trees, was now all wet +and would not burn. However, we managed to get up a fire in the stove, +but I did not know what we were going to do in the morning. We should +have stored away some wood under shelter. + +We set our little camp-table in the tent, and we had scarcely finished +our supper, when a very heavy rain set in, accompanied by a violent +wind. The canvas at one end of our tent must have been badly fastened, +for it was blown in, and in an instant our beds were deluged. I rushed +out to fasten up the canvas, and got drenched almost to the skin, and +although Euphemia put on her waterproof cloak as soon as she could, she +was pretty wet, for the rain seemed to dash right through the tent. + +This gust of wind did not last long, and the rain soon settled down into +a steady drizzle, but we were in a sad plight. It was after nine o'clock +before we had put things into tolerable order. + +"We can't sleep in those beds," said Euphemia. + +"They're as wet as sop, and we shall have to go up to the house and get +something to spread over them. I don't want to do it, but we mustn't +catch our deaths of cold." + +There was nothing to be said against this, and we prepared to start out. +I would have gone by myself, but Euphemia would not consent to be left +alone. It was still raining, though not very hard, and I carried an +umbrella and a lantern. Climbing fences at night with a wife, a lantern, +and an umbrella to take care of, is not very agreeable, but we managed +to reach the house, although once or twice we had an argument in regard +to the path, which seemed to be very different at night from what it was +in the day-time. + +Lord Edward came bounding to the gate to meet us, and I am happy to say +that he knew me at once, and wagged his tail in a very sociable way. + +I had the key of a side-door in my pocket, for we had thought it wise to +give ourselves command of this door, and so we let ourselves in without +ringing or waking Pomona. + +All was quiet within, and we went upstairs with the lantern. Everything +seemed clean and in order, and it is impossible to convey any idea of +the element of comfort which seemed to pervade the house, as we quietly +made our way upstairs, in our wet boots and heavy, damp clothes. + +The articles we wanted were in a closet, and while I was making a bundle +of them, Euphemia went to look for Pomona. She soon returned, walking +softly. + +"She's sound asleep," said she, "and I didn't think there was any need +of waking her. We'll send word by John that we've been here. And oh! +you can't imagine how snug and happy she did look, lying there in her +comfortable bed, in that nice, airy room. I'll tell you what it is, if +it wasn't for the neighbors, and especially the Atkinsons, I wouldn't go +back one step." + +"Well," said I, "I don't know that I care so particularly about it, +myself. But I suppose I couldn't stay here and leave all Thompson's +things out there to take care of themselves." + +"Oh no!" said Euphemia. "And we're not going to back down. Are you +ready?" + +On our way down-stairs we had to pass the partly open door of our own +room. I could not help holding up the lantern to look in. There was the +bed, with its fair white covering and its smooth, soft pillows; there +were the easy-chairs, the pretty curtains, the neat and cheerful carpet, +the bureau, with Euphemia's work-basket on it; there was the little +table with the book that we had been reading together, turned face +downward upon it; there were my slippers; there was-- + +"Come!" said Euphemia, "I can't bear to look in there. It's like a dead +child." + +And so we hurried out into the night and the rain. We stopped at the +wood-shed and got an armful of dry kindling, which Euphemia was obliged +to carry, as I had the bundle of bed-clothing, the umbrella, and the +lantern. + +Lord Edward gave a short, peculiar bark as we shut the gate behind us, +but whether it was meant as a fond farewell, or a hoot of derision, I +cannot say. + +We found everything as we left it at the camp, and we made our beds +apparently dry. But I did not sleep well. I could not help thinking that +it was not safe to sleep in a bed with a substratum of wet mattress, and +I worried Euphemia a little by asking her several times if she felt the +dampness striking through. + +To our great delight, the next day was fine and clear, and I thought I +would like, better than anything else, to take Euphemia in a boat up the +river and spend the day rowing about, or resting in shady places on the +shore. + +But what could we do about the tent? It would be impossible to go away +and leave that, with its contents, for a whole day. + +When old John came with our water, milk, bread, and a basket of +vegetables, we told him of our desired excursion, and the difficulty in +the way. This good man, who always had a keen scent for any advantage +to himself, warmly praised the boating plan, and volunteered to send his +wife and two of his younger children to stay with the tent while we were +away. + +The old woman, he said, could do her sewing here as well as anywhere, +and she would stay all day for fifty cents. + +This plan pleased us, and we sent for Mrs. Old John, who came with three +of her children,--all too young to leave behind, she said,--and took +charge of the camp. + +Our day proved to be as delightful as we had anticipated, and when we +returned, hungry and tired, we were perfectly charmed to find that Mrs. +Old John had our supper ready for us. + +She charged a quarter, extra, for this service, and we did not begrudge +it to her, though we declined her offer to come every day and cook and +keep the place in order. + +"However," said Euphemia, on second thoughts, "you may come on Saturday +and clean up generally." + +The next day, which was Friday, I went out in the morning with the +gun. As yet I had shot nothing, for I had seen no birds about the camp, +which, without breaking the State laws, I thought I could kill, and so I +started off up the river-road. + +I saw no game, but after I had walked about a mile, I met a man in a +wagon. + +"Hello," said he, pulling up; "you'd better be careful how you go +popping around here on the public roads, frightening horses." + +As I had not yet fired a single shot, I thought this was a very impudent +speech, and I think so still. + +"You had better wait until I begin to pop," said I, "before you make +such a fuss about it." + +"No," said he, "I'd rather make the fuss before you begin. My horse is +skittish," and he drove off. + +This man annoyed me; but as I did not, of course, wish to frighten +horses, I left the road and made my way back to the tent over some very +rough fields. It was a poor day for birds, and I did not get a shot. + +"What a foolish man!" said Euphemia, when I told her the above incident, +"to talk that way when you stood there with a gun in your hand. You +might have raked his wagon, fore and aft." + +That afternoon, as Euphemia and I were sitting under a tree by the +tent, we were very much surprised to see Pomona come walking down the +peninsula. + +I was annoyed and provoked at this. We had given Pomona positive orders +not to leave the place, under any pretense, while we were gone. If +necessary to send for anything, she could go to the fence, back of the +barn, and scream across a small field to some of the numerous members +of old John's family. Under this arrangement, I felt that the house was +perfectly safe. + +Before she could reach us, I called out: + +"Why did you leave the house, Pomona? Don't you know you should never +come away and leave the house empty? I thought I had made you understand +that." + +"It isn't empty," said Pomona, in an entirely unruffled tone. "Your old +boarder is there, with his wife and child." + +Euphemia and I looked at each other in dismay. + +"They came early this afternoon," continued Pomona, "by the 1:14 train, +and walked up, he carrying the child." + +"It can't be," cried Euphemia. "Their child's married." + +"It must have married very young, then," said Pomona, "for it isn't over +four years old now." + +"Oh!" said Euphemia, "I know! It's his grandchild." + +"Grandchild!" repeated Pomona, with her countenance more expressive of +emotion than I had ever yet seen it. + +"Yes," said Euphemia; "but how long are they going to stay? Where did +you tell them we were?" + +"They didn't say how long they was goin' to stay," answered Pomona. "I +told them you had gone to be with some friends in the country, and that +I didn't know whether you'd be home to-night or not." + +"How could you tell them such a falsehood?" cried Euphemia. + +"That was no falsehood," said Pomona; "it was true as truth. If you're +not your own friends, I don't know who is. And I wasn't a-goin' to tell +the boarder where you was till I found out whether you wanted me to do +it or not. And so I left 'em and run over to old John's, and then down +here." + +It was impossible to find fault with the excellent management of Pomona. + +"What were they doing?" asked Euphemia. + +"I opened the parlor, and she was in there with the child,--putting it +to sleep on the sofa, I think. The boarder was out in the yard, tryin' +to teach Lord Edward some tricks." + +"He had better look out!" I exclaimed. + +"Oh, the dog's chained and growlin' fearful! What am I to do with 'em?" + +This was a difficult point to decide. If we went to see them, we might +as well break up our camp, for we could not tell when we should be able +to come back to it. + +We discussed the matter very anxiously, and finally concluded that +under the circumstances, and considering what Pomona had said about +our whereabouts, it would be well for us to stay where we were and for +Pomona to take charge of the visitors. If they returned to the city that +evening, she was to give them a good supper before they went, sending +John to the store for what was needed. If they stayed all night, she +could get breakfast for them. + +"We can write," said Euphemia, "and invite them to come and spend some +days with us, when we are at home and everything is all right. I want +dreadfully to see that child, but I don't see how I can do it now." + +"No," said I. "They're sure to stay all night if we go up to the house, +and then I should have to have the tent and things hauled away, for I +couldn't leave them here." + +"The fact is," said Euphemia, "if we were miles away, in the woods +of Maine, we couldn't leave our camp to see anybody. And this is +practically the same." + +"Certainly," said I; and so Pomona went away to her new charge. + + + +CHAPTER XI. THE BOARDER'S VISIT. + + +For the rest of the afternoon, and indeed far into the night, our +conversation consisted almost entirely of conjectures regarding the +probable condition of things at the house. We both thought we had done +right, but we felt badly about it. It was not hospitable, to be sure; +but then I should have no other holiday until next year, and our friends +could come at any time to see us. + +The next morning old John brought a note from Pomona. It was written +with pencil on a small piece of paper torn from the margin of a +newspaper, and contained the words, "Here yit." + +"So you've got company," said old John, with a smile. "That's a queer +gal of yourn. She says I mustn't tell 'em you're here. As if I'd tell +'em!" + +We knew well enough that old John was not at all likely to do anything +that would cut off the nice little revenue he was making out of our +camp, and so we felt no concern on that score. + +But we were very anxious for further news, and we told old John to go to +the house about ten o'clock and ask Pomona to send us another note. + +We waited, in a very disturbed condition of mind, until nearly eleven +o'clock, when old John came with a verbal message from Pomona: + +"She says she's a-comin' herself as soon as she can get a chance to slip +off." + +This was not pleasant news. It filled our minds with a confused mass of +probabilities, and it made us feel mean. How contemptible it seemed to +be a party to this concealment and in league with a servant-girl who has +to "slip off!" + +Before long, Pomona appeared, quite out of breath. + +"In all my life," said she, "I never see people like them two. I thought +I was never goin' to get away." + +"Are they there yet?" cried Euphemia. + +"How long are they going to stay?" + +"Dear knows!" replied Pomona. "Their valise came up by express last +night." + +"Oh, we'll have to go up to the house," said Euphemia. "It won't do to +stay away any longer." + +"Well," said Pomona, fanning herself with her apron, "if you know'd all +I know, I don't think you'd think so." + +"What do you mean?" said Euphemia. + +"Well, ma'am, they've just settled down and taken possession of the +whole place. He says to me that he know'd you'd both want them to make +themselves at home, just as if you was there, and they thought they'd +better do it. He asked me did I think you would be home by Monday, and +I said I didn't know, but I guessed you would. So says he to his wife, +'Won't that be a jolly lark? We'll just keep house for them here till +they come. And he says he would go down to the store and order some +things, if there wasn't enough in the house, and he asked her to see +what would be needed, which she did, and he's gone down for 'em now. And +she says that, as it was Saturday, she'd see that the house was all put +to rights; and after breakfast she set me to sweepin'; and it's only by +way of her dustin' the parlor and givin' me the little girl to take for +a walk that I got off at all." + +"But what have you done with the child?" exclaimed Euphemia. + +"Oh, I left her at old Johnses." + +"And so you think they're pleased with having the house to themselves?" +I said. + +"Pleased, sir?" replied Pomona; "they're tickled to death." + +"But how do you like having strangers telling you what to do?" asked +Euphemia. + +"Oh, well," said Pomona, "he's no stranger, and she's real pleasant, and +if it gives you a good camp out, I don't mind." + +Euphemia and I looked at each other. Here was true allegiance. We would +remember this. + +Pomona now hurried off, and we seriously discussed the matter, and soon +came to the conclusion that while it might be the truest hospitality to +let our friends stay at our house for a day or two and enjoy themselves, +still it would not do for us to allow ourselves to be governed by a too +delicate sentimentality. We must go home and act our part of host and +hostess. + +Mrs. Old John had been at the camp ever since breakfast-time, giving the +place a Saturday cleaning. What she had found to occupy her for so +long a time I could not imagine, but in her efforts to put in a full +half-day's work, I have no doubt she scrubbed some of the trees. We had +been so fully occupied with our own affairs that we had paid very little +attention to her, but she had probably heard pretty much all that had +been said. + +At noon we paid her (giving her, at her suggestion, something extra in +lieu of the midday meal, which she did not stay to take), and told her +to send her husband, with his wagon, as soon as possible, as we intended +to break up our encampment. We determined that we would pack everything +in John's wagon, and let him take the load to his house, and keep +it there until Monday, when I would have the tent and accompaniments +expressed to their owner. We would go home and join our friends. It +would not be necessary to say where we had been. + +It was hard for us to break up our camp. In many respects we had enjoyed +the novel experience, and we had fully expected, during the next week, +to make up for all our short-comings and mistakes. It seemed like losing +all our labor and expenditure, to break up now, but there was no help +for it. Our place was at home. + +We did not wish to invite our friends to the camp. They would certainly +have come had they known we were there, but we had no accommodations for +them, neither had we any desire for even transient visitors. Besides, +we both thought that we would prefer that our ex-boarder and his wife +should not know that we were encamped on that little peninsula. + +We set to work to pack up and get ready for moving, but the afternoon +passed away without bringing old John. Between five and six o'clock +along came his oldest boy, with a bucket of water. + +"I'm to go back after the milk," he said. + +"Hold up!" I cried. "Where is your father and his wagon? We've been +waiting for him for hours." + +"The horse is si---- I mean he's gone to Ballville for oats." + +"And why didn't he send and tell me?" I asked. + +"There wasn't nobody to send," answered the boy. + +"You are not telling the truth," exclaimed Euphemia; "there is always +some one to send, in a family like yours." + +To this the boy made no answer, but again said that he would go after +the milk. + +"We want you to bring no milk," I cried, now quite angry. "I want you to +go down to the station, and tell the driver of the express-wagon to come +here immediately. Do you understand? Immediately." + +The boy declared he understood, and started off quite willingly. We +did not prefer to have the express-wagon, for it was too public a +conveyance, and, besides, old John knew exactly how to do what was +required. But we need not have troubled ourselves. The express-wagon did +not come. + +When it became dark, we saw that we could not leave that night. Even if +a wagon did come, it would not be safe to drive over the fields in +the darkness. And we could not go away and leave the camp-equipage. I +proposed that Euphemia should go up to the house, while I remained in +camp. But she declined. We would keep together, whatever happened, she +said. + +We unpacked our cooking-utensils and provisions, and had supper. There +was no milk for our coffee, but we did not care. The evening did +not pass gayly. We were annoyed by the conduct of old John and the +express-boy, though, perhaps, it was not their fault. I had given them +no notice that I should need them. + +And we were greatly troubled at the continuance of the secrecy and +subterfuge which now had become really necessary, if we did not wish to +hurt our friends' feelings. + +The first thing that I thought of, when I opened my eyes in the morning, +was the fact that we would have to stay there all day, for we could not +move on Sunday. + +But Euphemia did not agree with me. After breakfast (we found that the +water and the milk had been brought very early, before we were up) she +stated that she did not intend to be treated in this way. She was going +up to old John's house herself; and away she went. + +In less than half an hour, she returned, followed by old John and his +wife, both looking much as if they had been whipped. + +"These people," said she, "have entered into a conspiracy against us. I +have questioned them thoroughly, and have made them answer me. The horse +was at home yesterday, and the boy did not go after the express-wagon. +They thought that if they could keep us here, until our company had +gone, we would stay as long as we originally intended, and they would +continue to make money out of us. But they are mistaken. We are going +home immediately." + +At this point I could not help thinking that Euphemia might have +consulted me in regard to her determination, but she was very much in +earnest, and I would not have any discussion before these people. + +"Now, listen!" said Euphemia, addressing the down-cast couple, "we are +going home, and you two are to stay here all this day and to-night, and +take care of these things. You can't work to-day, and you can shut up +your house, and bring your whole family here if you choose. We will pay +you for the service,--although you do not deserve a cent,--and we will +leave enough here for you to eat. You must bring your own sheets and +pillowcases, and stay here until we see you on Monday morning." + +Old John and his wife agreed to this plan with the greatest alacrity, +apparently well pleased to get off so easily; and, having locked up the +smaller articles of camp-furniture, we filled a valise with our personal +baggage and started off home. + +Our house and grounds never looked prettier than they did that morning, +as we stood at the gate. Lord Edward barked a welcome from his shed, and +before we reached the door, Pomona came running out, her face radiant. + +"I'm awful glad to see you back," she said; "though I'd never have said +so while you was in camp." + +I patted the dog and looked into the garden. Everything was growing +splendidly. Euphemia rushed to the chicken-yard. It was in first-rate +order, and there were two broods of little yellow puffy chicks. + +Down on her knees went my wife, to pick up the little creatures, one +by one, press their downy bodies to her cheek, and call them +tootsy-wootsies, and away went I to the barn, followed by Pomona, and +soon afterward by Euphemia. + +The cow was all right. + +"I've been making butter," said Pomona, "though it don't look exactly +like it ought to, yet, and the skim-milk I didn't know what to do with, +so I gave it to old John. He came for it every day, and was real mad +once because I had given a lot of it to the dog, and couldn't let him +have but a pint." + +"He ought to have been mad," said I to Euphemia, as we walked up to the +house. "He got ten cents a quart for that milk." + +We laughed, and didn't care. We were too glad to be at home. + +"But where are our friends?" I asked Pomona. We had actually forgotten +them. + +"Oh! they're gone out for a walk," said she. "They started off right +after breakfast." + +We were not sorry for this. It would be so much nicer to see our dear +home again when there was nobody there but ourselves. In-doors we +rushed. Our absence had been like rain on a garden. Everything now +seemed fresher and brighter and more delightful. We went from room to +room, and seemed to appreciate better than ever what a charming home we +had. + +We were so full of the delights of our return that we forgot all about +the Sunday dinner and our guests, but Pomona, whom my wife was training +to be an excellent cook, did not forget, and Euphemia was summoned to a +consultation in the kitchen. + +Dinner was late; but our guests were later. We waited as long as the +state of the provisions and our appetites would permit, and then we sat +down to the table and began to eat slowly. But they did not come. We +finished our meal, and they were still absent. We now became quite +anxious, and I proposed to Euphemia that we should go and look for them. + +We started out, and our steps naturally turned toward the river. An +unpleasant thought began to crowd itself into my mind, and perhaps the +same thing happened to Euphemia, for, without saying anything to each +other, we both turned toward the path that led to the peninsula. We +crossed the field, climbed the fence, and there, in front of the tent +sat our old boarder splitting sticks with the camp-hatchet. + +"Hurrah!" he cried, springing to his feet when he saw us. "How glad I am +to see you back! When did you return? Isn't this splendid?" + +"What?" I said, as we shook hands. + +"Why this," he cried, pointing to the tent. "Don't you see? We're +camping out." + +"You are?" I exclaimed, looking around for his wife, while Euphemia +stood motionless, actually unable to make a remark. + +"Certainly we are. It's the rarest bit of luck. My wife and Adele will +be here directly. They've gone to look for water-cresses. But I must +tell you how I came to make this magnificent find. We started out for a +walk this morning, and we happened to hit on this place, and here we saw +this gorgeous tent with nobody near but a little tow-headed boy." + +"Only a boy?" cried Euphemia. + +"Yes, a young shaver of about nine or ten. I asked him what he was doing +here, and he told me that this tent belonged to a gentleman who had gone +away, and that he was here to watch it until he came back. Then I asked +him how long the owner would probably be away, and he said he supposed +for a day or two. Then a splendid idea struck me. I offered the boy +a dollar to let me take his place: I knew that any sensible man would +rather have me in charge of his tent, than a young codger like that. The +boy agreed as quick as lightning, and I paid him and sent him off. You +see how little he was to be trusted! The owner of this tent will be +under the greatest obligations to me. Just look at it!" he cried. "Beds, +table, stove,--everything anybody could want. I've camped out lots of +times, but never had such a tent as this. I intended coming up this +afternoon after my valise, and to tell your girl where we are. But here +is my wife and little Adele." + +In the midst of the salutations and the mutual surprise, Euphemia cried: + +"But you don't expect to camp out, now? You are coming back to our +house?" + +"You see," said the ex-boarder, "we should never have thought of doing +anything so rude, had we supposed you would have returned so soon. But +your girl gave us to understand that you would not be back for days, and +so we felt free to go at any time; and I did not hesitate to make this +arrangement. And now that I have really taken the responsibility of the +tent and fixtures on myself, I don't think it would be right to go away +and leave the place, especially as I don't know where to find that boy. +The owner will be back in a day or two, and I would like to explain +matters to him and give up the property in good order into his hands. +And, to tell the truth, we both adore camping-out, and we may never have +such a chance again. We can live here splendidly. I went out to forage +this morning, and found an old fellow living near by who sold me a lot +of provisions--even some coffee and sugar--and he's to bring us some +milk. We're going to have supper in about an hour; won't you stay and +take a camp-meal with us? It will be a novelty for you, at any rate." + +We declined this invitation, as we had so lately dined. I looked at +Euphemia with a question in my eye. She understood me, and gently shook +her head. It would be a shame to make any explanations which might put +an end to this bit of camp-life, which evidently was so eagerly enjoyed +by our old friend. But we insisted that they should come up to the +house and see us, and they agreed to dine with us the next evening. On +Tuesday, they must return to the city. + +"Now, this is what I call real hospitality," said the ex-boarder, warmly +grasping my hand. I could not help agreeing with him. + +As we walked home, I happened to look back and saw old John going over +the fields toward the camp, carrying a little tin-pail and a water +bucket. + +The next day, toward evening, a storm set in, and at the hour fixed for +our dinner, the rain was pouring down in such torrents that we did not +expect our guests. After dinner the rain ceased, and as we supposed that +they might not have made any preparations for a meal, Euphemia packed up +some dinner for them in a basket, and I took it down to the camp. + +They were glad to see me, and said they had a splendid time all day. +They were up before sunrise, and had explored, tramped, boated, and I +don't know what else. + +My basket was very acceptable, and I would have stayed awhile with them, +but as they were obliged to eat in the tent, there was no place for me +to sit, it being too wet outside, and so I soon came away. + +We were in doubt whether or not to tell our friends the true history +of the camp. I thought that it was not right to keep up the deception, +while Euphemia declared that if they were sensitive people, they would +feel very badly at having broken up our plans by their visit, and then +having appropriated our camp to themselves. She thought it would be the +part of magnanimity to say nothing about it. + +I could not help seeing a good deal of force in her arguments, although +I wished very much to set the thing straight, and we discussed the +matter again as we walked down to the camp, after breakfast next +morning. + +There we found old John sitting on a stump. He said nothing, but handed +me a note written in lead-pencil on a card. It was from our ex-boarder, +and informed me that early that morning he had found that there was a +tug lying in the river, which would soon start for the city. He also +found that he could get passage on her for his party, and as this was +such a splendid chance to go home without the bother of getting up to +the station, he had just bundled his family and his valise on board, and +was very sorry they did not have time to come up and bid us good-bye. +The tent he left in charge of a very respectable man, from whom he had +had supplies. + +That morning I had the camp-equipage packed up and expressed to its +owner. We did not care to camp out any more that season, but thought it +would be better to spend the rest of my vacation at the sea-shore. + +Our ex-boarder wrote to us that he and his wife were anxious that we +should return their visit during my holidays; but as we did not see +exactly how we could return a visit of the kind, we did not try to do +it. + + + +CHAPTER XII. LORD EDWARD AND THE TREE-MAN. + + +It was winter at Rudder Grange. The season was the same at other places, +but that fact did not particularly interest Euphemia and myself. It was +winter with us, and we were ready for it. That was the great point, +and it made us proud to think that we had not been taken unawares, +notwithstanding the many things that were to be thought of on a little +farm like ours. + +It is true that we had always been prepared for winter, wherever we had +lived; but this was a different case. In other days it did not matter +much whether we were ready or not; but now our house, our cow, our +poultry, and indeed ourselves, might have suffered,--there is no way +of finding out exactly how much,--if we had not made all possible +preparations for the coming of cold weather. + +But there was a great deal yet to be thought of and planned out, +although we were ready for winter. The next thing to think of was +spring. + +We laid out the farm. We decided where we would have wheat, corn, +potatoes, and oats. We would have a man by the day to sow and reap. The +intermediate processes I thought I could attend to myself. + +Everything was talked over, ciphered over, and freely discussed by +my wife and myself, except one matter, which I planned and worked out +alone, doing most of the necessary calculations at the office, so as not +to excite Euphemia's curiosity. + +I had determined to buy a horse. This would be one of the most important +events of our married life, and it demanded a great deal of thought, +which I gave it. + +The horse was chosen for me by a friend. He was an excellent beast (the +horse), excelling, as my friend told me, in muscle and wit. Nothing +better than this could be said about a horse. He was a sorrel animal, +quite handsome, gentle enough for Euphemia to drive, and not too +high-minded to do a little farm-work, if necessary. He was exactly the +animal I needed. + +The carriage was not quite such a success. The horse having cost a good +deal more than I expected to pay, I found that I could only afford a +second-hand carriage. I bought a good, serviceable vehicle, which would +hold four persons, if necessary, and there was room enough to pack all +sorts of parcels and baskets. It was with great satisfaction that +I contemplated this feature of the carriage, which was a rather +rusty-looking affair, although sound and strong enough. The harness was +new, and set off the horse admirably. + +On the afternoon when my purchases were completed, I did not come home +by the train. I drove home in my own carriage, drawn by my own horse! +The ten miles' drive was over a smooth road, and the sorrel traveled +splendidly. If I had been a line of kings a mile long, all in their +chariots of state, with gold and silver, and outriders, and music, and +banners waving in the wind, I could not have been prouder than when I +drew up in front of my house. + +There was a wagon-gate at one side of the front fence which had never +been used except by the men who brought coal, and I got out and opened +this, very quietly, so as not to attract the attention of Euphemia. It +was earlier than I usually returned, and she would not be expecting +me. I was then about to lead the horse up a somewhat grass-grown +carriage-way to the front door, but I reflected that Euphemia might be +looking out of some of the windows and I had better drive up. So I got +in and drove very slowly to the door. + +However, she heard the unaccustomed noise of wheels, and looked out of +the parlor window. She did not see me, but immediately came around +to the door. I hurried out of the carriage so quickly that, not being +familiar with the steps, I barely escaped tripping. + +When she opened the front door she was surprised to see me standing by +the horse. + +"Have you hired a carriage?" she cried. "Are we going to ride?" + +"My dear," said I, as I took her by the hand, "we are going to ride. But +I have not hired a carriage. I have bought one. Do you see this horse? +He is ours--our own horse." + +If you could have seen the face that was turned up to me,--all you other +men in the world,--you would have torn your hair in despair. + +Afterward she went around and around that horse; she patted his smooth +sides; she looked, with admiration, at his strong, well-formed legs; she +stroked his head; she smoothed his mane; she was brimful of joy. + +When I had brought the horse some water in a bucket--and what a pleasure +it was to water one's own horse!--Euphemia rushed into the house and got +her hat and cloak, and we took a little drive. + +I doubt if any horse ever drew two happier people. Euphemia said but +little about the carriage. That was a necessary adjunct, and it was good +enough for the present. But the horse! How nobly and with what vigor +he pulled us up the hills and how carefully and strongly he held the +carriage back as we went down! How easily he trotted over the level +road, caring nothing for the ten miles he had gone that afternoon! What +a sensation of power it gave us to think that all that strength and +speed and endurance was ours, that it would go where we wished, that it +would wait for us as long as we chose, that it was at our service day +and night, that it was a horse, and we owned it! + +When we returned, Pomona saw us drive in,--she had not known of our +ride,--and when she heard the news she was as wild with proud delight as +anybody. She wanted to unharness him, but this I could not allow. We did +not wish to be selfish, but after she had seen and heard what we thought +was enough for her, we were obliged to send her back to the kitchen for +the sake of the dinner. + +Then we unharnessed him. I say we, for Euphemia stood by and I explained +everything, for some day, she said, she might want to do it herself. +Then I led him into the stable. How nobly he trod, and how finely his +hoofs sounded on the stable floor! + +There was hay in the mow and I had brought a bag of oats under the seat +of the carriage. + +"Isn't it just delightful," said Euphemia, "that we haven't any man? +If we had a man he would take the horse at the door, and we should be +deprived of all this. It wouldn't be half like owning a horse." + +In the morning I drove down to the station, Euphemia by my side. She +drove back and Old John came up and attended to the horse. This he was +to do, for the present, for a small stipend. In the afternoon Euphemia +came down after me. How I enjoyed those rides! Before this I had thought +it ever so much more pleasant and healthful to walk to and from the +station than to ride, but then I did not own a horse. At night I +attended to everything, Euphemia generally following me about the stable +with a lantern. When the days grew longer we would have delightful rides +after dinner, and even now we planned to have early breakfasts, and go +to the station by the longest possible way. + +One day, in the following spring, I was riding home from the station +with Euphemia,--we seldom took pleasure-drives now, we were so busy +on the place,--and as we reached the house I heard the dog barking +savagely. He was loose in the little orchard by the side of the house. +As I drove in, Pomona came running to the carriage. + +"Man up the tree!" she shouted. + +I helped Euphemia out, left the horse standing by the door, and ran to +the dog, followed by my wife and Pomona. Sure enough, there was a man +up the tree, and Lord Edward was doing his best to get at him, springing +wildly at the tree and fairly shaking with rage. + +I looked up at the man, he was a thoroughbred tramp, burly, dirty, +generally unkempt, but, unlike most tramps, he looked very much +frightened. His position, on a high crotch of an apple-tree, was not +altogether comfortable, and although, for the present, it was safe, the +fellow seemed to have a wavering faith in the strength of apple-tree +branches, and the moment he saw me, he earnestly besought me to take +that dog away, and let him down. + +I made no answer, but turning to Pomona, I asked her what this all +meant. + +"Why, sir, you see," said she, "I was in the kitchen bakin' pies, and +this fellow must have got over the fence at the side of the house, for +the dog didn't see him, and the first thing I know'd he was stickin' his +head in the window, and he asked me to give him somethin' to eat. And +when I said I'd see in a minute if there was anything for him, he says +to me, 'Gim me a piece of one of them pies,'--pies I'd just baked and +was settin' to cool on the kitchen table! 'No, sir,' says I, 'I'm +not goin' to cut one of them pies for you, or any one like you.' 'All +right!' says he. 'I'll come in and help myself.' He must have known +there was no man about, and, comin' the way he did, he hadn't seen the +dog. So he come round to the kitchen door, but I shot out before he got +there and unchained Lord Edward. I guess he saw the dog, when he got to +the door, and at any rate he heard the chain clankin', and he didn't go +in, but just put for the gate. But Lord Edward was after him so quick +that he hadn't no time to go to no gates. It was all he could do to +scoot up this tree, and if he'd been a millionth part of a minute later +he'd 'a' been in another world by this time." + +The man, who had not attempted to interrupt Pomona's speech, now began +again to implore me to let him down, while Euphemia looked pitifully at +him, and was about, I think, to intercede with me in his favor, but my +attention was drawn off from her, by the strange conduct of the dog. +Believing, I suppose, that he might leave the tramp for a moment, now +that I had arrived, he had dashed away to another tree, where he was +barking furiously, standing on his hind legs and clawing at the trunk. + +"What's the matter over there?" I asked. + +"Oh, that's the other fellow," said Pomona. "He's no harm." And then, +as the tramp made a movement as if he would try to come down, and make +a rush for safety, during the absence of the dog, she called out, "Here, +boy! here, boy!" and in an instant Lord Edward was again raging at his +post, at the foot of the apple-tree. + +I was grievously puzzled at all this, and walked over to the other tree, +followed, as before, by Euphemia and Pomona. + +"This one," said the latter, "is a tree-man--" + +"I should think so," said I, as I caught sight of a person in gray +trowsers standing among the branches of a cherry-tree not very far from +the kitchen door. The tree was not a large one, and the branches were +not strong enough to allow him to sit down on them, although they +supported him well enough, as he stood close to the trunk just out of +reach of Lord Edward. + +"This is a very unpleasant position, sir," said he, when I reached +the tree. "I simply came into your yard, on a matter of business, and +finding that raging beast attacking a person in a tree, I had barely +time to get up into this tree myself, before he dashed at me. Luckily +I was out of his reach; but I very much fear I have lost some of my +property." + +"No, he hasn't," said Pomona. "It was a big book he dropped. I picked +it up and took it into the house. It's full of pictures of pears and +peaches and flowers. I've been lookin' at it. That's how I knew what he +was. And there was no call for his gittin' up a tree. Lord Edward never +would have gone after him if he hadn't run as if he had guilt on his +soul." + +"I suppose, then," said I, addressing the individual in the cherry-tree, +"that you came here to sell me some trees." + +"Yes, sir," said he quickly, "trees, shrubs, vines, +evergreens,--everything suitable for a gentleman's country villa. I +can sell you something quite remarkable, sir, in the way of +cherry-trees,--French ones, just imported; bear fruit three times +the size of anything that could be produced on a tree like this. And +pears--fruit of the finest flavor and enormous size--" + +"Yes," said Pomona. "I seen them in the book. But they must grow on a +ground-vine. No tree couldn't hold such pears as them." + +Here Euphemia reproved Pomona's forwardness, and I invited the +tree-agent to get down out of the tree. + +"Thank you," said he; "but not while that dog is loose. If you will +kindly chain him up, I will get my book, and show you specimens of some +of the finest small fruit in the world, all imported from the first +nurseries of Europe--the Red-gold Amber Muscat grape,--the--" + +"Oh, please let him down!" said Euphemia, her eyes beginning to sparkle. + +I slowly walked toward the tramp-tree, revolving various matters in my +mind. We had not spent much money on the place during the winter, and +we now had a small sum which we intended to use for the advantage of the +farm, but had not yet decided what to do with it. It behooved me to be +careful. + +I told Pomona to run and get me the dog-chain, and I stood under the +tree, listening, as well as I could, to the tree-agent talking to +Euphemia, and paying no attention to the impassioned entreaties of the +tramp in the crotch above me. When the chain was brought, I hooked one +end of it in Lord Edward's collar, and then I took a firm grasp of the +other. Telling Pomona to bring the tree-agent's book from the house, I +called to that individual to get down from his tree. He promptly obeyed, +and taking the book from Pomona, began to show the pictures to Euphemia. + +"You had better hurry, sir," I called out. "I can't hold this dog very +long." And, indeed, Lord Edward had made a run toward the agent, which +jerked me very forcibly in his direction. But a movement by the tramp +had quickly brought the dog back to his more desired victim. + +"If you will just tie up that dog, sir," said the agent, "and come this +way, I would like to show you the Meltinagua pear,--dissolves in the +mouth like snow, sir; trees will bear next year." + +"Oh, come look at the Royal Sparkling Ruby grape!" cried Euphemia. "It +glows in the sun like a gem." + +"Yes," said the agent, "and fills the air with fragrance during the +whole month of September--" + +"I tell you," I shouted, "I can't hold this dog another minute! The +chain is cutting the skin off my hands. Run, sir, run! I'm going to let +go!" + +"Run! run!" cried Pomona. "Fly for your life!" + +The agent now began to be frightened, and shut up his book. + +"If you only could see the plates, sir, I'm sure--" + +"Are you ready?" I cried, as the dog, excited by Pomona's wild shouts, +made a bolt in his direction. + +"Good-day, if I must--" said the agent, as he hurried to the gate. But +there he stopped. + +"There is nothing, sir," he said, "that would so improve your place as +a row of the Spitzenberg Sweet-scented Balsam fir along this fence. I'll +sell you three-year-old trees--" + +"He's loose!" I shouted, as I dropped the chain. + +In a second the agent was on the other side of the gate. Lord Edward +made a dash toward him; but, stopping suddenly, flew back to the tree of +the tramp. + +"If you should conclude, sir," said the tree-agent, looking over the +fence, "to have a row of those firs along here--" + +"My good sir," said I, "there is no row of firs there now, and the fence +is not very high. My dog, as you see, is very much excited and I cannot +answer for the consequences if he takes it into his head to jump over." + +The tree-agent turned and walked slowly away. + +"Now, look-a-here," cried the tramp from the tree, in the voice of a +very ill-used person, "ain't you goin' to fasten up that dog, and let me +git down?" + +I walked up close to the tree and addressed him. + +"No," said I, "I am not. When a man comes to my place, bullies a young +girl who was about to relieve his hunger, and then boldly determines +to enter my house and help himself to my property, I don't propose to +fasten up any dog that may happen to be after him. If I had another dog, +I'd let him loose, and give this faithful beast a rest. You can do as +you please. You can come down and have it out with the dog, or you can +stay up there, until I have had my dinner. Then I will drive down to the +village and bring up the constable, and deliver you into his hands. We +want no such fellows as you about." + +With that, I unhooked the chain from Lord Edward, and walked off to put +up the horse. The man shouted after me, but I paid no attention. I did +not feel in a good humor with him. + +Euphemia was much disturbed by the various occurrences of the afternoon. +She was sorry for the man in the tree; she was sorry that the agent for +the Royal Ruby grape had been obliged to go away; and I had a good deal +of trouble during dinner to make her see things in the proper light. But +I succeeded at last. + +I did not hurry through dinner, and when we had finished I went to my +work at the barn. Tramps are not generally pressed for time, and Pomona +had been told to give our captive something to eat. + +I was just locking the door of the carriage-house, when Pomona came +running to me to tell me that the tramp wanted to see me about something +very important--just a minute, he said. I put the key in my pocket and +walked over to the tree. It was now almost dark, but I could see that +the dog, the tramp, and the tree still kept their respective places. + +"Look-a-here," said the individual in the crotch, "you don't know how +dreadful oneasy these limbs gits after you've been settin up here +as long as I have. And I don't want to have nuthin to do with no +constables. I'll tell you what I'll do if you'll chain up that dog, and +let me go, I'll fix things so that you'll not be troubled no more by no +tramps." + +"How will you do that?" I asked. + +"Oh, never you mind," said he. "I'll give you my word of honor I'll do +it. There's a reg'lar understandin' among us fellers, you know." + +I considered the matter. The word of honor of a fellow such as he was +could not be worth much, but the merest chance of getting rid of +tramps should not be neglected. I went in to talk to Euphemia about it, +although I knew what she would say. I reasoned with myself as much as +with her. + +"If we put this one fellow in prison for a few weeks," I said, "the +benefit is not very great. If we are freed from all tramps, for the +season, the benefit is very great. Shall we try for the greatest good?" + +"Certainly," said Euphemia; "and his legs must be dreadfully stiff." + +So I went out, and after a struggle of some minutes, I chained Lord +Edward to a post at a little distance from the apple-tree. When he was +secure, the tramp descended nimbly from his perch, notwithstanding his +stiff legs, and hurried out of the gate. He stopped to make no remarks +over the fence. With a wild howl of disappointed ambition, Lord Edward +threw himself after him. But the chain held. + +A lane of moderate length led from our house to the main road, and the +next day, as we were riding home, I noticed, on the trunk of a large +tree, which stood at the corner of the lane and road, a curious mark. I +drew up to see what it was, but we could not make it out. It was a very +rude device, cut deeply into the tree, and somewhat resembled a square, +a circle, a triangle, and a cross, with some smaller marks beneath it. I +felt sure that our tramp had cut it, and that it had some significance, +which would be understood by the members of his fraternity. + +And it must have had, for no tramps came near us all that summer. We +were visited by a needy person now and then, but by no member of the +regular army of tramps. + +One afternoon, that fall, I walked home, and at the corner of the lane +I saw a tramp looking up at the mark on the tree, which was still quite +distinct. + +"What does that mean?" I said, stepping up to him. + +"How do I know?" said the man, "and what do you want to know fur?" + +"Just out of curiosity," I said; "I have often noticed it. I think +you can tell me what it means, and if you will do so, I'll give you a +dollar." + +"And keep mum about it?" said the man. + +"Yes," I replied, taking out the dollar. + +"All right!" said the tramp. "That sign means that the man that lives up +this lane is a mean, stingy cuss, with a wicked dog, and it's no good to +go there." + +I handed him the dollar and went away, perfectly satisfied with my +reputation. + +I wish here to make some mention of Euphemia's methods of work in her +chicken-yard. She kept a book, which she at first called her "Fowl +Record," but she afterward changed the name to "Poultry Register." I +never could thoroughly understand this book, although she has often +explained every part of it to me. She had pages for registering the age, +description, time of purchase or of birth, and subsequent performances +of every fowl in her yard. She had divisions of the book for expenses, +profits, probable losses and positive losses; she noted the number of +eggs put under each setting hen; the number of eggs cracked per day, the +number spoiled, and finally, the number hatched. Each chick, on emerging +from its shell, was registered, and an account kept of its subsequent +life and adventures. There were frequent calculations regarding the +advantages of various methods of treatment, and there were statements of +the results of a great many experiments--something like this: "Set Toppy +and her sister Pinky, April 2nd 187-; Toppy with twelve eggs,--three +Brahma, four common, and five Leghorn; Pinky with thirteen eggs (as she +weighs four ounces more than her sister), of which three were Leghorn, +five common, and five Brahma. During the twenty-second and twenty-third +of April (same year) Toppy hatched out four Brahmas, two commons, and +three Leghorns, while her sister, on these days and the morning of the +day following, hatched two Leghorns, six commons, and only one Brahma. +Now, could Toppy, who had only three Brahma eggs, and hatched out four +of that breed, have exchanged eggs with her sister, thus making it +possible for her to hatch out six common chickens, when she only had +five eggs of that kind? Or, did the eggs get mixed up in some way before +going into the possession of the hens? Look into probabilities." + +These probabilities must have puzzled Euphemia a great deal, but +they never disturbed her equanimity. She was always as tranquil and +good-humored about her poultry-yard as if every hen laid an egg every +day, and a hen-chick was hatched out of every egg. + +For it may be remembered that the principle underlying Euphemia's +management of her poultry was what might be designated as the +"cumulative hatch." That is, she wished every chicken hatched in her +yard to become the mother of a brood of her own during the year, and +every one of this brood to raise another brood the next year, and so on, +in a kind of geometrical progression. This plan called for a great many +mother-fowls, and so Euphemia based her highest hopes on a great annual +preponderance of hens. + +We ate a good many young roosters that fall, for Euphemia would not +allow all the products of her yard to go to market, and, also, a great +many eggs and fowls were sold. She had not contented herself with her +original stock of poultry, but had bought fowls during the winter, and +she certainly had extraordinary good luck, or else her extraordinary +system worked extraordinarily well. + + + +CHAPTER XIII. POMONA'S NOVEL. + + +It was in the latter part of August of that year that it became +necessary for some one in the office in which I was engaged to go to St. +Louis to attend to important business. Everything seemed to point to me +as the fit person, for I understood the particular business better than +any one else. I felt that I ought to go, but I did not altogether like +to do it. I went home, and Euphemia and I talked over the matter far +into the regulation sleeping-hours. + +There were very good reasons why we should go (for, of course, I would +not think of taking such a journey without Euphemia). In the first +place, it would be of advantage to me, in my business connection, to +take the trip, and then it would be such a charming journey for us. We +had never been west of the Alleghanies, and nearly all the country we +would see would be new to us. We would come home by the great lakes +and Niagara, and the prospect was delightful to both of us. But then +we would have to leave Rudder Grange for at least three weeks, and how +could we do that? + +This was indeed a difficult question to answer. Who could take care of +our garden, our poultry, our horse and cow, and all their complicated +belongings? The garden was in admirable condition. Our vegetables +were coming in every day in just that fresh and satisfactory +condition--altogether unknown to people who buy vegetables--for which +I had labored so faithfully, and about which I had had so many cheerful +anticipations. As to Euphemia's chicken-yard,--with Euphemia away,--the +subject was too great for us. We did not even discuss it. But we would +give up all the pleasures of our home for the chance of this most +desirable excursion, if we could but think of some one who would come +and take care of the place while we were gone. Rudder Grange could not +run itself for three weeks. + +We thought of every available person. Old John would not do. We did not +feel that we could trust him. We thought of several of our friends; +but there was, in both our minds, a certain shrinking from the idea of +handing over the place to any of them for such a length of time. For my +part, I said, I would rather leave Pomona in charge than any one else; +but, then, Pomona was young and a girl. Euphemia agreed with me that she +would rather trust her than any one else, but she also agreed in +regard to the disqualifications. So, when I went to the office the next +morning, we had fully determined to go on the trip, if we could find +some one to take charge of our place while we were gone. When I returned +from the office in the afternoon, I had agreed to go to St. Louis. By +this time, I had no choice in the matter, unless I wished to interfere +very much with my own interests. We were to start in two days. If in +that time we could get any one to stay at the place, very well; if not, +Pomona must assume the charge. We were not able to get any one, and +Pomona did assume the charge. It is surprising how greatly relieved we +felt when we were obliged to come to this conclusion. The arrangement +was exactly what we wanted, and now that there was no help for it, our +consciences were easy. + +We felt sure that there would be no danger to Pomona. Lord Edward would +be with her, and she was a young person who was extraordinarily well +able to take care of herself. Old John would be within call in case she +needed him, and I borrowed a bull-dog to be kept in the house at night. +Pomona herself was more than satisfied with the plan. + +We made out, the night before we left, a long and minute series of +directions for her guidance in household, garden and farm matters, and +directed her to keep a careful record of everything note worthy that +might occur. She was fully supplied with all the necessaries of life, +and it has seldom happened that a young girl has been left in such a +responsible and independent position as that in which we left Pomona. +She was very proud of it. + +Our journey was ten times more delightful than we had expected it would +be, and successful in every way; and yet, although we enjoyed every hour +of the trip, we were no sooner fairly on our way home than we became so +wildly anxious to get there, that we reached Rudder Grange on Wednesday, +whereas we had written that we would be home on Thursday. We arrived +early in the afternoon and walked up from the station, leaving our +baggage to be sent in the express wagon. As we approached our dear home, +we wanted to run, we were so eager to see it. + +There it was, the same as ever. I lifted the gate-latch; the gate was +locked. We ran to the carriage-gate; that was locked too. Just then I +noticed a placard on the fence; it was not printed, but the lettering +was large, apparently made with ink and a brush. It read: + + + TO BE SOLD + + For TAXES. + + +We stood and looked at each other. Euphemia turned pale. + +"What does this mean?" said I. "Has our landlord--" + +I could say no more. The dreadful thought arose that the place might +pass away from us. We were not yet ready to buy it. But I did not put +the thought in words. There was a field next to our lot, and I got over +the fence and helped Euphemia over. Then we climbed our side-fence. This +was more difficult, but we accomplished it without thinking much about +its difficulties; our hearts were too full of painful apprehensions. +I hurried to the front door; it was locked. All the lower windows +were shut. We went around to the kitchen. What surprised us more than +anything else was the absence of Lord Edward. Had HE been sold? + +Before we reached the back part of the house, Euphemia said she felt +faint and must sit down. I led her to a tree near by, under which I had +made a rustic chair. The chair was gone. She sat on the grass and I ran +to the pump for some water. I looked for the bright tin dipper which +always hung by the pump. It was not there. But I had a traveling-cup in +my pocket, and as I was taking it out I looked around me. There was an +air of bareness over everything. I did not know what it all meant, but +I know that my hand trembled as I took hold of the pump-handle and began +to pump. + +At the first sound of the pump-handle I heard a deep bark in the +direction of the barn, and then furiously around the corner came Lord +Edward. Before I had filled the cup he was bounding about me. I believe +the glad welcome of the dog did more to revive Euphemia than the water. +He was delighted to see us, and in a moment up came Pomona, running from +the barn. Her face was radiant, too. We felt relieved. Here were two +friends who looked as if they were neither sold nor ruined. + +Pomona quickly saw that we were ill at ease, and before I could put a +question to her, she divined the cause. Her countenance fell. + +"You know," said she, "you said you wasn't comin' till to-morrow. If +you only HAD come then--I was goin' to have everything just exactly +right--an' now you had to climb in--" + +And the poor girl looked as if she might cry, which would have been a +wonderful thing for Pomona to do. + +"Tell me one thing," said I. "What about--those taxes?" + +"Oh, that's all right," she cried. "Don't think another minute about +that. I'll tell you all about it soon. But come in first, and I'll get +you some lunch in a minute." + +We were somewhat relieved by Pomona's statement that it was "all right" +in regard to the tax-poster, but we were very anxious to know all +about the matter. Pomona, however, gave us little chance to ask her any +questions. As soon as she had made ready our lunch, she asked us, as a +particular favor, to give her three-quarters of an hour to herself, +and then, said she, "I'll have everything looking just as if it was +to-morrow." + +We respected her feelings, for, of course, it was a great disappointment +to her to be taken thus unawares, and we remained in the dining-room +until she appeared, and announced that she was ready for us to go about. +We availed ourselves quickly of the privilege, and Euphemia hurried to +the chicken-yard, while I bent my steps toward the garden and barn. As +I went out I noticed that the rustic chair was in its place, and passing +the pump I looked for the dipper. It was there. I asked Pomona about the +chair, but she did not answer as quickly as was her habit. + +"Would you rather," said she, "hear it all together, when you come in, +or have it in little bits, head and tail, all of a jumble?" + +I called to Euphemia and asked her what she thought, and she was so +anxious to get to her chickens that she said she would much rather wait +and hear it all together. We found everything in perfect order,--the +garden was even free from weeds, a thing I had not expected. If it had +not been for that cloud on the front fence, I should have been happy +enough. Pomona had said it was all right, but she could not have paid +the taxes--however, I would wait; and I went to the barn. + +When Euphemia came in from the poultry-yard, she called me and said she +was in a hurry to hear Pomona's account of things. So I went in, and we +sat on the side porch, where it was shady, while Pomona, producing some +sheets of foolscap paper, took her seat on the upper step. + +"I wrote down the things of any account what happened," said she, "as +you told me to, and while I was about it, I thought I'd make it like a +novel. It would be jus' as true, and p'r'aps more amusin'. I suppose you +don't mind?" + +No, we didn't mind. So she went on. + +"I haven't got no name for my novel. I intended to think one out +to-night. I wrote this all of nights. And I don't read the first +chapters, for they tell about my birth and my parentage and my early +adventures. I'll just come down to what happened to me while you was +away, because you'll be more anxious to hear about that. All that's +written here is true, jus' the same as if I told it to you, but I've put +it into novel language because it seems to come easier to me." + +And then, in a voice somewhat different from her ordinary tones, as if +the "novel language" demanded it, she began to read: + +"Chapter Five. The Lonely house and the Faithful friend. Thus was I left +alone. None but two dogs to keep me com-pa-ny. I milk-ed the lowing kine +and water-ed and fed the steed, and then, after my fru-gal repast, I +clos-ed the man-si-on, shutting out all re-collections of the past and +also foresights into the future. That night was a me-mor-able one. I +slept soundly until the break of morn, but had the events transpired +which afterward occur-red, what would have hap-pen-ed to me no tongue +can tell. Early the next day nothing hap-pened. Soon after breakfast, +the vener-able John came to bor-row some ker-osene oil and a half +a pound of sugar, but his attempt was foil-ed. I knew too well the +in-sid-ious foe. In the very out-set of his vil-li-an-y I sent him +home with a empty can. For two long days I wander-ed amid the ver-dant +pathways of the gar-den and to the barn, whenever and anon my du-ty +call-ed me, nor did I ere neg-lect the fowlery. No cloud o'er-spread +this happy pe-ri-od of my life. But the cloud was ri-sing in the horizon +although I saw it not. + +"It was about twenty-five minutes after eleven, on the morning of a +Thursday, that I sat pondering in my mind the ques-ti-on what to do with +the butter and the veg-et-ables. Here was butter, and here was green +corn and lima-beans and trophy tomats, far more than I ere could use. +And here was a horse, idly cropping the fol-i-age in the field, for as +my employer had advis-ed and order-ed I had put the steed to grass. And +here was a wagon, none too new, which had it the top taken off, or even +the curtains roll-ed up, would do for a li-cen-ced vender. With the +truck and butter, and mayhap some milk, I could load that wagon--" + +"O, Pomona," interrupted Euphemia. "You don't mean to say that you were +thinking of doing anything like that?" + +"Well, I was just beginning to think of it," said Pomona, "but of course +I couldn't have gone away and left the house. And you'll see I didn't do +it." And then she continued her novel. "But while my thoughts were thus +employ-ed, I heard Lord Edward burst into bark-ter--" + +At this Euphemia and I could not help bursting into laughter. Pomona did +not seem at all confused, but went on with her reading. + +"I hurried to the door, and, look-ing out, I saw a wagon at the gate. +Re-pair-ing there, I saw a man. Said he, 'Wilt open this gate?' I had +fasten-ed up the gates and remov-ed every steal-able ar-ticle from the +yard." + +Euphemia and I looked at each other. This explained the absence of the +rustic seat and the dipper. + +"Thus, with my mind at ease, I could let my faith-ful fri-end, the dog +(for he it was), roam with me through the grounds, while the fi-erce +bull-dog guard-ed the man-si-on within. Then said I, quite bold, unto +him, 'No. I let in no man here. My em-ploy-er and employ-er-ess are now +from home. What do you want?' Then says he, as bold as brass, 'I've +come to put the light-en-ing rods upon the house. Open the gate.' 'What +rods?' says I. 'The rods as was ordered,' says he, 'open the gate.' I +stood and gaz-ed at him. Full well I saw through his pinch-beck mask. I +knew his tricks. In the ab-sence of my em-ployer, he would put up rods, +and ever so many more than was wanted, and likely, too, some miser-able +trash that would attrack the light-ening, instead of keep-ing it off. +Then, as it would spoil the house to take them down, they would be kept, +and pay demand-ed. 'No, sir,' says I. 'No light-en-ing rods upon this +house whilst I stand here,' and with that I walk-ed away, and let Lord +Edward loose. The man he storm-ed with pas-si-on. His eyes flash-ed +fire. He would e'en have scal-ed the gate, but when he saw the dog he +did forbear. As it was then near noon, I strode away to feed the fowls; +but when I did return, I saw a sight which froze the blood with-in my +veins--" + +"The dog didn't kill him?" cried Euphemia. + +"Oh no, ma'am!" said Pomona. "You'll see that that wasn't it. At one +corn-er of the lot, in front, a base boy, who had accompa-ni-ed this +man, was bang-ing on the fence with a long stick, and thus attrack-ing +to hisself the rage of Lord Edward, while the vile intrig-er of a +light-en-ing rod-der had brought a lad-der to the other side of the +house, up which he had now as-cend-ed, and was on the roof. What horrors +fill-ed my soul! How my form trembl-ed! This," continued Pomona, "is the +end of the novel," and she laid her foolscap pages on the porch. + +Euphemia and I exclaimed, with one voice, against this. We had just +reached the most exciting part, and, I added, we had heard nothing yet +about that affair of the taxes. + +"You see, sir," said Pomona, "it took me so long to write out the +chapters about my birth, my parentage, and my early adventures, that +I hadn't time to finish up the rest. But I can tell you what happened +after that jus' as well as if I had writ it out." And so she went on, +much more glibly than before, with the account of the doings of the +lightning-rod man. + +"There was that wretch on top of the house, a-fixin' his old rods and +hammerin' away for dear life. He'd brought his ladder over the side +fence, where the dog, a-barkin' and plungin' at the boy outside, +couldn't see him. I stood dumb for a minute, an' then I know'd I had +him. I rushed into the house, got a piece of well-rope, tied it to the +bull-dog's collar, an' dragged him out and fastened him to the bottom +rung of the ladder. Then I walks over to the front fence with Lord +Edward's chain, for I knew that if he got at that bull-dog there'd be +times, for they'd never been allowed to see each other yet. So says I to +the boy, 'I'm goin' to tie up the dog, so you needn't be afraid of his +jumpin' over the fence,'--which he couldn't do, or the boy would have +been a corpse for twenty minutes, or may be half an hour. The boy kinder +laughed, and said I needn't mind, which I didn't. Then I went to the +gate, and I clicked to the horse which was standin' there, an' off +he starts, as good as gold, an' trots down the road. The boy, he said +somethin' or other pretty bad, an' away he goes after him; but the horse +was a-trottin' real fast, an' had a good start." + +"How on earth could you ever think of doing such things?" said +Euphemia. "That horse might have upset the wagon and broken all the +lightning-rods, besides running over I don't know how many people." + +"But you see, ma'am, that wasn't my lookout," said Pomona. "I was +a-defendin' the house, and the enemy must expect to have things happen +to him. So then I hears an awful row on the roof, and there was the man +just coming down the ladder. He'd heard the horse go off, and when +he got about half-way down an' caught a sight of the bull-dog, he was +madder than ever you seed a lightnin'-rodder in all your born days. +'Take that dog off of there!' he yelled at me. 'No, I wont, says I. 'I +never see a girl like you since I was born,' he screams at me. 'I guess +it would 'a' been better fur you if you had,' says I; an' then he was +so mad he couldn't stand it any longer, and he comes down as low as he +could, and when he saw just how long the rope was,--which was pretty +short,--he made a jump, and landed clear of the dog. Then he went on +dreadful because he couldn't get at his ladder to take it away; and I +wouldn't untie the dog, because if I had he'd 'a' torn the tendons out +of that fellow's legs in no time. I never see a dog in such a boiling +passion, and yet never making no sound at all but blood-curdlin' grunts. +An' I don't see how the rodder would 'a' got his ladder at all if the +dog hadn't made an awful jump at him, and jerked the ladder down. It +just missed your geranium-bed, and the rodder, he ran to the other end +of it, and began pullin' it away, dog an' all. 'Look-a-here,' says I, +'we can fix him now; and so he cooled down enough to help me, and I +unlocked the front door, and we pushed the bottom end of the ladder +in, dog and all; an' then I shut the door as tight as it would go, an' +untied the end of the rope, an' the rodder pulled the ladder out while I +held the door to keep the dog from follerin', which he came pretty near +doin', anyway. But I locked him in, and then the man began stormin' +again about his wagon; but when he looked out an' see the boy comin' +back with it,--for somebody must 'a' stopped the horse,--he stopped +stormin' and went to put up his ladder ag'in. 'No, you don't,' says I; +'I'll let the big dog loose next time, and if I put him at the foot of +your ladder, you'll never come down.' 'But I want to go and take down +what I put up,' he says; 'I aint a-goin' on with this job.' 'No,' says +I, 'you aint; and you can't go up there to wrench off them rods and make +rain-holes in the roof, neither.' He couldn't get no madder than he was +then, an' fur a minute or two he couldn't speak, an' then he says, 'I'll +have satisfaction for this.' An' says I, 'How? 'An' says he, 'You'll see +what it is to interfere with a ordered job.' An' says I, 'There wasn't +no order about it;' an' says he, 'I'll show you better than that;' an' +he goes to his wagon an' gits a book. 'There,' says he, 'read that.' +'What of it? 'says I 'there's nobody of the name of Ball lives here.' +That took the man kinder aback, and he said he was told it was the only +house on the lane, which I said was right, only it was the next lane he +oughter 'a' gone to. He said no more after that, but just put his ladder +in his wagon, and went off. But I was not altogether rid of him. He left +a trail of his baleful presence behind him. + +"That horrid bull-dog wouldn't let me come into the house! No matter +what door I tried, there he was, just foamin' mad. I let him stay till +nearly night, and then went and spoke kind to him; but it was no good. +He'd got an awful spite ag'in me. I found something to eat down cellar, +and I made a fire outside an' roasted some corn and potatoes. That night +I slep' in the barn. I wasn't afraid to be away from the house, for I +knew it was safe enough, with that dog in it and Lord Edward outside. +For three days, Sunday an' all, I was kep' out of this here house. I got +along pretty well with the sleepin' and the eatin', but the drinkin' +was the worst. I couldn't get no coffee or tea; but there was plenty of +milk." + +"Why didn't you get some man to come and attend to the dog?" I asked. +"It was dreadful to live that way." + +"Well, I didn't know no man that could do it," said Pomona. "The dog +would 'a' been too much for Old John, and besides, he was mad about the +kerosene. Sunday afternoon, Captain Atkinson and Mrs. Atkinson and their +little girl in a push-wagon, come here, and I told 'em you was gone +away; but they says they would stop a minute, and could I give them a +drink; an' I had nothin' to give it to them but an old chicken-bowl that +I had washed out, for even the dipper was in the house, an' I told 'em +everything was locked up, which was true enough, though they must 'a' +thought you was a queer kind of people; but I wasn't a-goin' to say +nothin' about the dog, fur, to tell the truth, I was ashamed to do it. +So as soon as they'd gone, I went down into the cellar,--and it's lucky +that I had the key for the outside cellar door,--and I got a piece of +fat corn-beef and the meat-axe. I unlocked the kitchen door and went in, +with the axe in one hand and the meat in the other. The dog might take +his choice. I know'd he must be pretty nigh famished, for there was +nothin' that he could get at to eat. As soon as I went in, he came +runnin' to me; but I could see he was shaky on his legs. He looked a +sort of wicked at me, and then he grabbed the meat. He was all right +then." + +"Oh, my!" said Euphemia, "I am so glad to hear that. I was afraid you +never got in. But we saw the dog--is he as savage yet?" + +"Oh no!" said Pomona; "nothin' like it." + +"Look here, Pomona," said I, "I want to know about those taxes. When do +they come into your story?" + +"Pretty soon, sir," said she, and she went on: + +"After that, I know'd it wouldn't do to have them two dogs so that +they'd have to be tied up if they see each other. Just as like as not +I'd want them both at once, and then they'd go to fightin', and leave me +to settle with some blood-thirsty lightnin'-rodder. So, as I know'd if +they once had a fair fight and found out which was master, they'd be +good friends afterwards, I thought the best thing to do would be to let +'em fight it out, when there was nothin' else for 'em to do. So I fixed +up things for the combat." + +"Why, Pomona!" cried Euphemia, "I didn't think you were capable of such +a cruel thing." + +"It looks that way, ma'am, but really it aint," replied the girl. "It +seemed to me as if it would be a mercy to both of 'em to have the +thing settled. So I cleared away a place in front of the wood-shed and +unchained Lord Edward, and then I opened the kitchen door and called the +bull. Out he came, with his teeth a-showin', and his blood-shot eyes, +and his crooked front legs. Like lightnin' from the mount'in blast, he +made one bounce for the big dog, and oh! what a fight there was! They +rolled, they gnashed, they knocked over the wood-horse and sent chips +a-flyin' all ways at wonst. I thought Lord Edward would whip in a minute +or two; but he didn't, for the bull stuck to him like a burr, and they +was havin' it, ground and lofty, when I hears some one run up behind me, +and turnin' quick, there was the 'Piscopalian minister, 'My! my! my!' +he hollers; 'what a awful spectacle! Aint there no way of stoppin' it?' +'No, sir,' says I, and I told him how I didn't want to stop it, and the +reason why. Then says he, 'Where's your master?' and I told him how you +was away. 'Isn't there any man at all about?' says he. 'No,' says +I. 'Then,' says he, 'if there's nobody else to stop it, I must do it +myself.' An' he took off his coat. 'No,' says I, 'you keep back, sir. If +there's anybody to plunge into that erena, the blood be mine;' an' I +put my hand, without thinkin', ag'in his black shirt-bosom, to hold him +back; but he didn't notice, bein' so excited. 'Now,' says I, 'jist wait +one minute, and you'll see that bull's tail go between his legs. He's +weakenin'.' An' sure enough, Lord Edward got a good grab at him, and was +a-shakin' the very life out of him, when I run up and took Lord Edward +by the collar. 'Drop it!' says I, and he dropped it, for he know'd he'd +whipped, and he was pretty tired hisself. Then the bull-dog, he trotted +off with his tail a-hangin' down. 'Now, then,' says I, 'them dogs will +be bosom friends forever after this.' 'Ah me!' says he, 'I'm sorry +indeed that your employer, for who I've always had a great respect, +should allow you to get into such habits.' That made me feel real bad, +and I told him, mighty quick, that you was the last man in the world to +let me do anything like that, and that, if you'd 'a' been here, you'd +'a' separated them dogs, if they'd a-chawed your arms off; that you was +very particular about such things; and that it would be a pity if he was +to think you was a dog-fightin' gentleman, when I'd often heard you say +that, now you was fixed an' settled, the one thing you would like most +would be to be made a vestryman." + +I sat up straight in my chair. + +"Pomona!" I exclaimed, "you didn't tell him that?" + +"That's what I said, sir, for I wanted him to know what you really was; +an' he says, 'Well, well, I never knew that. It might be a very good +thing. I'll speak to some of the members about it. There's two vacancies +now in our vestry." + +I was crushed; but Euphemia tried to put the matter into the brightest +light. + +"Perhaps it may all turn out for the best," she said, "and you may be +elected, and that would be splendid. But it would be an awfully funny +thing for a dog-fight to make you a vestry-man." + +I could not talk on this subject. "Go on, Pomona," I said, trying to +feel resigned to my shame, "and tell us about that poster on the fence." + +"I'll be to that almost right away," she said. "It was two or three days +after the dog-fight that I was down at the barn, and happenin' to look +over to Old John's, I saw that tree-man there. He was a-showin' his +book to John, and him and his wife and all the young ones was a-standin' +there, drinkin' down them big peaches and pears as if they was all real. +I know'd he'd come here ag'in, for them fellers never gives you up; and +I didn't know how to keep him away, for I didn't want to let the dogs +loose on a man what, after all, didn't want to do no more harm than to +talk the life out of you. So I just happened to notice, as I came to the +house, how kind of desolate everything looked, and I thought perhaps +I might make it look worse, and he wouldn't care to deal here. So I +thought of puttin' up a poster like that, for nobody whose place was +a-goin' to be sold for taxes would be likely to want trees. So I run in +the house, and wrote it quick and put it up. And sure enough, the man he +come along soon, and when he looked at that paper, and tried the gate, +an' looked over the fence an' saw the house all shut up an' not a livin' +soul about,--for I had both the dogs in the house with me,--he shook his +head an' walked off, as much as to say, 'If that man had fixed his place +up proper with my trees, he wouldn't 'a' come to this!' An' then, as I +found the poster worked so good, I thought it might keep other people +from comin' a-botherin' around, and so I left it up; but I was a-goin' +to be sure and take it down before you came." + +As it was now pretty late in the afternoon, I proposed that Pomona +should postpone the rest of her narrative until evening. She said that +there was nothing else to tell that was very particular; and I did not +feel as if I could stand anything more just now, even if it was very +particular. + +When we were alone, I said to Euphemia: + +"If we ever have to go away from this place again--" + +"But we wont go away," she interrupted, looking up to me with as bright +a face as she ever had, "at least not for a long, long, long time to +come. And I'm so glad you're to be a vestryman." + + + +CHAPTER XIV. POMONA TAKES A BRIDAL TRIP. + + +Our life at Rudder Grange seemed to be in no way materially changed by +my becoming a vestryman. The cow gave about as much milk as before, and +the hens laid the usual number of eggs. Euphemia went to church with a +little more of an air, perhaps, but as the wardens were never absent, +and I was never, therefore, called upon to assist in taking up the +collection, her sense of my position was not inordinately manifested. + +For a year or two, indeed, there was no radical change in anything about +Rudder Grange, except in Pomona. In her there was a change. She grew up. + +She performed this feat quite suddenly. She was a young girl when she +first came to us, and we had never considered her as anything else, when +one evening she had a young man to see her. Then we knew she had grown +up. + +We made no objections to her visitors,--she had several, from time to +time,--"for," said Euphemia, "suppose my parents had objected to your +visits." I could not consider the mere possibility of anything like +this, and we gave Pomona all the ordinary opportunities for entertaining +her visitors. To tell the truth, I think we gave her more than the +ordinary opportunities. I know that Euphemia would wait on herself to +almost any extent, rather than call upon Pomona, when the latter was +entertaining an evening visitor in the kitchen or on the back porch. + +"Suppose my mother," she once remarked, in answer to a mild remonstrance +from me in regard to a circumstance of this nature,--"suppose my mother +had rushed into our presence when we were plighting our vows, and had +told me to go down into the cellar and crack ice!" + +It was of no use to talk to Euphemia on such subjects; she always had an +answer ready. + +"You don't want Pomona to go off and be married, do you?" I asked, one +day as she was putting up some new muslin curtains in the kitchen. "You +seem to be helping her to do this all you can, and yet I don't know +where on earth you will get another girl who will suit you so well." + +"I don't know, either," replied Euphemia, with a tack in her mouth, "and +I'm sure I don't want her to go. But neither do I want winter to come, +or to have to wear spectacles; but I suppose both of these things will +happen, whether I like it or not." + +For some time after this Pomona had very little company, and we began to +think that there was no danger of any present matrimonial engagement on +her part,--a thought which was very gratifying to us, although we +did not wish in any way to interfere with her prospects,--when, one +afternoon, she quietly went up into the village and was married. + +Her husband was a tall young fellow, a son of a farmer in the county, +who had occasionally been to see her, but whom she must have frequently +met on her "afternoons out." + +When Pomona came home and told us this news we were certainly well +surprised. + +"What on earth are we to do for a girl?" cried Euphemia. + +"You're to have me till you can get another one," said Pomona quietly. +"I hope you don't think I'd go 'way, and leave you without anybody." + +"But a wife ought to go to her husband," said Euphemia, "especially so +recent a bride. Why didn't you let me know all about it? I would have +helped to fit you out. We would have given you the nicest kind of a +little wedding." + +"I know that," said Pomona; "you're jus' good enough. But I didn't want +to put you to all that trouble--right in preserving-time too. An' he +wanted it quiet, for he's awful backward about shows. An' as I'm to +go to live with his folks,--at least in a little house on the farm,--I +might as well stay here as anywhere, even if I didn't want to, for I +can't go there till after frost." + +"Why not?" I asked. + +"The chills and fever," said she. "They have it awful down in that +valley. Why, he had a chill while we was bein' married, right at the +bridal altar." + +"You don't say so!" exclaimed Euphemia. "How dreadful!" + +"Yes, indeed," said Pomona. "He must 'a' forgot it was his chill-day, +and he didn't take his quinine, and so it come on him jus' as he was +apromisin' to love an' pertect. But he stuck it out, at the minister's +house, and walked home by his-self to finish his chill." + +"And you didn't go with him?" cried Euphemia, indignantly. + +"He said, no. It was better thus. He felt it weren't the right thing +to mingle the agur with his marriage vows. He promised to take sixteen +grains to-morrow, and so I came away. He'll be all right in a month or +so, an' then we'll go an' keep house. You see it aint likely I could +help him any by goin' there an' gettin' it myself." + +"Pomona," said Euphemia, "this is dreadful. You ought to go and take a +bridal tour and get him rid of those fearful chills." + +"I never thought of that," said Pomona, her face lighting up +wonderfully. + +Now that Euphemia had fallen upon this happy idea, she never dropped +it until she had made all the necessary plans, and had put them into +execution. In the course of a week she had engaged another servant, and +had started Pomona and her husband off on a bridal-tour, stipulating +nothing but that they should take plenty of quinine in their trunk. + +It was about three weeks after this, and Euphemia and I were sitting on +our front steps,--I had come home early, and we had been potting some +of the tenderest plants,--when Pomona walked in at the gate. She looked +well, and had on a very bright new dress. Euphemia noticed this the +moment she came in. We welcomed her warmly, for we felt a great interest +in this girl, who had grown up in our family and under our care. + +"Have you had your bridal trip?" asked Euphemia. + +"Oh yes!" said Pomona. "It's all over an' done with, an' we're settled +in our house." + +"Well, sit right down here on the steps and tell us all about it," said +Euphemia, in a glow of delightful expectancy, and Pomona, nothing loth, +sat down and told her tale. + +"You see," said she, untying her bonnet strings, to give an easier +movement to her chin, "we didn't say where we was goin' when we started +out, for the truth was we didn't know. We couldn't afford to take no big +trip, and yet we wanted to do the thing up jus' as right as we could, +seein' as you had set your heart on it, an' as we had, too, for that +matter. Niagery Fall was what I wanted, but he said that it cost so much +to see the sights there that he hadn't money to spare to take us there +an' pay for all the sight-seein', too. We might go, he said, without +seein' the sights, or, if there was any way of seein' the sights without +goin', that might do, but he couldn't do both. So we give that up, and +after thinkin' a good deal, we agreed to go to some other falls, which +might come cheaper, an' may-be be jus' as good to begin on. So we +thought of Passaic Falls, up to Paterson, an' we went there, an' took a +room at a little hotel, an' walked over to the falls. But they wasn't +no good, after all, for there wasn't no water runnin' over em. There +was rocks and precipicers, an' direful depths, and everything for a good +falls, except water, and that was all bein' used at the mills. 'Well, +Miguel,' says I, 'this is about as nice a place for a falls as ever I +see,' but--" + +"Miguel!" cried Euphemia. "Is that your husband's name?" + +"Well, no," said Pomona, "it isn't. His given name is Jonas, but I hated +to call him Jonas, an' on a bridal trip, too. He might jus' as well have +had a more romantic-er name, if his parents had 'a' thought of it. So +I determined I'd give him a better one, while we was on our journey, +anyhow, an' I changed his name to Miguel, which was the name of a +Spanish count. He wanted me to call him Jiguel, because, he said, that +would have a kind of a floating smell of his old name, but I didn't +never do it. Well, neither of us didn't care to stay about no dry falls, +so we went back to the hotel and got our supper, and begun to wonder +what we should do next day. He said we'd better put it off and dream +about it, and make up our minds nex' mornin', which I agreed to, an', +that evenin', as we was sittin' in our room I asked Miguel to tell me +the story of his life. He said, at first, it hadn't none, but when I +seemed a kinder put out at this, he told me I mustn't mind, an' he would +reveal the whole. So he told me this story: + +"'My grandfather,' said he, 'was a rich and powerful Portugee, a-livin' +on the island of Jamaica. He had heaps o' slaves, an' owned a black +brigantine, that he sailed in on secret voyages, an', when he come +back, the decks an' the gunnels was often bloody, but nobody knew why or +wherefore. He was a big man with black hair an' very violent. He could +never have kept no help, if he hadn't owned 'em, but he was so rich, +that people respected him, in spite of all his crimes. My grandmother +was a native o' the Isle o' Wight. She was a frail an' tender woman, +with yeller hair, and deep blue eyes, an' gentle, an' soft, an' good to +the poor. She used to take baskits of vittles aroun' to sick folks, an' +set down on the side o' their beds an' read "The Shepherd o' Salisbury +Plains" to 'em. She hardly ever speaked above her breath, an' always +wore white gowns with a silk kerchief a-folded placidly aroun' her +neck.' 'Them was awful different kind o' people,' I says to him, 'I +wonder how they ever come to be married.' 'They never was married,' says +he. 'Never married!' I hollers, a-jumpin' up from my chair, 'and you sit +there carmly an' look me in the eye.' 'Yes,' says he, 'they was never +married. They never met; one was my mother's father, and the other one +my father's mother. 'Twas well they did not wed.' 'I should think so,' +said I, 'an' now, what's the good of tellin' me a thing like that?' + +"'It's about as near the mark as most of the stories of people's lives, +I reckon,' says he, 'an' besides I'd only jus' begun it.' + +"'Well, I don't want no more,' says I, an' I jus' tell this story of his +to show what kind of stories he told about that time. He said they was +pleasant fictions, but I told him that if he didn't look out he'd hear +'em called by a good deal of a worse kind of a name than that. The nex' +mornin' he asked me what was my dream, an' I told him I didn't have +exactly no dream about it, but my idea was to have somethin' real +romantic for the rest of our bridal days. + +"'Well,' says he, 'what would you like? I had a dream, but it wasn't no +ways romantic, and I'll jus' fall in with whatever you'd like best.' + +"'All right,' says I, 'an' the most romantic-est thing that I can +think of is for us to make-believe for the rest of this trip. We can +make-believe we're anything we please, an' if we think so in real +earnest it will be pretty much the same thing as if we really was. We +aint likely to have no chance ag'in of being jus' what we've a mind to, +an' so let's try it now.' + +"'What would you have a mind to be?' says he. + +"'Well,' says I, 'let's be an earl an' a earl-ess.' + +"'Earl-ess'? says he, 'there's no such a person.' + +"'Why, yes there is, of course,' I says to him. 'What's a she-earl if +she isn't a earl-ess?' + +"'Well, I don't know,' says he, 'never havin' lived with any of 'em, but +we'll let it go at that. An' how do you want to work the thing out?' + +"'This way,' says I. 'You, Miguel--' + +"'Jiguel,' says he. + +"'The earl,' says I, not mindin' his interruption, 'an' me, your noble +earl-ess, will go to some good place or other--it don't matter much jus' +where, and whatever house we live in we'll call our castle an' we'll +consider it's got draw-bridges an' portcullises an' moats an' secrit +dungeons, an' we'll remember our noble ancesters, an' behave accordin'. +An' the people we meet we can make into counts and dukes and princes, +without their knowin' anything about it; an' we can think our clothes is +silk an' satin an' velwet, all covered with dimuns an' precious stones, +jus' as well as not.' + +"'Jus' as well,' says he. + +"'An' then,' I went on, 'we can go an' have chi-VAL-rous adventures,--or +make believe we're havin' 'em,--an' build up a atmosphere of +romanticness aroun' us that'll carry us back--' + +"'To ole Virginny,' says he. + +"'No,' says I, 'for thousands of years, or at least enough back for the +times of tournaments and chi-VAL-ry.' + +"'An' so your idea is that we make believe all these things, an' don't +pay for none of 'em, is it?' says he. + +"'Yes,' says I; 'an' you, Miguel--' + +"'Jiguel,' says he. + +"'Can ask me, if you don't know what chi-VAL-ric or romantic thing you +ought to do or to say so as to feel yourself truly an' reely a earl, for +I've read a lot about these people, an' know jus' what ought to be did.' + +"Well, he set himself down an' thought a while, an' then he says, 'All +right. We'll do that, an' we'll begin to-morrow mornin', for I've got +a little business to do in the city which wouldn't be exactly the right +thing for me to stoop to after I'm a earl, so I'll go in an' do it while +I'm a common person, an' come back this afternoon, an you can walk about +an' look at the dry falls, an' amuse yourself gen'rally, till I come +back.' + +"'All right,' says I, an' off he goes. + +"He come back afore dark, an' the nex' mornin' we got ready to start +off. + +"'Have you any particular place to go?' says he. + +"'No,' says I, 'one place is as likely to be as good as another for our +style o' thing. If it don't suit, we can imagine it does.' + +"'That'll do,' says he, an' we had our trunk sent to the station, and +walked ourselves. When we got there, he says to me, + +"Which number will you have, five or seven?' + +"'Either one will suit me, Earl Miguel,' says I. + +"'Jiguel,' says he, 'an' we'll make it seven. An' now I'll go an' look +at the time-table, an' we'll buy tickets for the seventh station from +here. The seventh station,' says he, comin' back, 'is Pokus. We'll go to +Pokus.' + +"So when the train come we got in, an' got out at Pokus. It was a pretty +sort of a place, out in the country, with the houses scattered a long +ways apart, like stingy chicken-feed. + +"'Let's walk down this road,' says he, 'till we come to a good house for +a castle, an' then we can ask 'em to take us to board, an' if they wont +do it we'll go to the next, an' so on.' + +"'All right,' says I, glad enough to see how pat he entered into the +thing. + +"We walked a good ways, an' passed some little houses that neither of us +thought would do, without more imaginin' than would pay, till we came to +a pretty big house near the river, which struck our fancy in a minute. +It was a stone house, an' it had trees aroun' it, there was a garden +with a wall, an' things seemed to suit first-rate, so we made up our +minds right off that we'd try this place. + +"'You wait here under this tree,' says he, 'an' I'll go an' ask 'em if +they'll take us to board for a while.' + +"So I waits, an' he goes up to the gate, an' pretty soon he comes out +an' says, 'All right, they'll take us, an' they'll send a man with a +wheelbarrer to the station for our trunk.' So in we goes. The man was +a country-like lookin' man, an' his wife was a very pleasant woman. The +house wasn't furnished very fine, but we didn't care for that, an' +they gave us a big room that had rafters instid of a ceilin', an' a big +fire-place, an' that, I said, was jus' exac'ly what we wanted. The room +was almos' like a donjon itself, which he said he reckoned had once +been a kitchin, but I told him that a earl hadn't nothin' to do with +kitchins, an' that this was a tapestry chamber, an' I'd tell him all +about the strange figgers on the embroidered hangin's, when the shadders +begun to fall. + +"It rained a little that afternoon, an' we stayed in our room, an' hung +our clothes an' things about on nails an' hooks, an' made believe +they was armor an' ancient trophies an' portraits of a long line of +ancesters. I did most of the make-believin' but he agreed to ev'rything. +The man who kep' the house's wife brought us our supper about dark, +because she said she thought we might like to have it together cozy, an' +so we did, an' was glad enough of it; an' after supper we sat before the +fire-place, where we made-believe the flames was a-roarin' an' cracklin' +an' a-lightin' up the bright places on the armor a-hangin' aroun', while +the storm--which we made-believe--was a-ragin' an' whirlin' outside. I +told him a long story about a lord an' a lady, which was two or three +stories I had read, run together, an' we had a splendid time. It all +seemed real real to me." + + + +CHAPTER XV. IN WHICH TWO NEW FRIENDS DISPORT THEMSELVES. + + +"The nex' mornin' was fine an' nice," continued Pomona, "an' after our +breakfast had been brought to us, we went out in the grounds to take a +walk. There was lots of trees back of the house, with walks among 'em, +an' altogether it was so ole-timey an' castleish that I was as happy as +a lark. + +"'Come along, Earl Miguel,' I says; 'let us tread a measure 'neath these +mantlin' trees.' + +"'All right,' says he. 'Your Jiguel attends you. An' what might our +noble second name be? What is we earl an' earl-ess of?' + +"'Oh, anything,' says I. 'Let's take any name at random.' + +"'All right,' says he. 'Let it be random. Earl an' Earl-ess Random. Come +along.' + +"So we walks about, I feelin' mighty noble an' springy, an' afore long +we sees another couple a-walkin' about under the trees. + +"'Who's them?' says I. + +"'Don't know,' says he, 'but I expect they're some o' the other +boarders. The man said he had other boarders when I spoke to him about +takin' us.' + +"'Let's make-believe they're a count an' count says I. 'Count an' +Countess of--' + +"'Milwaukee,' says he. + +"I didn't think much of this for a noble name, but still it would do +well enough, an' so we called 'em the Count an' Countess of Milwaukee, +an' we kep' on a meanderin'. Pretty soon he gets tired an' says he was +agoin' back to the house to have a smoke because he thought it was time +to have a little fun which weren't all imaginations, an' I says to him +to go along, but it would be the hardest thing in this world for me to +imagine any fun in smokin'. He laughed an' went back, while I walked on, +a-makin'-believe a page, in blue puffed breeches, was a-holdin' up my +train, which was of light-green velvet trimmed with silver lace. +Pretty soon, turnin' a little corner, I meets the Count and Countess of +Milwaukee. She was a small lady, dressed in black, an' he was a big fat +man about fifty years old, with a grayish beard. They both wore little +straw hats, exac'ly alike, an' had on green carpet-slippers. + +"They stops when they sees me, an' the lady she bows and says +'good-mornin',' an' then she smiles, very pleasant, an' asks if I was +a-livin' here, an' when I said I was, she says she was too, for the +present, an' what was my name. I had half a mind to say the Earl-ess +Random, but she was so pleasant and sociable that I didn't like to seem +to be makin' fun, an' so I said I was Mrs. De Henderson. + +"'An' I,' says she, 'am Mrs. General Andrew Jackson, widow of the +ex-President of the United States. I am staying here on business +connected with the United States Bank. This is my brother,' says she, +pointin' to the big man. + +"'How d'ye do?' says he, a-puttin' his hands together, turnin' his toes +out an' makin' a funny little bow. 'I am General Tom Thumb,' he says +in a deep, gruff voice, 'an' I've been before all the crown-ed heads of +Europe, Asia, Africa, America an' Australia,--all a's but one,--an' I'm +waitin' here for a team of four little milk-white oxen, no bigger than +tall cats, which is to be hitched to a little hay-wagon, which I am to +ride in, with a little pitch-fork an' real farmer's clothes, only +small. This will come to-morrow, when I will pay for it an' ride away to +exhibit. It may be here now, an' I will go an' see. Good-bye.' + +"'Good-bye, likewise,' says the lady. 'I hope you'll have all you're +thinkin' you're havin', an' more too, but less if you'd like it. +Farewell.' An' away they goes. + +"Well, you may be sure, I stood there amazed enough, an' mad too when I +heard her talk about my bein' all I was a-thinkin' I was. I was sure my +husband--scarce two weeks old, a husband--had told all. It was too bad. +I wished I had jus' said I was the Earl-ess of Random an' brassed it +out. + +"I rushed back an' foun' him smokin' a pipe on a back porch. I charged +him with his perfidy, but he vowed so earnest that he had not told these +people of our fancies, or ever had spoke to 'em, that I had to believe +him. + +"'I expec',' says he, 'that they're jus' makin'-believe--as we are. +There aint no patent on make-believes.' + +"This didn't satisfy me, an' as he seemed to be so careless about it I +walked away, an' left him to his pipe. I determined to go take a walk +along some of the country roads an' think this thing over for myself. +I went aroun' to the front gate, where the woman of the house was +a-standin' talkin' to somebody, an' I jus' bowed to her, for I didn't +feel like sayin' anything, an' walked past her. + +"'Hello!' said she, jumpin' in front of me an' shuttin' the gate. +'You can't go out here. If you want to walk you can walk about in the +grounds. There's lots of shady paths.' + +"'Can't go out!' says I. 'Can't go out! What do you mean by that?' + +"'I mean jus' what I say,' said she, an' she locked the gate. + +"I was so mad that I could have pushed her over an' broke the gate, but +I thought that if there was anything of that kind to do I had a husband +whose business it was to attend to it, an' so I runs aroun' to him to +tell him. He had gone in, but I met Mrs. Jackson an' her brother. + +"'What's the matter?' said she, seein' what a hurry I was in. + +"'That woman at the gate,' I said, almost chokin' as I spoke, 'wont let +me out.' + +"'She wont?' said Mrs. Jackson. 'Well, that's a way she has. Four times +the Bank of the United States has closed its doors before I was able to +get there, on account of that woman's obstinacy about the gate. Indeed, +I have not been to the Bank at all yet, for of course it is of no use to +go after banking hours.' + +"'An' I believe, too,' said her brother in his heavy voice, 'that she +has kept out my team of little oxen. Otherwise it would be here now.' + +"I couldn't stand any more of this an' ran into our room where my +husband was. When I told him what had happened, he was real sorry. + +"'I didn't know you thought of going out,' he said, 'or I would have +told you all about it. An' now sit down an' quiet yourself, an' I'll +tell you jus' how things is.' So down we sits, an' says he, jus' as +carm as a summer cloud, 'My dear, this is a lunertic asylum. Now, don't +jump,' he says; 'I didn't bring you here, because I thought you was +crazy, but because I wanted you to see what kind of people they was who +imagined themselves earls and earl-esses, an' all that sort o' thing, +an' to have an idea how the thing worked after you'd been doing it a +good while an' had got used to it. I thought it would be a good thing, +while I was Earl Jiguel and you was a noble earl-ess, to come to a place +where people acted that way. I knowed you had read lots o' books about +knights and princes an' bloody towers, an' that you knowed all about +them things, but I didn't suppose you did know how them same things +looked in these days, an' a lunertic asylum was the only place where +you could see 'em. So I went to a doctor I knowed,' he says, 'an' got +a certificate from him to this private institution, where we could stay +for a while an' get posted on romantics.' + +"'Then,' says I, 'the upshot was that you wanted to teach a lesson.' + +"'Jus' that,' says he. + +"'All right,' says I; 'it's teached. An' now let's get out of this as +quick as we kin.' + +"'That'll suit me,' he says, 'an' we'll leave by the noon train. I'll go +an' see about the trunk bein' sent down.' + +"So off he went to see the man who kept the house, while I falls to +packin' up the trunk as fast as I could." + +"Weren't you dreadfully angry at him?" asked Euphemia, who, having a +romantic streak in her own composition, did not sympathize altogether +with this heroic remedy for Pomona's disease. + +"No, ma'am," said Pomona, "not long. When I thought of Mrs. General +Jackson and Tom Thumb, I couldn't help thinkin' that I must have looked +pretty much the same to my husband, who, I knowed now, had only been +makin'-believe to make-believe. An' besides, I couldn't be angry very +long for laughin, for when he come back in a minute, as mad as a March +hare, an' said they wouldn't let me out nor him nuther, I fell to +laughin' ready to crack my sides. + +"'They say,' said he, as soon as he could speak straight, 'that we can't +go out without another certificate from the doctor. I told 'em I'd go +myself an' see him about it but they said no, I couldn't, for if they +did that way everybody who ever was sent here would be goin' out the +next day to see about leavin'. I didn't want to make no fuss, so I told +them I'd write a letter to the doctor and tell him to send an order +that would soon show them whether we could go out or not. They said +that would be the best thing to do, an so I'm goin' to write it this +minute,'--which he did. + +"'How long will we have to wait?' says I, when the letter was done. + +"'Well,' says he, 'the doctor can't get this before to-morrow mornin', +an' even if he answers right away, we won't get our order to go out +until the next day. So we'll jus' have to grin an' bear it for a day an' +a half.' + +"'This is a lively old bridal-trip,' said I,--'dry falls an' a lunertic +asylum.' + +"'We'll try to make the rest of it better,' said he. + +"But the next day wasn't no better. We staid in our room all day, for we +didn't care to meet Mrs. Jackson an' her crazy brother, an' I'm sure we +didn't want to see the mean creatures who kept the house. We knew well +enough that they only wanted us to stay so that they could get more +board-money out of us." + +"I should have broken out," cried Euphemia. "I would never have staid +an hour in that place, after I found out what it was, especially on a +bridal trip." + +"If we'd done that," said Pomona, "they'd have got men after us, an' +then everybody would have thought we was real crazy. We made up our +minds to wait for the doctor's letter, but it wasn't much fun. An' I +didn't tell no romantic stories to fill up the time. We sat down an' +behaved like the commonest kind o' people. You never saw anybody sicker +of romantics than I was when I thought of them two loons that called +themselves Mrs. Andrew Jackson and General Tom Thumb. I dropped Miguel +altogether, an' he dropped Jiguel, which was a relief to me, an' I took +strong to Jonas, even callin' him Jone, which I consider a good deal +uglier an' commoner even than Jonas. He didn't like this much, but said +that if it would help me out of the Miguel, he didn't care. + +"Well, on the mornin' of the next day I went into the little front room +that they called the office, to see if there was a letter for us yet, +an' there wasn't nobody there to ask. But I saw a pile of letters under +a weight on the table, an' I jus' looked at these to see if one of 'em +was for us, an' if there wasn't the very letter Jone had written to the +doctor! They'd never sent it! I rushes back to Jone an' tells him, an' +he jus' set an' looked at me without sayin' a word. I didn't wonder he +couldn't speak. + +"'I'll go an' let them people know what I think of 'em,' says I. + +"'Don't do that,' said Jone, catchin' me by the sleeve. 'It wont do no +good. Leave the letter there, an' don't say nothin' about it. We'll stay +here till afternoon quite quiet, an' then we'll go away. That garden +wall isn't high.' + +"'An' how about the trunk?' says I. + +"'Oh, we'll take a few things in our pockets, an' lock up the trunk, an' +ask the doctor to send for it when we get to the city.' + +"'All right,' says I. An' we went to work to get ready to leave. + +"About five o'clock in the afternoon, when it was a nice time to take a +walk under the trees, we meandered quietly down to a corner of the back +wall, where Jone thought it would be rather convenient to get over. He +hunted up a short piece of board which he leaned up ag'in the wall, an' +then he put his foot on the top of that an' got hold of the top of the +wall an' climbed up, as easy as nuthin'. Then he reached down to help me +step onto the board. But jus' as he was agoin' to take me by the hand: +'Hello!' says he. 'Look a-there!' An' I turned round an' looked, an' if +there wasn't Mrs. Andrew Jackson an' General Tom Thumb a-walkin' down +the path. + +"'What shall we do?' says I. + +"'Come along,' says he. 'We aint a-goin' to stop for them. Get up, all +the same.' + +"I tried to get up as he said, but it wasn't so easy for me on account +of my not bein' such a high stepper as Jone, an' I was a good while +a-gettin' a good footin' on the board. + +"Mrs. Jackson an' the General, they came right up to us an' set down on +a bench which was fastened between two trees near the wall. An' there +they set, a-lookin' steady at us with their four little eyes, like four +empty thimbles. + +"'You appear to be goin' away,' says Mrs. Jackson. + +"'Yes,' says Jone from the top of the wall. We're a-goin' to take a +slight stroll outside, this salu-brious evenin'.' + +"'Do you think,' says she, 'that the United States Bank would be open +this time of day?' + +"'Oh no,' says Jone, 'the banks all close at three o'clock. It's a good +deal after that now.' + +"'But if I told the officers who I was, wouldn't that make a +difference?' says she. 'Wouldn't they go down an' open the bank?' + +"'Not much,' says Jone, givin' a pull which brought me right up to the +top o' the wall an' almost clean down the other side, with one jerk. 'I +never knowed no officers that would do that. But,' says he, a kind o' +shuttin' his eyes so that she shouldn't see he was lyin', 'we'll talk +about that when we come back.' + +"'If you see that team of little oxen,' says the big man, 'send 'em +'round to the front gate.' + +"'All right,' says Jone; an' he let me down the outside of the wall as +if I had been a bag o' horse-feed. + +"'But if the bank isn't open you can't pay for it when it does come,' we +heard the old lady a-sayin' as we hurried off. + +"We didn't lose no time agoin' down to that station, an' it's lucky we +didn't, for a train for the city was comin' jus' as we got there, an' we +jumped aboard without havin' no time to buy tickets. There wasn't many +people in our car, an we got a seat together. + +"'Now then,' says Jone, as the cars went abuzzin' along, 'I feel as if +I was really on a bridal-trip, which I mus' say I didn't at that there +asylum.' + +"An' then I said: 'I should think not,' an' we both bust out a-laughin', +as well we might, feelin' sich a change of surroundin's. + +"'Do you think,' says somebody behind us, when we'd got through +laughin', 'that if I was to send a boy up to the cashier he would either +come down or send me the key of the bank?' + +"We both turned aroun' as quick as lightnin', an' if there wasn't them +two lunertics in the seat behind us! + +"It nearly took our breaths away to see them settin' there, staring at +us with their thimble eyes, an' a-wearin' their little straw hats, both +alike. + +"'How on the livin' earth did you two got here?' says I, as soon as I +could speak. + +"'Oh, we come by the same way you come--by the tem-per-ary stairs,' says +Mrs. Jackson. 'We thought if it was too late to draw any money to-night, +it might be well to be on hand bright an' early in the mornin'. An' so +we follered you two, as close as we could, because we knew you could +take us right to the very bank doors, an' we didn't know the way +ourselves, not never havin' had no occasion to attend to nothin' of this +kind before.' + +"Jone an' I looked at each other, but we didn't speak for a minute. + +"'Then,' says I, 'here's a pretty kittle o' fish.' + +"'I should kinder say so,' says Jone. 'We've got these here two +lunertics on our hands, sure enough, for there ain't no train back to +Pokus tonight, an' I wouldn't go back with 'em if there was. We must +keep an eye on 'em till we can see the doctor to-morrow.' + +"'I suppose we must,' said I, 'but this don't seem as much like a +bridal-trip as it did a while ago.' + +"'You're right there,' says Jone. + +"When the conductor came along we had to pay the fare of them two +lunertics, besides our own, for neither of 'em had a cent about 'em. +When we got to town we went to a smallish hotel, near the ferry, where +Jone knowed the man who kep' it, who wouldn't bother about none of us +havin' a scrap of baggage, knowin' he'd get his money all the same, out +of either Jone or his father. The General an' his sister looked a kind +o' funny in their little straw hats an' green carpet-slippers, an' the +clerk didn't know whether he hadn't forgot how to read writin' when the +big man put down the names of General Tom Thumb and Mrs. ex-President +Andrew Jackson, which he wasn't ex-President anyway, bein' dead; but +Jone he whispered they was travelin' under nommys dess plummys (I told +him to say that), an' he would fix it all right in the mornin'. An' then +we got some supper, which it took them two lunertics a long time to eat, +for they was all the time forgettin' what particular kind o' business +they was about, an' then we was showed to our rooms. They had two rooms +right across the hall from ours. We hadn't been inside our room five +minutes before Mrs. General Jackson come a-knockin' at the door. + +"'Look a-here,' she says to me, 'there's a unforeseen contingency in my +room. An' it smells.' + +"So I went right in, an' sure enough it did smell, for she had turned on +all the gases, besides the one that was lighted. + +"'What did you do that for?' says I, a-turnin' them off as fast as I +could. + +"'I'd like to know what they're made for,' says she, 'if they isn't to +be turned on.' + +"When I told Jone about this he looked real serious, an' jus' then a +waiter came upstairs an' went into the big man's room. In a minute he +come out an' says to Jone an' me, a-grinnin': + +"'We can't suit him no better in this house.' + +"'What does he want?' asks Jone. + +"'Why, he wants a smaller bed,' says the waiter. 'He says he can't sleep +in a bed as big as that, an' we haven't none smaller in this house, +which he couldn't get into if we had, in my opinion,' says he. + +"'All right,' says Jone. 'Jus' you go downstairs, an' I'll fix him.' So +the man goes off, still a-grinnin'. 'I tell you what it is,' says Jone, +'it wont do to let them two lunertics have rooms to themselves. They'll +set this house afire or turn it upside down in the middle of the night, +if they has. There's nuthin' to be done but for you to sleep with the +woman an' for me to sleep with the man, an' to keep 'em from cuttin' up +till mornin'.' + +"So Jone he went into the room where General Tom Thumb was a-settin' +with his hat on, a-lookin' doleful at the bed, an' says he: + +"'What's the matter with the bed?' + +"'Oh, it's too large entirely,' says the General. 'It wouldn't do for +me to sleep in a bed like that. It would ruin my character as a genuine +Thumb.' + +"'Well,' says Jone, 'it's nearly two times too big for you, but if you +an' me was both to sleep in it, it would be about right, wouldn't it?' + +"'Oh yes,' says the General. An' he takes off his hat, an' Jone says +good-night to me an' shuts the door. Our room was better than Mrs. +General Jackson's, so I takes her in there, an' the fust thing she does +is to turn on all the gases. + +"'Stop that!' I hollers. 'If you do that again,--I'll--I'll break the +United States Bank tomorrow!' + +"'How'll you do that?' says she. + +"'I'll draw out all my capital,' says I. + +"'I hope really you wont,' says she, 'till I've been there,' an' she +leans out of the open winder to look into the street, but while she +was a-lookin' out I see her left hand a-creepin' up to the gas by the +winder, that wasn't lighted. I felt mad enough to take her by the feet +an' pitch her out, as you an the boarder," said Pomona, turning to me, +"h'isted me out of the canal-boat winder." + +This, by the way, was the first intimation we had had that Pomona knew +how she came to fall out of that window. + +"But I didn't do it," she continued, "for there wasn't no soft water +underneath for her to fall into. After we went to bed I kep' awake for +a long time, bein' afraid she'd get up in the night an' turn on all the +gases and smother me alive. But I fell asleep at last, an' when I woke +up, early in the mornin', the first thing I did was to feel for that +lunertic. But she was gone!" + + + +CHAPTER XVI. IN WHICH AN OLD FRIEND APPEARS AND THE BRIDAL TRIP TAKES A +FRESH START. + + +"Gone?" cried Euphemia, who, with myself, had been listening most +intently to Pomona's story. + +"Yes," continued Pomona, "she was gone. I give one jump out of bed +and felt the gases, but they was all right. But she was gone, an' her +clothes was gone. I dressed, as pale as death, I do expect, an' hurried +to Jone's room, an' he an' me an' the big man was all ready in no time +to go an' look for her. General Tom Thumb didn't seem very anxious, but +we made him hurry up an' come along with us. We couldn't afford to leave +him nowheres. The clerk down-stairs--a different one from the chap who +was there the night before--said that a middle-aged, elderly lady came +down about an hour before an' asked him to tell her the way to the +United States Bank, an' when he told her he didn't know of any such +bank, she jus' stared at him, an' wanted to know what he was put there +for. So he didn't have no more to say to her, an' she went out, an' he +didn't take no notice which way she went. We had the same opinion about +him that Mrs. Jackson had, but we didn't stop to tell him so. We hunted +up an' down the streets for an hour or more; we asked every policeman we +met if he'd seen her; we went to a police station; we did everything we +could think of, but no Mrs. Jackson turned up. Then we was so tired an' +hungry that we went into some place or other an' got our breakfast. When +we started out ag'in, we kep' on up one street an' down another, an' +askin' everybody who looked as if they had two grains of sense,--which +most of 'em didn't look as if they had mor'n one, an' that was in use +to get 'em to where they was goin.' At last, a little ways down a small +street, we seed a crowd, an' the minute we see it Jone an' me both +said in our inside hearts: 'There she is!' An' sure enough, when we got +there, who should we see, with a ring of street-loafers an' boys around +her, but Mrs. Andrew Jackson, with her little straw hat an' her green +carpet-slippers, a-dancin' some kind of a skippin' fandango, an' +a-holdin' out her skirts with the tips of her fingers. I was jus' agoin' +to rush in an' grab her when a man walks quick into the ring and touches +her on the shoulder. The minute I seed him I knowed him. It was our old +boarder!" + +"It was?" exclaimed Euphemia. + +"Yes it was truly him, an' I didn't want him to see me there in such +company, an' he most likely knowin' I was on my bridal-trip, an' so I +made a dive at my bonnet to see if I had a vail on; an' findin' one, I +hauled it down. + +"'Madam,' says the boarder, very respectful, to Mrs. Jackson, 'where +do you live? Can't I take you home?' 'No, sir,' says she, 'at least not +now. If you have a carriage, you may come for me after a while. I am +waiting for the Bank of the United States to open, an' until which time +I must support myself on the light fantastic toe,' an' then she tuk +up her skirts, an' begun to dance ag'in. But she didn't make mor'n two +skips before I rushed in, an' takin' her by the arm hauled her out o' +the ring. An' then up comes the big man with his face as red as fire. +'Look' here!' says he to her, as if he was ready to eat her up. 'Did you +draw every cent of that money?' 'Not yet, not yet,' says she. 'You did, +you purse-proud cantalope,' says he. 'You know very well you did, an' +now I'd like to know where my ox-money is to come from.' But Jone an' +me didn't intend to wait for no sich talk as this, an' he tuk the man +by the arm, and I tuk the old woman, an' we jus' walked 'em off. The +boarder he told the loafers to get out an' go home, an' none of 'em +follered us, for they know'd if they did he'd a batted 'em over the +head. But he comes up alongside o' me, as I was a' walkin' behind with +Mrs. Jackson, an' says he: 'How d'ye do, Pomona?' I must say I felt as +if I could slip in between two flagstones, but as I couldn't get away, I +said I was pretty well. 'I heared you was on your bridal trip,' says he +ag'in; 'is this it?' It was jus' like him to know that, an' as there was +no help for it, I said it was. 'Is that your husband?' says he, pointin' +to Jone. 'Yes,' says I. 'It was very good in him to come along,' says +he. 'Is these two your groomsman and bridesmaid?' 'No sir,' says I. +'They're crazy.' 'No wonder,' says he. 'It's enough to drive 'em so, to +see you two,' an' then he went ahead an' shook hands with Jone, an' told +him he'd know'd me a long time; but he didn't say nuthin' about havin' +histed me out of a winder, for which I was obliged to him. An' then he +come back to me an' says he, 'Good-mornin', I must go to the office. I +hope you'll have a good time for the rest of your trip. If you happen +to run short o' lunertics, jus' let me know, and I'll furnish you with +another pair.' 'All right,' says I; 'but you mustn't bring your little +girl along.' + +"He kinder laughed at this, as we walked away, an' then he turned +around an' come back, and says he, 'Have you been to any the-ay-ters, or +anything, since you've been in town?' 'No,' says I, 'not one.' 'Well,' +says he, 'you ought to go. Which do you like best, the the-ay-ter, the +cir-cus, or wild-beasts?' I did really like the the-ay-ter best, havin' +thought of bein' a play-actor, as you know, but I considered I'd better +let that kind o' thing slide jus' now, as bein' a little too romantic, +right after the 'sylum, an' so I says, 'I've been once to a circus, an' +once to a wild-beast garden, an' I like 'em both. I hardly know which I +like best--the roarin' beasts, a-prancin' about in their cages, with the +smell of blood an' hay, an' the towerin' elephants; or the horses, an' +the music, an' the gauzy figgers at the circus, an' the splendid knights +in armor an' flashin' pennants, all on fiery steeds, a-plungin' ag'in +the sides of the ring, with their flags a-flyin' in the grand entry,' +says I, real excited with what I remembered about these shows. + +"'Well,' says he, 'I don't wonder at your feelin's. An' now, here's two +tickets for to-night, which you an' your husband can have, if you +like, for I can't go. They're to a meetin' of the Hudson County +Enter-mo-logical Society, over to Hoboken, at eight o'clock.' + +"'Over to Hoboken!' says I; 'that's a long way.' + +"'Oh no, it isn't,' says he. 'An' it wont cost you a cent, but the +ferry. They couldn't have them shows in the city, for, if the creatures +was to get loose, there's no knowin' what might happen. So take 'em, an' +have as much fun as you can for the rest of your trip. Good-bye!' An' +off he went. + +"Well, we kep' straight on to the doctor's, an' glad we was when we got +there, an' mad he was when we lef' Mrs. Jackson an' the General on his +hands, for we wouldn't have no more to do with 'em, an' he couldn't help +undertaking' to see that they got back to the asylum. I thought at first +he wouldn't lift a finger to get us our trunk; but he cooled down after +a bit, an' said he hoped we'd try some different kind of institution for +the rest of our trip, which we said we thought we would. + +"That afternoon we gawked around, a-lookin' at all the outside shows, +for Jone said he'd have to be pretty careful of his money now, an' he +was glad when I told him I had two free tickets in my pocket for a show +in the evenin.' + +"As we was a-walkin' down to the ferry, after supper, says he: + +"'Suppose you let me have a look at them tickets.' + +"So I hands 'em to him. He reads one of 'em, and then he reads the +other, which he needn't 'a' done, for they was both alike, an' then he +turns to me, an' says he: + +"'What kind of a man is your boarder-as-was?' + +"It wasn't the easiest thing in the world to say jus' what he was, but I +give Jone the idea, in a general sort of way, that he was pretty lively. + +"'So I should think,' says he. 'He's been tryin' a trick on us, and +sendin' us to the wrong place. It's rather late in the season for a show +of the kind, but the place we ought to go to is a potato-field.' + +"'What on earth are you talkin' about?' says I, dumbfoundered. + +"'Well,' says he, 'it's a trick he's been playin'. He thought a bridal +trip like ours ought to have some sort of a outlandish wind-up, an' so +he sent us to this place, which is a meetin' of chaps who are agoin' +to talk about insec's,--principally potato-bugs, I expec'--an' anything +stupider than that, I s'pose your boarder-as-was couldn't think of, +without havin' a good deal o' time to consider.' + +"'It's jus' like him,' says I. 'Let's turn round and go back,' which we +did, prompt. + +"We gave the tickets to a little boy who was sellin' papers, but I don't +believe he went. + +"'Now then,' says Jone, after he'd been thinkin' awhile, 'there'll be no +more foolin' on this trip. I've blocked out the whole of the rest of it, +an' we'll wind up a sight better than that boarder-as-was has any idea +of. To-morrow we'll go to father's an' if the old gentleman has got any +money on the crops, which I expec' he has, by this time, I'll take up +a part o' my share, an' we'll have a trip to Washington, an' see the +President, an' Congress, an' the White House, an' the lamp always +a-burnin' before the Supreme Court, an'--' + +"'Don't say no more, says I, 'it's splendid!' + +"So, early the nex' day, we goes off jus' as fast as trains would take +us to his father's, an' we hadn't been there mor'n ten minutes, before +Jone found out he had been summoned on a jury. + +"'When must you go?' says I, when he come, lookin' a kind o' pale, to +tell me this. + +"'Right off,' says he. 'The court meets this mornin'. If I don't hurry +up, I'll have some of 'em after me. But I wouldn't cry about it. I don't +believe the case'll last more'n a day.' + +"The old man harnessed up an' took Jone to the court-house, an' I went +too, for I might as well keep up the idea of a bridal-trip as not. I +went up into the gallery, and Jone, he was set among the other men in +the jury-box. + +"The case was about a man named Brown, who married the half-sister of a +man named Adams, who afterward married Brown's mother, and sold Brown +a house he had got from Brown's grandfather, in trade for half a +grist-mill, which the other half of was owned by Adams's half-sister's +first husband, who left all his property to a soup society, in trust, +till his son should come of age, which he never did, but left a will +which give his half of the mill to Brown, and the suit was between Brown +and Adams and Brown again, and Adams's half-sister, who was divorced +from Brown, and a man named Ramsey, who had put up a new over-shot wheel +to the grist-mill." + +"Oh my!" exclaimed Euphemia. "How could you remember all that?" + +"I heard it so often, I couldn't help remembering it," replied Pomona. +And she went on with her narrative. + +"That case wasn't a easy one to understand, as you may see for +yourselves, and it didn't get finished that day. They argyed over it a +full week. When there wasn't no more witnesses to carve up, one lawyer +made a speech, an' he set that crooked case so straight, that you +could see through it from the over-shot wheel clean back to Brown's +grandfather. Then another feller made a speech, and he set the whole +thing up another way. It was jus' as clear, to look through, but it was +another case altogether, no more like the other one than a apple-pie is +like a mug o' cider. An' then they both took it up, an' they swung it +around between them, till it was all twisted an' knotted an' wound up, +an' tangled, worse than a skein o' yarn in a nest o' kittens, an' then +they give it to the jury. + +"Well, when them jurymen went out, there wasn't none of 'em, as Jone +tole me afterward, as knew whether is was Brown or Adams as was dead, +or whether the mill was to grind soup, or to be run by soup-power. Of +course they couldn't agree; three of 'em wanted to give a verdict for +the boy that died, two of 'em was for Brown's grandfather, an' the rest +was scattered, some goin' in for damages to the witnesses, who ought to +get somethin' for havin' their char-ac-ters ruined. Jone he jus' held +back, ready to jine the other eleven as soon as they'd agree. But they +couldn't do it, an' they was locked up three days and four nights. You'd +better believe I got pretty wild about it, but I come to court every day +an' waited an' waited, bringin' somethin' to eat in a baskit. + +"One day, at dinner-time, I seed the judge astandin' at the court-room +door, a-wipin' his forrid with a handkerchief, an' I went up to him an' +said, 'Do you think, sir, they'll get through this thing soon?' + +"'I can't say, indeed,' said he. 'Are you interested in the case?' + +"'I should think I was,' said I, an' then I told him about Jone's bein' +a juryman, an' how we was on our bridal-trip. + +"'You've got my sympathy, madam,' says he, 'but it's a difficult case to +decide, an' I don't wonder it takes a good while.' + +"'Nor I nuther,' says I, 'an' my opinion about these things is, that if +you'd jus' have them lawyers shut up in another room, an' make 'em do +their talkin' to theirselves, the jury could keep their minds clear, and +settle the cases in no time.' + +"'There's some sense in that, madam,' says he, an' then he went into +court ag'in. + +"Jone never had no chance to jine in with the other fellers, for they +couldn't agree, an' they were all discharged, at last. So the whole +thing went for nuthin. + +"When Jone come out, he looked like he'd been drawn through a pump-log, +an' he says to me, tired-like, + +"'Has there been a frost?' + +"'Yes,' says I, 'two of 'em.' + +"'All right, then,' says he. 'I've had enough of bridal-trips, with +their dry falls, their lunatic asylums, and their jury-boxes. Let's +go home and settle down. We needn't be afraid, now that there's been a +frost.'" + +"Oh, why will you live in such a dreadful place?" cried Euphemia. "You +ought to go somewhere where you needn't be afraid of chills." + +"That's jus' what I thought, ma'am," returned Pomona. "But Jone an' me +got a disease-map of this country an' we looked all over it careful, an' +wherever there wasn't chills there was somethin' that seemed a good deal +wuss to us. An' says Jone, 'If I'm to have anything the matter with me, +give me somethin' I'm used to. It don't do for a man o' my time o' life +to go changin' his diseases.'" + +"So home we went. An' there we is now. An' as this is the end of the +bridal-trip story, I'll go an' take a look at the cow an' the chickens +an' the horse, if you don't mind." + +Which we didn't,--and we gladly went with her over the estate. + + + +CHAPTER XVII. IN WHICH WE TAKE A VACATION AND LOOK FOR DAVID DUTTON. + + +It was about noon of a very fair July day, in the next summer, when +Euphemia and myself arrived at the little town where we were to take the +stage up into the mountains. We were off for a two weeks' vacation and +our minds were a good deal easier than when we went away before, and +left Pomona at the helm. We had enlarged the boundaries of Rudder +Grange, having purchased the house, with enough adjoining land to make +quite a respectable farm. Of course I could not attend to the manifold +duties on such a place, and my wife seldom had a happier thought than +when she proposed that we should invite Pomona and her husband to come +and live with us. Pomona was delighted, and Jonas was quite willing +to run our farm. So arrangements were made, and the young couple were +established in apartments in our back building, and went to work as if +taking care of us and our possessions was the ultimate object of their +lives. Jonas was such a steady fellow that we feared no trouble from +tree-man or lightning rodder during this absence. + +Our destination was a country tavern on the stage-road, not far from the +point where the road crosses the ridge of the mountain-range, and about +sixteen miles from the town. We had heard of this tavern from a friend +of ours, who had spent a summer there. The surrounding country was +lovely, and the house was kept by a farmer, who was a good soul, and +tried to make his guests happy. These were generally passing farmers and +wagoners, or stage-passengers, stopping for a meal, but occasionally a +person from the cities, like our friend, came to spend a few weeks in +the mountains. + +So hither we came, for an out-of-the-world spot like this was just what +we wanted. When I took our places at the stage-office, I inquired for +David Dutton, the farmer tavern-keeper before mentioned, but the agent +did not know of him. + +"However," said he, "the driver knows everybody on the road, and he'll +set you down at the house." + +So, off we started, having paid for our tickets on the basis that we +were to ride about sixteen miles. We had seats on top, and the trip, +although slow,--for the road wound uphill steadily,--was a delightful +one. Our way lay, for the greater part of the time, through the woods, +but now and then we came to a farm, and a turn in the road often gave us +lovely views of the foot-hills and the valleys behind us. + +But the driver did not know where Dutton's tavern was. This we found out +after we had started. Some persons might have thought it wiser to settle +this matter before starting, but I am not at all sure that it would have +been so. We were going to this tavern, and did not wish to go anywhere +else. If people did not know where it was, it would be well for us to +go and look for it. We knew the road that it was on, and the locality in +which it was to be found. + +Still, it was somewhat strange that a stage-driver, passing along +the road every week-day,--one day one way, and the next the other +way,--should not know a public-house like Dutton's. + +"If I remember rightly," I said, "the stage used to stop there for the +passengers to take supper." + +"Well, then, it aint on this side o' the ridge," said the driver; "we +stop for supper, about a quarter of a mile on the other side, at Pete +Lowry's. Perhaps Dutton used to keep that place. Was it called the +'Ridge House'?" + +I did not remember the name of the house, but I knew very well that it +was not on the other side of the ridge. + +"Then," said the driver, "I'm sure I don't know where it is. But I've +only been on the road about a year, and your man may 'a' moved away +afore I come. But there aint no tavern this side the ridge, arter ye +leave Delhi, and, that's nowhere's nigh the ridge." + +There were a couple of farmers who were sitting by the driver, and who +had listened with considerable interest to this conversation. Presently, +one of them turned around to me and said: + +"Is it Dave Dutton ye're askin' about?" + +"Yes," I replied, "that's his name." + +"Well, I think he's dead," said he. + +At this, I began to feel uneasy, and I could see that my wife shared my +trouble. + +Then the other farmer spoke up. + +"I don't believe he's dead, Hiram," said he to his companion "I heered +of him this spring. He's got a sheep-farm on the other side o' the +mountain, and he's a livin' there. That's what I heered, at any rate. +But he don't live on this road any more," he continued, turning to us. +"He used to keep tavern on this road, and the stages did used to stop +fur supper--or else dinner, I don't jist ree-collect which. But he don't +keep tavern on this road no more." + +"Of course not," said his companion, "if he's a livin' over the +mountain. But I b'lieve he's dead." + +I asked the other farmer if he knew how long it had been since Dutton +had left this part of the country. + +"I don't know fur certain," he said, "but I know he was keeping tavern +here two year' ago, this fall, fur I came along here, myself, and +stopped there to git supper--or dinner, I don't jist ree-collect which." + +It had been three years since our friend had boarded at Dutton's house. +There was no doubt that the man was not living at his old place now. +My wife and I now agreed that it was very foolish in us to come so far +without making more particular inquiries. But we had had an idea that a +man who had a place like Dutton's tavern would live there always. + +"What are ye goin' to do?" asked the driver, very much interested, +for it was not every day that he had passengers who had lost their +destination. "Ye might go on to Lowry's. He takes boarders sometimes." + +But Lowry's did not attract us. An ordinary country-tavern, where +stage-passengers took supper, was not what we came so far to find. + +"Do you know where this house o' Dutton's is?" said the driver, to the +man who had once taken either dinner or supper there. + +"Oh yes! I'd know the house well enough, if I saw it. It's the fust +house this side o' Lowry's." + +"With a big pole in front of it?" asked the driver. + +"Yes, there was a sign-pole in front of it." + +"An a long porch?" + +"Yes." + +"Oh! well!" said the driver, settling himself in his seat. "I know all +about that house. That's a empty house. I didn't think you meant that +house. There's nobody lives there. An' yit, now I come to remember, I +have seen people about, too. I tell ye what ye better do. Since ye're so +set on staying on this side the ridge, ye better let me put ye down +at Dan Carson's place. That's jist about quarter of a mile from where +Dutton used to live. Dan's wife can tell ye all about the Duttons, an' +about everybody else, too, in this part o' the country, and if there +aint nobody livin' at the old tavern, ye can stay all night at Carson's, +and I'll stop an' take you back, to-morrow, when I come along." + +We agreed to this plan, for there was nothing better to be done, and, +late in the afternoon, we were set down with our small trunk--for we +were traveling under light weight--at Dan Carson's door. The stage was +rather behind time, and the driver whipped up and left us to settle our +own affairs. He called back, however, that he would keep a good lookout +for us to-morrow. + +Mrs. Carson soon made her appearance, and, very naturally, was somewhat +surprised to see visitors with their baggage standing on her little +porch. She was a plain, coarsely dressed woman, with an apron full +of chips and kindling wood, and a fine mind for detail, as we soon +discovered. + +"Jist so," said she, putting down the chips, and inviting us to seats on +a bench. "Dave Dutton's folks is all moved away. Dave has a good farm +on the other side o' the mountain, an' it never did pay him to keep that +tavern, 'specially as he didn't sell liquor. When he went away, his son +Al come there to live with his wife, an' the old man left a good deal +o' furniter and things fur him, but Al's wife aint satisfied here, and, +though they've been here, off an' on, the house is shet up most o' the +time. It's fur sale an' to rent, both, ef anybody wants it. I'm sorry +about you, too, fur it was a nice tavern, when Dave kept it." + +We admitted that we were also very sorry, and the kind-hearted woman +showed a great deal of sympathy. + +"You might stay here, but we haint got no fit room where you two could +sleep." + +At this, Euphemia and I looked very blank. "But you could go up to the +house and stay, jist as well as not," Mrs. Carson continued. "There's +plenty o' things there, an' I keep the key. For the matter o' that, ye +might take the house for as long as ye want to stay; Dave 'd be glad +enough to rent it; and, if the lady knows how to keep house, it wouldn't +be no trouble at all, jist for you two. We could let ye have all the +victuals ye'd want, cheap, and there's plenty o' wood there, cut, and +everything handy." + +We looked at each other. We agreed. Here was a chance for a rare good +time. It might be better, perhaps, than anything we had expected. + +The bargain was struck. Mrs. Carson, who seemed vested with all the +necessary powers of attorney, appeared to be perfectly satisfied with +our trustworthiness, and when I paid on the spot the small sum she +thought proper for two weeks' rent, she evidently considered she had +done a very good thing for Dave Dutton and herself. + +"I'll jist put some bread, an' eggs, an' coffee, an' pork, an' things in +a basket, an' I'll have 'em took up fur ye, with yer trunk, an' I'll go +with ye an' take some milk. Here, Danny!" she cried, and directly her +husband, a long, thin, sun-burnt, sandy-headed man, appeared, and to +him she told, in a few words, our story, and ordered him to hitch up the +cart and be ready to take our trunk and the basket up to Dutton's old +house. + +When all was ready, we walked up the hill, followed by Danny and +the cart. We found the house a large, low, old-fashioned farm-house, +standing near the road with a long piazza in front, and a magnificent +view of mountain-tops in the rear. Within, the lower rooms were large +and low, with quite a good deal of furniture in them. There was no +earthly reason why we should not be perfectly jolly and comfortable +here. The more we saw, the more delighted we were at the odd experience +we were about to have. Mrs. Carson busied herself in getting things in +order for our supper and general accommodation. She made Danny carry +our trunk to a bedroom in the second story, and then set him to work +building a fire in a great fire-place, with a crane for the kettle. + +When she had done all she could, it was nearly dark, and after lighting +a couple of candles, she left us, to go home and get supper for her own +family. + +As she and Danny were about to depart in the cart, she ran back to ask +us if we would like to borrow a dog. + +"There aint nuthin to be afeard of," she said; "for nobody hardly ever +takes the trouble to lock the doors in these parts, but bein' city +folks, I thought ye might feel better if ye had a dog." + +We made haste to tell her that we were not city folks, but declined the +dog. Indeed, Euphemia remarked that she would be much more afraid of a +strange dog than of robbers. + +After supper, which we enjoyed as much as any meal we ever ate in our +lives, we each took a candle, and after arranging our bedroom for the +night, we explored the old house. There were lots of curious things +everywhere,--things that were apparently so "old timey," as my wife +remarked, that David Dutton did not care to take them with him to his +new farm, and so left them for his son, who probably cared for them even +less than his father did. There was a garret extending over the whole +house, and filled with old spinning-wheels, and strings of onions, and +all sorts of antiquated bric-a-brac, which was so fascinating to me +that I could scarcely tear myself away from it; but Euphemia, who was +dreadfully afraid that I would set the whole place on fire, at length +prevailed on me to come down. + +We slept soundly that night, in what was probably the best bedroom of +the house, and awoke with a feeling that we were about to enter on a +period of some uncommon kind of jollity, which we found to be true +when we went down to get breakfast. I made the fire, Euphemia made the +coffee, and Mrs. Carson came with cream and some fresh eggs. The good +woman was in high spirits. She was evidently pleased at the idea of +having neighbors, temporary though they were, and it had probably been +a long time since she had had such a chance of selling milk, eggs and +sundries. It was almost the same as opening a country store. We bought +groceries and everything of her. + +We had a glorious time that day. We were just starting out for a +mountain stroll when our stage-driver came along on his down trip. + +"Hello!" he called out. "Want to go back this morning?" + +"Not a bit of it," I cried. "We wont go back for a couple of weeks. +We've settled here for the present." + +The man smiled. He didn't seem to understand it exactly, but he was +evidently glad to see us so well satisfied. If he had had time to stop +and have the matter explained to him, he would probably have been better +satisfied; but as it was, he waved his whip to us and drove on. He was a +good fellow. + +We strolled all day, having locked up the house and taken our lunch +with us; and when we came back, it seemed really like coming home. +Mrs. Carson with whom we had left the key, had brought the milk and was +making the fire. This woman was too kind. We determined to try and repay +her in some way. After a splendid supper we went to bed happy. + +The next day was a repetition of this one, but the day after it +rained. So we determined to enjoy the old tavern, and we rummaged about +everywhere. I visited the garret again, and we went to the old barn, +with its mows half full of hay, and had rare times climbing about there. +We were delighted that it happened to rain. In a wood-shed, near the +house, I saw a big square board with letters on it. I examined the +board, and found it was a sign,--a hanging sign,--and on it was painted +in letters that were yet quite plain: + + + "FARMERS' + AND + MECHANICS' + HOTEL." + + +I called to Euphemia and told her that I had found the old tavern sign. +She came to look at it, and I pulled it out. + +"Soldiers and sailors!" she exclaimed; "that's funny." + +I looked over on her side of the sign, and, sure enough, there was the +inscription: + + + "SOLDIERS + AND + SAILORS' + HOUSE." + + +"They must have bought this comprehensive sign in some town," I said. +"Such a name would never have been chosen for a country tavern like +this. But I wish they hadn't taken it down. The house would look more +like what it ought to be with its sign hanging before it." + +"Well, then," said Euphemia, "let's put it up." I agreed instantly to +this proposition, and we went to look for a ladder. We found one in the +wagon-house, and carried it out to the sign-post in the front of the +house. It was raining, gently, during these performances, but we had on +our old clothes, and were so much interested in our work that we did not +care for a little rain. I carried the sign to the post, and then, at the +imminent risk of breaking my neck, I hung it on its appropriate hooks on +the transverse beam of the sign-post. Now our tavern was really what it +pretended to be. We gazed on the sign with admiration and content. + +"Do you think we had better keep it up all the time?" I asked of my +wife. + +"Certainly," said she. "It's a part of the house. The place isn't +complete without it." + +"But suppose some one should come along and want to be entertained?" + +"But no one will. And if people do come, I'll take care of the soldiers +and sailors, if you will attend to the farmers and mechanics." + +I consented to this, and we went in-doors to prepare dinner. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. OUR TAVERN. + + +The next day was clear again, and we rambled in the woods until the sun +was nearly down, and so were late about supper. We were just taking +our seats at the table when we heard a footstep on the front porch. +Instantly the same thought came into each of our minds. + +"I do believe," said Euphemia, "that's somebody who has mistaken this +for a tavern. I wonder whether it's a soldier or a farmer or a sailor; +but you had better go and see." + +I went to see, prompted to move quickly by the new-comer pounding his +cane on the bare floor of the hall. I found him standing just inside +of the front door. He was a small man, with long hair and beard, and +dressed in a suit of clothes of a remarkable color,--something of the +hue of faded snuff. He had a big stick, and carried a large flat valise +in one hand. + +He bowed to me very politely. + +"Can I stop here to-night?" he asked, taking off his hat, as my wife put +her head out of the kitchen-door. + +"Why,--no, sir," I said. "This is not a tavern." + +"Not a tavern!" he exclaimed. "I don't understand that. You have a sign +out." + +"That is true," I said; "but that is only for fun, so to speak. We are +here temporarily, and we put up that sign just to please ourselves." + +"That is pretty poor fun for me," said the man. "I am very tired, and +more hungry than tired. Couldn't you let me have a little supper at any +rate?" + +Euphemia glanced at me. I nodded. + +"You are welcome to some supper," she said, "Come in! We eat in the +kitchen because it is more convenient, and because it is so much more +cheerful than the dining-room. There is a pump out there, and here is a +towel, if you would like to wash your hands." + +As the man went out the back door I complimented my wife. She was really +an admirable hostess. + +The individual in faded snuff-color was certainly hungry, and he seemed +to enjoy his supper. During the meal he gave us some account of himself. +He was an artist and had traveled, mostly on foot it would appear, +over a great part of the country. He had in his valise some very pretty +little colored sketches of scenes in Mexico and California, which he +showed us after supper. Why he carried these pictures--which were done +on stiff paper--about with him I do not know. He said he did not care +to sell them, as he might use them for studies for larger pictures some +day. His valise, which he opened wide on the table, seemed to be filled +with papers, drawings, and matters of that kind. I suppose he preferred +to wear his clothes, instead of carrying them about in his valise. + +After sitting for about half an hour after supper, he rose, with +an uncertain sort of smile, and said he supposed he must be moving +on,--asking, at the same time, how far it was to the tavern over the +ridge. + +"Just wait one moment, if you please," said Euphemia. And she beckoned +me out of the room. + +"Don't you think," said she, "that we could keep him all night? There's +no moon, and it would be a fearful dark walk, I know, to the other side +of the mountain. There is a room upstairs that I can fix for him in ten +minutes, and I know he's honest." + +"How do you know it?" I asked. + +"Well, because he wears such curious-colored clothes. No criminal would +ever wear such clothes. He could never pass unnoticed anywhere; and +being probably the only person in the world who dressed that way, he +could always be detected." + +"You are doubtless correct," I replied. "Let us keep him." + +When we told the good man that he could stay all night, he was extremely +obliged to us, and went to bed quite early. After we had fastened the +house and had gone to our room, my wife said to me, + +"Where is your pistol?" + +I produced it. + +"Well," said she, "I think you ought to have it where you can get at +it." + +"Why so?" I asked. "You generally want me to keep it out of sight and +reach." + +"Yes; but when there is a strange man in the house we ought to take +extra precautions." + +"But this man you say is honest," I replied. "If he committed a crime he +could not escape,--his appearance is so peculiar." + +"But that wouldn't do us any good, if we were both murdered," said +Euphemia, pulling a chair up to my side of the bed, and laying the +pistol carefully thereon, with the muzzle toward the bed. + +We were not murdered, and we had a very pleasant breakfast with the +artist, who told us more anecdotes of his life in Mexico and other +places. When, after breakfast, he shut up his valise, preparatory to +starting away, we felt really sorry. When he was ready to go, he asked +for his bill. + +"Oh! There is no bill," I exclaimed. "We have no idea of charging you +anything. We don't really keep a hotel, as I told you." + +"If I had known that," said he, looking very grave, "I would not have +stayed. There is no reason why you should give me food and lodgings, and +I would not, and did not, ask it. I am able to pay for such things, and +I wish to do so." + +We argued with him for some time, speaking of the habits of country +people and so on, but he would not be convinced. He had asked for +accommodation expecting to pay for it, and would not be content until he +had done so. + +"Well," said Euphemia, "we are not keeping this house for profit, and +you can't force us to make anything out of you. If you will be satisfied +to pay us just what it cost us to entertain you, I suppose we shall have +to let you do that. Take a seat for a minute, and I will make out your +bill." + +So the artist and I sat down and talked of various matters, while +my wife got out her traveling stationery-box, and sat down to the +dining-table to make out the bill. After a long, long time, as it +appeared to me, I said: + +"My dear, if the amount of that bill is at all proportioned to the +length of time it takes to make it out, I think our friend here will +wish he had never said anything about it." + +"It's nearly done," said she, without raising her head, and, in about +ten or fifteen minutes more, she rose and presented the bill to our +guest. As I noticed that he seemed somewhat surprised at it, I asked him +to let me look over it with him. The bill, of which I have a copy, read +as follows: + + +July 12th, 187- ARTIST, + + To the S. and S. Hotel and F. and M. House. + + To 1/3 one supper, July 11th, which supper consisted of: + + 1/14 lb. coffee, at 35 cts. 2 cts. + + " " sugar, " 14 " 1 " + + 1/6 qt. milk, " 6 " 1 " + + 1/2 loaf bread " 6 " 3 " + + 1/8 lb. butter " 25 " 3 1/8 " + + 1/2 " bacon " 25 " 12 1/2 " + + 1/16 pk. potatoes at 60 cts. per bush 15/16 " + + 1/2 pt. hominy at 6 cts 3 " + -------- + 27 1/16 + + 1/3 of total 09 1/48 cts. + + To 1/3 one breakfast, July 12th (same as above, with exception of eggs + instead of bacon, and with hominy omitted), + -------- + 24 1/6 + + 1/3 total 08 1/48 " + + To rent of one room and furniture, for one night, in furnished house of + fifteen rooms at $6.00 per week for whole house 05 3/8 " + ------------ + Amount due 22 17/24 cts. + + +The worthy artist burst out laughing when he read this bill, and so did +I. + +"You needn't laugh," said Euphemia, reddening a little. "That is exactly +what your entertainment cost, and we do not intend to take a cent more. +We get things here in such small quantities that I can tell quite easily +what a meal costs us, and I have calculated that bill very carefully." + +"So I should think, madam," said the artist, "but it is not quite right. +You have charged nothing for your trouble and services." + +"No," said my wife, "for I took no additional trouble to get your meals. +What I did, I should have done if you had not come. To be sure I +did spend a few minutes preparing your room. I will charge you seven +twenty-fourths of a cent for that, thus making your bill twenty-three +cents--even money." + +"I cannot gainsay reasoning like yours, madam," he said, and he took +a quarter from a very fat old pocket-book, and handed it to her. She +gravely gave him two cents change, and then taking the bill, receipted +it, and handed it back to him. + +We were sorry to part with our guest, for he was evidently a good +fellow. I walked with him a little way up the road, and got him to let +me copy his bill in my memorandum-book. The original, he said, he would +always keep. + +A day or two after the artist's departure, we were standing on the front +piazza. We had had a late breakfast--consequent upon a long tramp the +day before--and had come out to see what sort of a day it was likely +to be. We had hardly made up our minds on the subject when the morning +stage came up at full speed and stopped at our gate. + +"Hello!" cried the driver. He was not our driver. He was a tall man in +high boots, and had a great reputation as a manager of horses--so Danny +Carson told me afterward. There were two drivers on the line, and each +of them made one trip a day, going up one day in the afternoon, and down +the next day in the morning. + +I went out to see what this driver wanted. + +"Can't you give my passengers breakfast?" he asked. + +"Why, no!" I exclaimed, looking at the stage loaded inside and out. +"This isn't a tavern. We couldn't get breakfast for a stage-load of +people." + +"What have you got a sign up fur, then?" roared the driver, getting red +in the face. + +"That's so," cried two or three men from the top of the stage. "If it +aint a tavern, what's that sign doin' there?" + +I saw I must do something. I stepped up close to the stage and looked in +and up. + +"Are there any sailors in this stage?" I said. There was no response. +"Any soldiers? Any farmers or mechanics?" + +At the latter question I trembled, but fortunately no one answered. + +"Then," said I, "you have no right to ask to be accommodated; for, as +you may see from the sign, our house is only for soldiers, sailors, +farmers, and mechanics." + +"And besides," cried Euphemia from the piazza, "we haven't anything to +give you for breakfast." + +The people in and on the stage grumbled a good deal at this, and looked +as if they were both disappointed and hungry, while the driver ripped +out an oath, which, had he thrown it across a creek, would soon have +made a good-sized millpond. + +He gathered up his reins and turned a sinister look on me. + +"I'll be even with you, yit," he cried as he dashed off. + +In the afternoon Mrs. Carson came up and told us that the stage had +stopped there, and that she had managed to give the passengers some +coffee, bread and butter and ham and eggs, though they had had to +wait their turns for cups and plates. It appeared that the driver had +quarreled with the Lowry people that morning because the breakfast was +behindhand and he was kept waiting. So he told his passengers that there +was another tavern, a few miles down the road, and that he would take +them there to breakfast. + +"He's an awful ugly man, that he is," said Mrs. Carson, "an' he'd better +'a' stayed at Lowry's, fur he had to wait a good sight longer, after +all, as it turned out. But he's dreadful mad at you, an' says he'll +bring ye farmers, an' soldiers, and sailors, an' mechanics, if +that's what ye want. I 'spect he'll do his best to git a load of them +particular people an' drop 'em at yer door. I'd take down that sign, ef +I was you. Not that me an' Danny minds, fur we're glad to git a stage to +feed, an' ef you've any single man that wants lodgin' we've fixed up a +room and kin keep him overnight." + +Notwithstanding this warning, Euphemia and I decided not to take in our +sign. We were not to be frightened by a stage-driver. The next day our +own driver passed us on the road as he was going down. + +"So ye're pertickler about the people ye take in, are ye?" said he, +smiling. "That's all right, but ye made Bill awful mad." + +It was quite late on a Monday afternoon that Bill stopped at our house +again. He did not call out this time. He simply drew up, and a man with +a big black valise clambered down from the top of the stage. Then Bill +shouted to me as I walked down to the gate, looking rather angry I +suppose: + +"I was agoin' to git ye a whole stage-load, to stay all night, but that +one'll do ye, I reckon. Ha, ha!" And off he went, probably fearing that +I would throw his passenger up on the top of the stage again. + +The new-comer entered the gate. He was a dark man, with black hair and +black whiskers and mustache, and black eyes. He wore clothes that had +been black, but which were now toned down by a good deal of dust, and, +as I have said, he carried a black valise. + +"Why did you stop here?" said I, rather inhospitably. "Don't you know +that we do not accommodate--" + +"Yes, I know," he said, walking up on the piazza and setting down his +valise, "that you only take soldiers, sailors, farmers, and mechanics at +this house. I have been told all about it, and if I had not thoroughly +understood the matter I should not have thought of such a thing as +stopping here. If you will sit down for a few moments I will explain." +Saying this, he took a seat on a bench by the door, but Euphemia and I +continued to stand. + +"I am," he continued, "a soldier, a sailor, a farmer, and a mechanic. +Do not doubt my word; I will prove it to you in two minutes. When but +seventeen years of age, circumstances compelled me to take charge of a +farm in New Hampshire, and I kept up that farm until I was twenty-five. +During this time I built several barns, wagon-houses, and edifices of +the sort on my place, and, becoming expert in this branch of mechanical +art, I was much sought after by the neighboring farmers, who employed +me to do similar work for them. In time I found this new business so +profitable that I gave up farming altogether. But certain unfortunate +speculations threw me on my back, and finally, having gone from bad to +worse, I found myself in Boston, where, in sheer desperation, I went +on board a coasting vessel as landsman. I remained on this vessel for +nearly a year, but it did not suit me. I was often sick, and did not +like the work. I left the vessel at one of the Southern ports, and +it was not long after she sailed that, finding myself utterly without +means, I enlisted as a soldier. I remained in the army for some years, +and was finally honorably discharged. So you see that what I said was +true. I belong to each and all of these businesses and professions. And +now that I have satisfied you on this point, let me show you a book for +which I have the agency in this country." He stooped down, opened his +valise, and took out a good-sized volume. "This book," said he, "is the +'Flora and Fauna of Carthage County;' it is written by one of the first +scientific men of the country, and gives you a description, with +an authentic wood-cut, of each of the plants and animals of the +county--indigenous or naturalized. Owing to peculiar advantages enjoyed +by our firm, we are enabled to put this book at the very low price of +three dollars and seventy-five cents. It is sold by subscription only, +and should be on the center-table in every parlor in this county. If you +will glance over this book, sir, you will find it as interesting as a +novel, and as useful as an encyclopaedia--" + +"I don't want the book," I said, "and I don't care to look at it." + +"But if you were to look at it you would want it, I'm sure." + +"That's a good reason for not looking at it, then," I answered. "If you +came to get us to subscribe for that book we need not take up any more +of your time, for we shall not subscribe." + +"Oh, I did not come for that alone," he said. "I shall stay here +to-night and start out in the morning to work up the neighborhood. If +you would like this book--and I'm sure you have only to look at it to do +that--you can deduct the amount of my bill from the subscription price, +and--" + +"What did you say you charged for this book?" asked Euphemia, stepping +forward and picking up the volume. + +"Three seventy-five is the subscription price, ma'am, but that book is +not for sale. That is merely a sample. If you put your name down on +my list you will be served with your book in two weeks. As I told your +husband, it will come very cheap to you, because you can deduct what you +charge me for supper, lodging, and breakfast." + +"Indeed!" said my wife, and then she remarked that she must go in the +house and get supper. + +"When will supper be ready?" the man asked, as she passed him. + +At first she did not answer him, but then she called back: + +"In about half an hour." + +"Good," said the man; "but I wish it was ready now. And now, sir, if you +would just glance over this book, while we are waiting for supper--" + +I cut him very short and went out into the road. I walked up and down in +front of the house, in a bad humor. I could not bear to think of my wife +getting supper for this fellow, who was striding about on the piazza, +as if he was very hungry and very impatient. Just as I returned to the +house, the bell rang from within. + +"Joyful sound!" said the man, and in he marched. I followed close behind +him. On one end of the table, in the kitchen, supper was set for one +person, and, as the man entered, Euphemia motioned him to the table. The +supper looked like a remarkably good one. A cup of coffee smoked by the +side of the plate; there was ham and eggs and a small omelette; there +were fried potatoes, some fresh radishes, a plate of hot biscuit, and +some preserves. The man's eyes sparkled. + +"I am sorry," said he, "that I am to eat alone, for I hoped to have your +good company; but, if this plan suits you, it suits me," and he drew up +a chair. + +"Stop!" said Euphemia, advancing between him and the table. "You are not +to eat that. This is a sample supper. If you order a supper like it, one +will be served to you in two weeks." + +At this I burst into a roar of laughter; my wife stood pale and +determined, and the man drew back, looking first at one of us, and then +at the other. + +"Am I to understand--?" he said. + +"Yes," I interrupted, "you are. There is nothing more to be said on this +subject. You may go now. You came here to annoy us, knowing that we did +not entertain travelers, and now you see what you have made by it," and +I opened the door. + +The man evidently thought that a reply was not necessary, and he walked +out without a word. Taking up his valise, which he had put in the hall, +he asked if there was any public-house near by. + +"No," I said; "but there is a farm-house a short distance down the road, +where they will be glad to have you." And down the road he went to Mrs. +Carson's. I am sorry to say that he sold her a "Flora and Fauna" before +he went to bed that night. + +We were much amused at the termination of this affair, and I became, if +possible, a still greater admirer of Euphemia's talents for management. +But we both agreed that it would not do to keep up the sign any longer. +We could not tell when the irate driver might not pounce down upon us +with a customer. + +"But I hate to take it down," said Euphemia; "it looks so much like a +surrender." + +"Do not trouble yourself," said I. "I have an idea." + +The next morning I went down to Danny Carson's little shop,--he was +a wheelwright as well as a farmer,--and I got from him two pots of +paint--one black and one white--and some brushes. I took down our sign, +and painted out the old lettering, and, instead of it, I painted, in +bold and somewhat regular characters, new names for our tavern. + +On one side of the sign I painted: + + + "SOAP-MAKER'S + AND + BOOK-BINDER'S + HOTEL." + + +And on the other side: + + + "UPHOLSTERERS' + AND + DENTISTS' + HOUSE." + + +"Now then," I said, "I don't believe any of those people will be +traveling along the road while we are here, or, at any rate, they won't +want to stop." + +We admired this sign very much, and sat on the piazza, that afternoon, +to see how it would strike Bill, as he passed by. It seemed to strike +him pretty hard, for he gazed with all his eyes at one side of it, as he +approached, and then, as he passed it, he actually pulled up to read the +other side. + +"All right!" he called out, as he drove off. "All right! All right!" + +Euphemia didn't like the way he said "all right." It seemed to her, she +said, as if he intended to do something which would be all right for +him, but not at all so for us. I saw she was nervous about it, for that +evening she began to ask me questions about the traveling propensities +of soap-makers, upholsterers, and dentists. + +"Do not think anything more about that, my dear," I said. "I will take +the sign down in the morning. We are here to enjoy ourselves, and not to +be worried." + +"And yet," said she, "it would worry me to think that that driver +frightened us into taking down the sign. I tell you what I wish you +would do. Paint out those names, and let me make a sign. Then I promise +you I will not be worried." + +The next day, therefore, I took down the sign and painted out my +inscriptions. It was a good deal of trouble, for my letters were +fresh, but it was a rainy day, and I had plenty of time, and succeeded +tolerably well. Then I gave Euphemia the black-paint pot and the freedom +of the sign. + +I went down to the creek to try a little fishing in wet weather, and +when I returned the new sign was done. On one side it read: + + + FLIES' + AND + WASPS' + HOTEL. + + +On the other: + + + HUNDRED-LEGGERS' + AND + RED-ANTS' + HOUSE. + + +"You see," said euphemia, "if any individuals mentioned thereon apply +for accommodation, we can say we are full." + +This sign hung triumphantly for several days, when one morning, just as +we had finished breakfast, we were surprised to hear the stage stop at +the door, and before we could go out to see who had arrived, into the +room came our own stage-driver, as we used to call him. He had actually +left his team to come and see us. + +"I just thought I'd stop an' tell ye," said he, "that ef ye don't look +out, Bill'll get ye inter trouble. He's bound to git the best o' ye, an' +I heared this mornin', at Lowry's, that he's agoin' to bring the county +clerk up here to-morrow, to see about yer license fur keepin' a hotel. +He says ye keep changin' yer signs, but that don't differ to him, for +he kin prove ye've kept travelers overnight, an' ef ye haven't got no +license he'll make the county clerk come down on ye heavy, I'm sure o' +that, fur I know Bill. An' so, I thought I'd stop an' tell ye." + +I thanked him, and admitted that this was a rather serious view of the +case. Euphemia pondered a moment. Then said she: + +"I don't see why we should stay here any longer. It's going to rain +again, and our vacation is up to-morrow, anyway. Could you wait a little +while, while we pack up?" she said to the driver. + +"Oh yes!" he replied. "I kin wait, as well as not. I've only got one +passenger, an' he's on top, a-holdin' the horses. He aint in any hurry, +I know, an' I'm ahead o' time." + +In less than twenty minutes we had packed our trunk, locked up the +house, and were in the stage, and, as we drove away, we cast a last +admiring look at Euphemia's sign, slowly swinging in the wind. I would +much like to know if it is swinging there yet. I feel certain there has +been no lack of custom. + +We stopped at Mrs. Carson's, paid her what we owed her, and engaged her +to go up to the tavern and put things in order. She was very sorry we +were going, but hoped we would come back again some other summer. We +said that it was quite possible that we might do so; but that, next +time, we did not think we would try to have a tavern of our own. + + + +CHAPTER XIX. THE BABY AT RUDDER GRANGE. + + +For some reason, not altogether understood by me, there seemed to be a +continued series of new developments at our home. I had supposed, when +the events spoken of in the last chapter had settled down to their +proper places in our little history, that our life would flow on in +an even, commonplace way, with few or no incidents worthy of being +recorded. But this did not prove to be the case. After a time, the +uniformity and quiet of our existence was considerably disturbed. + +This disturbance was caused by a baby, not a rude, imperious baby, but +a child who was generally of a quiet and orderly turn of mind. But it +disarranged all our plans; all our habits; all the ordinary disposition +of things. + +It was in the summer-time, during my vacation, that it began to exert +its full influence upon us. A more unfortunate season could not have +been selected. At first, I may say that it did not exert its full +influence upon me. I was away, during the day, and, in the evening, its +influence was not exerted, to any great extent, upon anybody. As I have +said, its habits were exceedingly orderly. But, during my vacation, the +things came to pass which have made this chapter necessary. + +I did not intend taking a trip. As in a former vacation, I proposed +staying at home and enjoying those delights of the country which my +business in town did not allow me to enjoy in the working weeks and +months of the year. I had no intention of camping out, or of doing +anything of that kind, but many were the trips, rides, and excursions I +had planned. + +I found, however, that if I enjoyed myself in this wise, I must do it, +for the most part, alone. It was not that Euphemia could not go with +me--there was really nothing to prevent--it was simply that she had +lost, for the time, her interest in everything except that baby. + +She wanted me to be happy, to amuse myself, to take exercise, to do +whatever I thought was pleasant, but she, herself, was so much engrossed +with the child, that she was often ignorant of what I intended to do, or +had done. She thought she was listening to what I said to her, but, in +reality, she was occupied, mind and body, with the baby, or listening +for some sound which should indicate that she ought to go and be +occupied with it. + +I would often say to her: "Why can't you let Pomona attend to it? You +surely need not give up your whole time and your whole mind to the +child." + +But she would always answer that Pomona had a great many things to do, +and that she couldn't, at all times, attend to the baby. Suppose, for +instance, that she should be at the barn. + +I once suggested that a nurse should be procured, but at this she +laughed. + +"There is very little to do," she said, "and I really like to do it." + +"Yes," said I, "but you spend so much of your time in thinking how glad +you will be to do that little, when it is to be done, that you can't +give me any attention, at all." + +"Now you have no cause to say that," she exclaimed. "You know very +well--, there!" and away she ran. It had just begun to cry! + +Naturally, I was getting tired of this. I could never begin a sentence +and feel sure that I would be allowed to finish it. Nothing was +important enough to delay attention to an infantile whimper. + +Jonas, too, was in a state of unrest. He was obliged to wear his good +clothes, a great part of the time, for he was continually going on +errands to the village, and these errands were so important that they +took precedence of everything else. It gave me a melancholy sort of +pleasure, sometimes, to do Jonas's work when he was thus sent away. + +I asked him, one day, how he liked it all? + +"Well," said he, reflectively, "I can't say as I understand it, exactly. +It does seem queer to me that such a little thing should take up pretty +nigh all the time of three people. I suppose, after a while," this he +said with a grave smile, "that you may be wanting to turn in and help." +I did not make any answer to this, for Jonas was, at that moment, +summoned to the house, but it gave me an idea. In fact, it gave me two +ideas. + +The first was that Jonas's remark was not entirely respectful. He was my +hired man, but he was a very respectable man, and an American man, and +therefore might sometimes be expected to say things which a foreigner, +not known to be respectable, would not think of saying, if he wished +to keep his place. The fact that Jonas had always been very careful to +treat me with much civility, caused this remark to make more impression +on me. I felt that he had, in a measure, reason for it. + +The other idea was one which grew and developed in my mind until I +afterward formed a plan upon it. I determined, however, before I carried +out my plan, to again try to reason with Euphemia. + +"If it was our own baby," I said, "or even the child of one of us, by a +former marriage, it would be a different thing; but to give yourself +up so entirely to Pomona's baby, seems, to me, unreasonable. Indeed, I +never heard of any case exactly like it. It is reversing all the usages +of society for the mistress to take care of the servant's baby." + +"The usages of society are not worth much, sometimes," said Euphemia, +"and you must remember that Pomona is a very different kind of a +person from an ordinary servant. She is much more like a member of the +family--I can't exactly explain what kind of a member, but I understand +it myself. She has very much improved since she has been married, and +you know, yourself, how quiet and--and, nice she is, and as for the +baby, it's just as good and pretty as any baby, and it may grow up to +be better than any of us. Some of our presidents have sprung from lowly +parents." + +"But this one is a girl," I said. + +"Well then," replied Euphemia, "she may be a president's wife." + +"Another thing," I remarked, "I don't believe Jonas and Pomona like your +keeping their baby so much to yourself." + +"Nonsense!" said Euphemia, "a girl in Pomona's position couldn't help +being glad to have a lady take an interest in her baby, and help bring +it up. And as for Jonas, he would be a cruel man if he wasn't pleased +and grateful to have his wife relieved of so much trouble. Pomona! +is that you? You can bring it here, now, if you want to get at your +clear-starching." + +I don't believe that Pomona hankered after clear-starching, but she +brought the baby and I went away. I could not see any hope ahead. Of +course, in time, it would grow up, but then it couldn't grow up during +my vacation. + +Then it was that I determined to carry out my plan. + +I went to the stable and harnessed the horse to the little carriage. +Jonas was not there, and I had fallen out of the habit of calling him. +I drove slowly through the yard and out of the gate. No one called to me +or asked where I was going. How different this was from the old times! +Then, some one would not have failed to know where I was going, and, +in all probability, she would have gone with me. But now I drove away, +quietly and undisturbed. + +About three miles from our house was a settlement known as New Dublin. +It was a cluster of poor and doleful houses, inhabited entirely by Irish +people, whose dirt and poverty seemed to make them very contented and +happy. The men were generally away, at their work, during the day, but +there was never any difficulty in finding some one at home, no matter at +what house one called. I was acquainted with one of the matrons of this +locality, a Mrs. Duffy, who had occasionally undertaken some odd jobs at +our house, and to her I made a visit. + +She was glad to see me, and wiped off a chair for me. + +"Mrs. Duffy," said I, "I want to rent a baby." + +At first, the good woman could not understand me, but when I made plain +to her that I wished for a short time, to obtain the exclusive use and +control of a baby, for which I was willing to pay a liberal rental, she +burst into long and violent laughter. It seemed to her like a person +coming into the country to purchase weeds. Weeds and children were so +abundant in New Dublin. But she gradually began to see that I was in +earnest, and as she knew I was a trusty person, and somewhat noted +for the care I took of my live stock, she was perfectly willing to +accommodate me, but feared she had nothing on hand of the age I desired. + +"Me childther are all agoin' about," she said. "Ye kin see a poile uv +'em out yon, in the road, an' there's more uv 'em on the fince. But +ye nade have no fear about gittin' wan. There's sthacks of 'em in the +place. I'll jist run over to Mrs. Hogan's, wid ye. She's got sixteen or +siventeen, mostly small, for Hogan brought four or five wid him when he +married her, an' she'll be glad to rint wan uv 'em." So, throwing her +apron over her head, she accompanied me to Mrs. Hogan's. + +That lady was washing, but she cheerfully stopped her work while Mrs. +Duffy took her to one side and explained my errand. Mrs. Hogan did not +appear to be able to understand why I wanted a baby-especially for so +limited a period,--but probably concluded that if I would take good care +of it and would pay well for it, the matter was my own affair, for +she soon came and said, that if I wanted a baby, I'd come to the right +place. Then she began to consider what one she would let me have. I +insisted on a young one--there was already a little baby at our house, +and the folks there would know how to manage it. + +"Oh, ye want it fer coompany for the ither one, is that it?" said Mrs. +Hogan, a new light breaking in upon her. "An' that's a good plan, sure. +It must be dridful lownly in a house wid ownly wan baby. Now there's +one--Polly--would she do?" + +"Why, she can run," I said. "I don't want one that can run." + +"Oh, dear!" said Mrs. Hogan, with a sigh, "they all begin to run, very +airly. Now Polly isn't owld, at all, at all." + +"I can see that," said I, "but I want one that you can put in a +cradle--one that will have to stay there, when you put it in." + +It was plain that Mrs. Hogan's present stock did not contain exactly +what I wanted, and directly Mrs. Duffy exclaimed! "There's Mary +McCann--an' roight across the way!" + +Mrs. Hogan said "Yis, sure," and we all went over to a little house, +opposite. + +"Now, thin," said Mrs. Duffy, entering the house, and proudly drawing a +small coverlid from a little box-bed in a corner, "what do you think of +that?" + +"Why, there are two of them," I exclaimed. + +"To be sure," said Mrs. Duffy. "They're tweens. There's always two uv +em, when they're tweens. An' they're young enough." + +"Yes," said I, doubtfully, "but I couldn't take both. Do you think their +mother would rent one of them?" + +The women shook their heads. "Ye see, sir," said Mrs. Hogan, "Mary +McCann isn't here, bein' gone out to a wash, but she ownly has four or +foive childther, an' she aint much used to 'em yit, an' I kin spake fer +her that she'd niver siparate a pair o' tweens. When she gits a dozen +hersilf, and marries a widow jintleman wid a lot uv his own, she'll +be glad enough to be lettin' ye have yer pick, to take wan uv 'em fer +coompany to yer own baby, at foive dollars a week. Moind that." + +I visited several houses after this, still in company with Mrs. Hogan +and Mrs. Duffy, and finally secured a youngish infant, who, having been +left motherless, had become what Mrs. Duffy called a "bottle-baby," and +was in charge of a neighboring aunt. It seemed strange that this child, +so eminently adapted to purposes of rental, was not offered to me, at +first, but I suppose the Irish ladies, who had the matter in charge, +wanted to benefit themselves, or some of their near friends, before +giving the general public of New Dublin a chance. + +The child suited me very well, and I agreed to take it for as many days +as I might happen to want it, but to pay by the week, in advance. It was +a boy, with a suggestion of orange-red bloom all over its head, and what +looked, to me, like freckles on its cheeks; while its little nose turned +up, even more than those of babies generally turn--above a very long +upper lip. His eyes were blue and twinkling, and he had the very mouth +"fer a leetle poipe," as Mrs. Hogan admiringly remarked. + +He was hastily prepared for his trip, and when I had arranged the +necessary business matters with his aunt, and had assured her that she +could come to see him whenever she liked, I got into the carriage, and +having spread the lap-robe over my knees, the baby, carefully wrapped in +a little shawl, was laid in my lap. Then his bottle, freshly filled, for +he might need a drink on the way, was tucked between the cushions on the +seat beside me, and taking the lines in my left hand, while I steadied +my charge with the other, I prepared to drive away. + +"What's his name?" I asked. + +"It's Pat," said his aunt, "afther his dad, who's away in the moines." + +"But ye kin call him onything ye bike," Mrs. Duffy remarked, "fer he +don't ansther to his name yit." + +"Pat will do very well," I said, as I bade the good women farewell, +and carefully guided the horse through the swarms of youngsters who had +gathered around the carriage. + + + +CHAPTER XX. THE OTHER BABY AT RUDDER GRANGE. + + +I drove slowly home, and little Pat lay very quiet, looking up steadily +at me with his twinkling blue eyes. For a time, everything went very +well, but happening to look up, I saw in the distance a carriage +approaching. It was an open barouche, and I knew it belonged to a family +of our acquaintance, in the village, and that it usually contained +ladies. + +Quick as thought, I rolled up Pat in his shawl and stuffed him under the +seat. Then rearranging the lap-robe over my knees, I drove on, trembling +a little, it is true. + +As I supposed, the carriage contained ladies, and I knew them all. The +coachman instinctively drew up, as we approached. We always stopped and +spoke, on such occasions. + +They asked me after my wife, apparently surprised to see me alone, and +made a number of pleasant observations, to all of which I replied with +as unconcerned and easy an air as I could assume. The ladies were in +excellent spirits, but in spite of this, there seemed to be an air of +repression about them, which I thought of when I drove on, but could not +account for, for little Pat never moved or whimpered, during the whole +of the interview. + +But when I took him again in my lap, and happened to turn, as I arranged +the robe, I saw his bottle sticking up boldly by my side from between +the cushions. Then I did not wonder at the repression. + +When I reached home, I drove directly to the barn. Fortunately, Jonas +was there. When I called him and handed little Pat to him I never saw +a man more utterly amazed. He stood, and held the child without a +word. But when I explained the whole affair to him, he comprehended it +perfectly, and was delighted. I think he was just as anxious for my plan +to work as I was myself, although he did not say so. + +I was about to take the child into the house, when Jonas remarked that +it was barefooted. + +"That won't do," I said. "It certainly had socks on, when I got it. I +saw them." + +"Here they are," said Jonas, fishing them out from the shawl, "he's +kicked them off." + +"Well, we must put them on," I said, "it won't do to take him in, that +way. You hold him." + +So Jonas sat down on the feed-box, and carefully taking little Pat, he +held him horizontally, firmly pressed between his hands and knees, with +his feet stuck out toward me, while I knelt down before him and tried to +put on the little socks. But the socks were knit or worked very loosely, +and there seemed to be a good many small holes in them, so that +Pat's funny little toes, which he kept curling up and uncurling, were +continually making their appearance in unexpected places through the +sock. But, after a great deal of trouble, I got them both on, with the +heels in about the right places. + +"Now they ought to be tied on," I said, "Where are his garters?" + +"I don't believe babies have garters," said Jonas, doubtfully, "but I +could rig him up a pair." + +"No," said I; "we wont take the time for that. I'll hold his legs apart, +as I carry him in. It's rubbing his feet together that gets them off." + +As I passed the kitchen window, I saw Pomona at work. She looked at me, +dropped something, and I heard a crash. I don't know how much that crash +cost me. Jonas rushed in to tell Pomona about it, and in a moment I +heard a scream of laughter. At this, Euphemia appeared at an upper +window, with her hand raised and saying, severely: "Hush-h!" But the +moment she saw me, she disappeared from the window and came down-stairs +on the run. She met me, just as I entered the dining-room. + +"What IN the world!" she breathlessly exclaimed. + +"This," said I, taking Pat into a better position in my arms, "is my +baby." + +"Your--baby!" said Euphemia. "Where did you get it? what are you going +to do with it?" + +"I got it in New Dublin," I replied, "and I want it to amuse and occupy +me while I am at home. I haven't anything else to do, except things that +take me away from you." + +"Oh!" said Euphemia. + +At this moment, little Pat gave his first whimper. Perhaps he felt the +searching glance that fell upon him from the lady in the middle of the +room. + +I immediately began to walk up and down the floor with him, and to sing +to him. I did not know any infant music, but I felt sure that a +soothing tune was the great requisite, and that the words were of small +importance. So I started on an old Methodist tune, which I remembered +very well, and which was used with the hymn containing the lines: + + + "Weak and wounded, sick and sore," + + +and I sang, as soothingly as I could: + + + "Lit-tle Pat-sy, Wat-sy, Sat-sy, + Does he feel a lit-ty bad? + Me will send and get his bot-tle + He sha'n't have to cry-wy-wy." + + +"What an idiot!" said Euphemia, laughing in spite of her vexation. + + + "No, we aint no id-i-otses + What we want's a bot-ty mik." + + +So I sang as I walked to the kitchen door, and sent Jonas to the barn +for the bottle. + +Pomona was in spasms of laughter in the kitchen, and Euphemia was trying +her best not to laugh at all. + +"Who's going to take care of it, I'd like to know?" she said, as soon as +she could get herself into a state of severe inquiry. + + + "Some-times me, and some-times Jonas," + + +I sang, still walking up and down the room with a long, slow step, +swinging the baby from side to side, very much as if it were grass-seed +in a sieve, and I were sowing it over the carpet. + +When the bottle came, I took it, and began to feed little Pat. Perhaps +the presence of a critical and interested audience embarrassed us, for +Jonas and Pomona were at the door, with streaming eyes, while Euphemia +stood with her handkerchief to the lower part of her face, or it may +have been that I did not understand the management of bottles, but, at +any rate, I could not make the thing work, and the disappointed little +Pat began to cry, just as the whole of our audience burst into a wild +roar of laughter. + +"Here! Give me that child!" cried Euphemia, forcibly taking Pat and the +bottle from me. "You'll make it swallow the whole affair, and I'm sure +its mouth's big enough." + +"You really don't think," she said, when we were alone, and little Pat, +with his upturned blue eyes serenely surveying the features of the +good lady who knew how to feed him, was placidly pulling away at his +india-rubber tube, "that I will consent to your keeping such a creature +as this in the house? Why, he's a regular little Paddy! If you kept him +he'd grow up into a hod-carrier." + +"Good!" said I. "I never thought of that. What a novel thing it would be +to witness the gradual growth of a hod-carrier! I'll make him a little +hod, now, to begin with. He couldn't have a more suitable toy." + +"I was talking in earnest," she said. "Take your baby, and please carry +him home as quick as you can, for I am certainly not going to take care +of him." + +"Of course not," said I. "Now that I see how it's done, I'm going to do +it myself. Jonas will mix his feed and I will give it to him. He looks +sleepy now. Shall I take him upstairs and lay him on our bed?" + +"No, indeed," cried Euphemia. "You can put him on a quilt on the floor, +until after luncheon, and then you must take him home." + +I laid the young Milesian on the folded quilt which Euphemia prepared +for him, where he turned up his little pug nose to the ceiling and went +contentedly to sleep. + +That afternoon I nailed four legs on a small packing-box and made a +bedstead for him. This, with a pillow in the bottom of it, was very +comfortable, and instead of taking him home, I borrowed, in the evening, +some baby night-clothes from Pomona, and set about preparing Pat for the +night. + +This Euphemia would not allow, but silently taking him from me, she put +him to bed. + +"To-morrow," she said, "you must positively take him away. I wont stand +it. And in our room, too." + +"I didn't talk in that way about the baby you adopted," I said. + +To this she made no answer, but went away to attend, as usual, to +Pomona's baby, while its mother washed the dishes. + +That night little Pat woke up, several times, and made things unpleasant +by his wails. On the first two occasions, I got up and walked him about, +singing impromptu lines to the tune of "weak and wounded," but the third +time, Euphemia herself arose, and declaring that that doleful tune was +a great deal worse than the baby's crying, silenced him herself, and +arranging his couch more comfortably, he troubled us no more. + +In the morning, when I beheld the little pad of orange fur in the box, +my heart almost misgave me, but as the day wore on, my courage rose +again, and I gave myself up, almost entirely, to my new charge, +composing a vast deal of blank verse, while walking him up and down the +house. + +Euphemia scolded and scolded, and said she would put on her hat and go +for the mother. But I told her the mother was dead, and that seemed to +be an obstacle. She took a good deal of care of the child, for she said +she would not see an innocent creature neglected, even if it was +an incipient hod-carrier, but she did not relax in the least in her +attention to Pomona's baby. + +The next day was about the same, in regard to infantile incident, but, +on the day after, I began to tire of my new charge, and Pat, on his +side, seemed to be tired of me, for he turned from me when I went to +take him up, while he would hold out his hands to Euphemia, and grin +delightedly when she took him. + +That morning I drove to the village and spent an hour or two there. On +my return I found Euphemia sitting in our room, with little Pat on her +lap. I was astonished at the change in the young rascal. He was dressed, +from head to foot, in a suit of clothes belonging to Pomona's baby; the +glowing fuzz on his head was brushed and made as smooth as possible, +while his little muslin sleeves were tied up with blue ribbon. + +I stood speechless at the sight. + +"Don't he look nice?" said Euphemia, standing him up on her knees. "It +shows what good clothes will do. I'm glad I helped Pomona make up so +many. He's getting ever so fond of me, ze itty Patsy, watsy! See how +strong he is! He can almost stand on his legs! Look how he laughs! He's +just as cunning as he can be. And oh! I was going to speak about that +box. I wouldn't have him sleep in that old packing-box. There are little +wicker cradles at the store--I saw them last week--they don't cost much, +and you could bring one up in the carriage. There's the other baby, +crying, and I don't know where Pomona is. Just you mind him a minute, +please!" and out she ran. + +I looked out of the window. The horse still stood harnessed to the +carriage, as I had left him. I saw Pat's old shawl lying in a corner. +I seized it, and rolling him in it, new clothes and all, I hurried +down-stairs, climbed into the carriage, hastily disposed Pat in my lap, +and turned the horse. The demeanor of the youngster was very different +from what it was when I first took him in my lap to drive away with him. +There was no confiding twinkle in his eye, no contented munching of his +little fists. He gazed up at me with wild alarm, and as I drove out of +the gate, he burst forth into such a yell that Lord Edward came bounding +around the house to see what was the matter. Euphemia suddenly appeared +at an upper window and called out to me, but I did not hear what she +said. I whipped up the horse and we sped along to New Dublin. Pat soon +stopped crying, but he looked at me with a tear-stained and reproachful +visage. + +The good women of the settlement were surprised to see little Pat return +so soon. + +"An' wasn't he good?" said Mrs. Hogan as she took him from my hands. + +"Oh, yes!" I said. "He was as good as he could be. But I have no further +need of him." + +I might have been called upon to explain this statement, had not the +whole party of women, who stood around burst into wild expressions of +delight at Pat's beautiful clothes. + +"Oh! jist look at 'em!" cried Mrs. Duffy. "An' see thim leetle +pittycoots, thrimmed wid lace! Oh, an' it was good in ye, sir, to give +him all thim, an' pay the foive dollars, too." + +"An' I'm glad he's back," said the fostering aunt, "for I was a coomin' +over to till ye that I've been hearin' from owle Pat, his dad, an' he's +a coomin' back from the moines, and I don't know what he'd a' said if +he'd found his leetle Pat was rinted. But if ye iver want to borry him, +for a whoile, after owle Pat's gone back, ye kin have him, rint-free; +an' it's much obloiged I am to ye, sir, fur dressin' him so foine." + +I made no encouraging remarks as to future transactions in this line, +and drove slowly home. + +Euphemia met me at the door. She had Pomona's baby in her arms. We +walked together into the parlor. + +"And so you have given up the little fellow that you were going to do so +much for?" she said. + +"Yes, I have given him up," I answered. + +"It must have been a dreadful trial to you," she continued. + +"Oh, dreadful!" I replied. + +"I suppose you thought he would take up so much of your time and +thoughts, that we couldn't be to each other what we used to be, didn't +you?" she said. + +"Not exactly," I replied. "I only thought that things promised to be +twice as bad as they were before." + +She made no answer to this, but going to the back door of the parlor she +opened it and called Pomona. When that young woman appeared, Euphemia +stepped toward her and said: "Here, Pomona, take your baby." + +They were simple words, but they were spoken in such a way that they +meant a good deal. Pomona knew what they meant. Her eyes sparkled, and +as she went out, I saw her hug her child to her breast, and cover it +with kisses, and then, through the window, I could see her running to +the barn and Jonas. + +"Now, then," said Euphemia, closing the door and coming toward me, with +one of her old smiles, and not a trace of preoccupation about her, "I +suppose you expect me to devote myself to you." + +I did expect it, and I was not mistaken. + + +Since these events, a third baby has come to Rudder Grange. It is not +Pomona's, nor was it brought from New Dublin. It is named after a little +one, who died very young, before this story was begun, and the strangest +thing about it is that never, for a moment, does it seem to come between +Euphemia and myself. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Rudder Grange, by Frank R. Stockton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RUDDER GRANGE *** + +***** This file should be named 2011.txt or 2011.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/1/2011/ + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Association/Carnegie-Mellon + University" within the 60 days following each + date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) + your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, +scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty +free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution +you can think of. Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg +Association / Carnegie-Mellon University". + +*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +RUDDER GRANGE + +by Frank R. Stockton + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER I. + +Treating of a Novel Style of Dwelling-house + + +CHAPTER II. + +Treating of a Novel Style of Boarder + + +CHAPTER III. + +Treating of a Novel Style of Girl + + +CHAPTER IV. + +Treating of a Novel Style of Burglar + + +CHAPTER V. + +Pomona Produces a Partial Revolution in Rudder Grange + + +CHAPTER VI. + +The New Rudder Grange + + +CHAPTER VII. + +Treating of an Unsuccessful Broker and a Dog + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +Pomona Once More + + +CHAPTER IX. + +We Camp Out + + +CHAPTER X. + +Wet Blankets + + +CHAPTER XI. + +The Boarder's Visit + + +ChAPTER XII. + +Lord Edward and the Tree-man + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +Pomona's Novel + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +Pomona takes a Bridal Trip + + +CHAPTER XV. + +In which two New Friends disport themselves + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +In which an Old Friend appears, and the Bridal Trip takes a Fresh +Start + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +In which we take a Vacation and look for David Dutton + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +Our Tavern + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +The Baby at Rudder Grange + + +CHAPTER XX. + +The Other Baby at Rudder Grange + + + +RUDDER GRANGE. + + +CHAPTER I. + +TREATING OF A NOVEL STYLE OF DWELLING HOUSE. + + +For some months after our marriage, Euphemia and I boarded. But we +did not like it. Indeed, there was no reason why we should like +it. Euphemia said that she never felt at home except when she was +out, which feeling, indicating such an excessively unphilosophic +state of mind, was enough to make me desire to have a home of my +own, where, except upon rare and exceptional occasions, my wife +would never care to go out. + +If you should want to rent a house, there are three ways to find +one. One way is to advertise; another is to read the +advertisements of other people. This is a comparatively cheap way. +A third method is to apply to an agent. But none of these plans +are worth anything. The proper way is to know some one who will +tell you of a house that will exactly suit you. Euphemia and I +thoroughly investigated this matter, and I know that what I say is +a fact. + +We tried all the plans. When we advertised, we had about a dozen +admirable answers, but in these, although everything seemed to +suit, the amount of rent was not named. (None of those in which +the rent was named would do at all.) And when I went to see the +owners, or agents of these suitable houses, they asked much higher +rents than those mentioned in the unavailable answers--and this, +notwithstanding the fact that they always asserted that their terms +were either very reasonable or else greatly reduced on account of +the season being advanced. (It was now the fifteenth of May.) + +Euphemia and I once wrote a book,--this was just before we were +married,--in which we told young married people how to go to +housekeeping and how much it would cost them. We knew all about +it, for we had asked several people. Now the prices demanded as +yearly rental for small furnished houses, by the owners and agents +of whom I have been speaking, were, in many cases, more than we had +stated a house could be bought and furnished for! + +The advertisements of other people did not serve any better. There +was always something wrong about the houses when we made close +inquiries, and the trouble was generally in regard to the rent. +With agents we had a little better fortune. Euphemia sometimes +went with me on my expeditions to real estate offices, and she +remarked that these offices were always in the basement, or else +you had to go up to them in an elevator. There was nothing between +these extremes. And it was a good deal the same way, she said, +with their houses. They were all very low indeed in price and +quality, or else too high. + +One trouble was that we wanted a house in a country place, not very +far from the city, and not very far from the railroad station or +steamboat landing. We also wanted the house to be nicely shaded +and fully furnished, and not to be in a malarial neighborhood, or +one infested by mosquitoes. + +"If we do go to housekeeping," said Euphemia, "we might as well get +a house to suit us while we are about it. Moving is more expensive +than a fire." + +There was one man who offered us a house that almost suited us. It +was near the water, had rooms enough, and some--but not very much-- +ground, and was very accessible to the city. The rent, too, was +quite reasonable. But the house was unfurnished. The agent, +however, did not think that this would present any obstacle to our +taking it. He was sure that the owner would furnish it if we paid +him ten per cent, on the value of the furniture he put into it. We +agreed that if the landlord would do this and let us furnish the +house according to the plans laid down in our book, that we would +take the house. But unfortunately this arrangement did not suit +the landlord, although he was in the habit of furnishing houses for +tenants and charging them ten per cent. on the cost. + +I saw him myself and talked to him about it. + +"But you see," said he, when I had shown him our list of articles +necessary for the furnishing of a house, "it would not pay me to +buy all these things, and rent them out to you. If you only wanted +heavy furniture, which would last for years, the plan would answer, +but you want everything. I believe the small conveniences you have +on this list come to more money than the furniture and carpets." + +"Oh, yes," said I. "We are not so very particular about furniture +and carpets, but these little conveniences are the things that make +housekeeping pleasant, and,--speaking from a common-sense point of +view,--profitable." + +"That may be," he answered, "but I can't afford to make matters +pleasant and profitable for you in that way. Now, then, let us +look at one or two particulars. Here, on your list, is an ice- +pick: twenty-five cents. Now, if I buy that ice-pick and rent it +to you at two and a-half cents a year, I shall not get my money +back unless it lasts you ten years. And even then, as it is not +probable that I can sell that ice-pick after you have used it for +ten years, I shall have made nothing at all by my bargain. And +there are other things in that list, such as feather-dusters and +lamp-chimneys, that couldn't possibly last ten years. Don't you +see my position?" + +I saw it. We did not get that furnished house. Euphemia was +greatly disappointed. + +"It would have been just splendid," she said, "to have taken our +book and have ordered all these things at the stores, one after +another, without even being obliged to ask the price." + +I had my private doubts in regard to this matter of price. I am +afraid that Euphemia generally set down the lowest price and the +best things. She did not mean to mislead, and her plan certainly +made our book attractive. But it did not work very well in +practice. We have a friend who undertook to furnish her house by +our book, and she never could get the things as cheaply as we had +them quoted. + +"But you see," said Euphemia, to her, "we had to put them down at +very low prices, because the model house we speak of in the book is +to be entirely furnished for just so much." + +But, in spite of this explanation, the lady was not satisfied. + +We found ourselves obliged to give up the idea of a furnished +house. We would have taken an unfurnished one and furnished it +ourselves, but we had not money enough. We were dreadfully afraid +that we should have to continue to board. + +It was now getting on toward summer, at least there was only a part +of a month of spring left, and whenever I could get off from my +business Euphemia and I made little excursions into the country +round about the city. One afternoon we went up the river, and +there we saw a sight that transfixed us, as it were. On the bank, +a mile or so above the city, stood a canal-boat. I say stood, +because it was so firmly imbedded in the ground by the river-side, +that it would have been almost as impossible to move it as to have +turned the Sphinx around. This boat we soon found was inhabited by +an oyster-man and his family. They had lived there for many years +and were really doing quite well. The boat was divided, inside, +into rooms, and these were papered and painted and nicely +furnished. There was a kitchen, a living-room, a parlor and +bedrooms. There were all sorts of conveniences--carpets on the +floors, pictures, and everything, at least so it seemed to us, to +make a home comfortable. This was not all done at once, the +oyster-man told me. They had lived there for years and had +gradually added this and that until the place was as we saw it. He +had an oyster-bed out in the river and he made cider in the winter, +but where he got the apples I don't know. There was really no +reason why he should not get rich in time. + +Well, we went all over that house and we praised everything so much +that the oyster-man's wife was delighted, and when we had some +stewed oysters afterward,--eating them at a little table under a +tree near by,--I believe that she picked out the very largest +oysters she had, to stew for us. When we had finished our supper +and had paid for it, and were going down to take our little boat +again,--for we had rowed up the river,--Euphemia stopped and looked +around her. Then she clasped her hands and exclaimed in an +ecstatic undertone: + +"We must have a canal-boat!" + +And she never swerved from that determination. + +After I had seriously thought over the matter, I could see no good +reason against adopting this plan. It would certainly be a cheap +method of living, and it would really be housekeeping. I grew more +and more in favor of it. After what the oyster-man had done, what +might not we do? HE had never written a book on housekeeping, nor, +in all probability, had he considered the matter, philosophically, +for one moment in all his life. + +But it was not an easy thing to find a canal-boat. There were none +advertised for rent--at least, not for housekeeping purposes. + +We made many inquiries and took many a long walk along the water- +courses in the vicinity of the city, but all in vain. Of course, +we talked a great deal about our project and our friends became +greatly interested in it, and, of course, too, they gave us a great +deal of advice, but we didn't mind that. We were philosophical +enough to know that you can't have shad without bones. They were +good friends and, by being careful in regard to the advice, it +didn't interfere with our comfort. + +We were beginning to be discouraged, at least Euphemia was. Her +discouragement is like water-cresses, it generally comes up in a +very short time after she sows her wishes. But then it withers +away rapidly, which is a comfort. One evening we were sitting, +rather disconsolately, in our room, and I was reading out the +advertisements of country board in a newspaper, when in rushed Dr. +Heare--one of our old friends. He was so full of something that he +had to say that he didn't even ask us how we were. In fact, he +didn't appear to want to know. + +"I tell you what it is," said he, "I have found just the very thing +you want." + +"A canal-boat?" I cried. + +"Yes," said he, "a canal-boat." + +"Furnished?" asked Euphemia, her eyes glistening. + +"Well, no," answered the doctor, "I don't think you could expect +that." + +"But we can't live on the bare floor," said Euphemia; "our house +MUST be furnished." + +"Well, then, I suppose this won't do," said the doctor, ruefully, +"for there isn't so much as a boot-jack in it. It has most things +that are necessary for a boat, but it hasn't anything that you +could call house-furniture; but, dear me, I should think you could +furnish it very cheaply and comfortably out of your book." + +"Very true," said Euphemia, "if we could pick out the cheapest +things and then get some folks to buy a lot of the books." + +"We could begin with very little," said I, trying hard to keep +calm. + +"Certainly," said the doctor, "you need make no more rooms, at +first, than you could furnish." + +"Then there are no rooms," said Euphemia. + +"No, there is nothing but one vast apartment extending from stem to +stern." + +"Won't it be glorious!" said Euphemia to me. "We can first make a +kitchen, and then a dining-room, and a bedroom, and then a parlor-- +just in the order in which our book says they ought to be +furnished." + +"Glorious!" I cried, no longer able to contain my enthusiasm; "I +should think so. Doctor, where is this canal-boat?" + +The doctor then went into a detailed statement. The boat was +stranded on the shore of the Scoldsbury river not far below Ginx's. +We knew where Ginx's was, because we had spent a very happy day +there, during our honeymoon. + +The boat was a good one, but superannuated. That, however, did not +interfere with its usefulness as a dwelling. We could get it--the +doctor had seen the owner--for a small sum per annum, and here was +positively no end to its capabilities. + +We sat up until twenty minutes past two, talking about that house. +We ceased to call it a boat at about a quarter of eleven. + +The next day I "took" the boat and paid a month's rent in advance. +Three days afterward we moved into it. + +We had not much to move, which was a comfort, looking at it from +one point of view. A carpenter had put up two partitions in it +which made three rooms--a kitchen, a dining-room and a very long +bedroom, which was to be cut up into a parlor, study, spare-room, +etc., as soon as circumstances should allow, or my salary should be +raised. Originally, all the doors and windows were in the roof, so +to speak, but our landlord allowed us to make as many windows to +the side of the boat as we pleased, provided we gave him the wood +we cut out. It saved him trouble, he said, but I did not +understand him at the time. Accordingly, the carpenter made +several windows for us, and put in sashes, which opened on hinges +like the hasp of a trunk. Our furniture did not amount to much, at +first. The very thought of living in this independent, romantic +way was so delightful, Euphemia said, that furniture seemed a mere +secondary matter. + +We were obliged indeed to give up the idea of following the plan +detailed in our book, because we hadn't the sum upon which the +furnishing of a small house was therein based. + +"And if we haven't the money," remarked Euphemia, "it would be of +no earthly use to look at the book. It would only make us doubt +our own calculations. You might as well try to make brick without +mortar, as the children of Israel did." + +"I could do that myself, my dear," said I, "but we won't discuss +that subject now. We will buy just what we absolutely need, and +then work up from that." + +Acting on this plan, we bought first a small stove, because +Euphemia said that we could sleep on the floor, if it were +necessary, but we couldn't make a fire on the floor--at least not +often. Then we got a table and two chairs. The next thing we +purchased was some hanging shelves for our books, and Euphemia +suddenly remembered the kitchen things. These, which were few, +with some crockery, nearly brought us to the end of our resources, +but we had enough for a big easy-chair which Euphemia was +determined I should have, because I really needed it when I came +home at night, tired with my long day's work at the office. I had +always been used to an easy-chair, and it was one of her most +delightful dreams to see me in a real nice one, comfortably smoking +my pipe in my own house, after eating my own delicious little +supper in company with my own dear wife. We selected the chair, +and then we were about to order the things sent out to our future +home, when I happened to think that we had no bed. I called +Euphemia's attention to the fact. + +She was thunderstruck. + +"I never thought of that," she said. "We shall have to give up the +stove." + +"Not at all," said I, "we can't do that. We must give up the easy- +chair." + +"Oh, that would be too bad," said she. "The house would seem like +nothing to me without the chair!" + +"But we must do without it, my dear," said I, "at least for a +while. I can sit out on deck and smoke of an evening, you know." + +"Yes," said Euphemia. "You can sit on the bulwarks and I can sit +by you. That will do very well. I'm sure I'm glad the boat has +bulwarks." + +So we resigned the easy-chair and bought a bedstead and some very +plain bedding. The bedstead was what is sometimes called a +"scissors-bed." We could shut it up when we did not want to sleep +in it, and stand it against the wall. + +When we packed up our trunks and left the boarding-house Euphemia +fairly skipped with joy. + +We went down to Ginx's in the first boat, having arranged that our +furniture should be sent to us in the afternoon. We wanted to be +there to receive it. The trip was just wildly delirious. The air +was charming. The sun was bright, and I had a whole holiday. When +we reached Ginx's we found that the best way to get our trunks and +ourselves to our house was to take a carriage, and so we took one. +I told the driver to drive along the river road and I would tell +him where to stop. + +When we reached our boat, and had alighted, I said to the driver: + +"You can just put our trunks inside, anywhere." + +The man looked at the trunks and then looked at the boat. +Afterward he looked at me. + +"That boat ain't goin' anywhere," said he. + +"I should think not," said Euphemia. "We shouldn't want to live in +it, if it were." + +"You are going to live in it?" said the man. + +"Yes," said Euphemia. + +"Oh!" said the man, and he took our trunks on board, without +another word. + +It was not very easy for him to get the trunks into our new home. +In fact it was not easy for us to get there ourselves. There was a +gang-plank, with a rail on one side of it, which inclined from the +shore to the deck of the boat at an angle of forty-five degrees, +and when the man had staggered up this plank with the trunks +(Euphemia said I ought to have helped him, but I really thought +that it would be better for one person to fall off the plank than +for two to go over together), and we had paid him, and he had +driven away in a speechless condition, we scrambled up and stood +upon the threshold, or, rather, the after-deck of our home. + +It was a proud moment. Euphemia glanced around, her eyes full of +happy tears, and then she took my arm and we went down stairs--at +least we tried to go down in that fashion, but soon found it +necessary to go one at a time. We wandered over the whole extent +of our mansion and found that our carpenter had done his work +better than the woman whom we had engaged to scrub and clean the +house. Something akin to despair must have seized upon her, for +Euphemia declared that the floors looked dirtier than on the +occasion of her first visit, when we rented the boat. + +But that didn't discourage us. We felt sure that we should get it +clean in time. + +Early in the afternoon our furniture arrived, together with the +other things we had bought, and the men who brought them over from +the steamboat landing had the brightest, merriest faces I ever +noticed among that class of people. Euphemia said it was an +excellent omen to have such cheerful fellows come to us on the very +first day of our housekeeping. + +Then we went to work. I put up the stove, which was not much +trouble, as there was a place all ready in the deck for the stove- +pipe to be run through. Euphemia was somewhat surprised at the +absence of a chimney, but I assured her that boats were very seldom +built with chimneys. My dear little wife bustled about and +arranged the pots and kettles on nails that I drove into the +kitchen walls. Then she made the bed in the bed-room and I hung up +a looking-glass and a few little pictures that we had brought in +our trunks. + +Before four o'clock our house was in order. Then we began to be +very hungry. + +"My dear," said Euphemia, "we ought to have thought to bring +something to cook." + +"That is very true," said I, "but I think perhaps we had better +walk up to Ginx's and get our supper to-night. You see we are so +tired and hungry." + +"What!" cried Euphemia, "go to a hotel the very first day? I think +it would be dreadful! Why, I have been looking forward to this +first meal with the greatest delight. You can go up to the little +store by the hotel and buy some things and I will cook them, and we +will have our first dear little meal here all alone by ourselves, +at our own table and in our own house." + +So this was determined upon and, after a hasty counting of the fund +I had reserved for moving and kindred expenses, and which had been +sorely depleted during the day, I set out, and in about an hour +returned with my first marketing. + +I made a fire, using a lot of chips and blocks the carpenter had +left, and Euphemia cooked the supper, and we ate it from our little +table, with two large towels for a table-cloth. + +It was the most delightful meal I ever ate! + +And, when we had finished, Euphemia washed the dishes (the +thoughtful creature had put some water on the stove to heat for the +purpose, while we were at supper) and then we went on deck, or on +the piazza, as Euphemia thought we had better call it, and there we +had our smoke. I say WE, for Euphemia always helps me to smoke by +sitting by me, and she seems to enjoy it as much as I do. + +And when the shades of evening began to gather around us, I hauled +in the gang-plank (just like a delightful old draw-bridge, Euphemia +said, although I hope for the sake of our ancestors that draw- +bridges were easier to haul in) and went to bed. + +It is lucky we were tired and wanted to go to bed early, for we had +forgotten all about lamps or candles. + +For the next week we were two busy and happy people. I rose about +half-past five and made the fire,--we found so much wood on the +shore, that I thought I should not have to add fuel to my +expenses,--and Euphemia cooked the breakfast. I then went to a +well belonging to a cottage near by where we had arranged for +water-privileges, and filled two buckets with delicious water and +carried them home for Euphemia's use through the day. Then I +hurried off to catch the train, for, as there was a station near +Ginx's, I ceased to patronize the steamboat, the hours of which +were not convenient. After a day of work and pleasurable +anticipation at the office, I hastened back to my home, generally +laden with a basket of provisions and various household +necessities. Milk was brought to us daily from the above-mentioned +cottage by a little toddler who seemed just able to carry the small +tin bucket which held a lacteal pint. If the urchin had been the +child of rich parents, as Euphemia sometimes observed, he would +have been in his nurse's arms--but being poor, he was scarcely +weaned before he began to carry milk around to other people. + +After I reached home came supper and the delightful evening hours, +when over my pipe (I had given up cigars, as being too expensive +and inappropriate, and had taken to a tall pipe and canaster +tobacco) we talked and planned, and told each other our day's +experience. + +One of our earliest subjects of discussion was the name of our +homestead. Euphemia insisted that it should have a name. I was +quite willing, but we found it no easy matter to select an +appropriate title. I proposed a number of appellations intended to +suggest the character of our home. Among these were: "Safe +Ashore," "Firmly Grounded," and some other names of that style, but +Euphemia did not fancy any of them. She wanted a suitable name, of +course, she said, but it must be something that would SOUND like a +house and BE like a boat. + +"Partitionville," she objected to, and "Gangplank Terrace," did not +suit her because it suggested convicts going out to work, which +naturally was unpleasant. + +At last, after days of talk and cogitation, we named our house +"Rudder Grange." + +To be sure, it wasn't exactly a grange, but then it had such an +enormous rudder that the justice of that part of the title seemed +to over-balance any little inaccuracy in the other portion. + +But we did not spend all our spare time in talking. An hour or +two, every evening was occupied in what we called "fixing the +house," and gradually the inside of our abode began to look like a +conventional dwelling. We put matting on the floors and cheap but +very pretty paper on the walls. We added now a couple of chairs, +and now a table or something for the kitchen. Frequently, +especially of a Sunday, we had company, and our guests were always +charmed with Euphemia's cunning little meals. The dear girl loved +good eating so much that she could scarcely fail to be a good cook. + +We worked hard, and were very happy. And thus the weeks passed on. + + + +CHAPTER II. + +TREATING OF A NOVEL STYLE OF BOARDER. + + +In this delightful way of living, only one thing troubled us. We +didn't save any money. There were so many little things that we +wanted, and so many little things that were so cheap, that I spent +pretty much all I made, and that was far from the philosophical +plan of living that I wished to follow. + +We talked this matter over a great deal after we had lived in our +new home for about a month, and we came at last to the conclusion +that we would take a boarder. + +We had no trouble in getting a boarder, for we had a friend, a +young man who was engaged in the flour business, who was very +anxious to come and live with us. He had been to see us two or +three times, and had expressed himself charmed with our household +arrangements. + +So we made terms with him. The carpenter partitioned off another +room, and our boarder brought his trunk and a large red velvet arm- +chair, and took up his abode at "Rudder Grange." + +We liked our boarder very much, but he had some peculiarities. I +suppose everybody has them. Among other things, he was very fond +of telling us what we ought to do. He suggested more improvements +in the first three days of his sojourn with us than I had thought +of since we commenced housekeeping. And what made the matter +worse, his suggestions were generally very good ones. Had it been +otherwise I might have borne his remarks more complacently, but to +be continually told what you ought to do, and to know that you +ought to do it, is extremely annoying. + +He was very anxious that I should take off the rudder, which was +certainly useless to a boat situated as ours was, and make an +ironing-table of it. I persisted that the laws of symmetrical +propriety required that the rudder should remain where it was--that +the very name of our home would be interfered with by its removal, +but he insisted that "Ironing-table Grange" would be just as good a +name, and that symmetrical propriety in such a case did not amount +to a row of pins. + +The result was, that we did have the ironing-table, and that +Euphemia was very much pleased with it. A great many other +improvements were projected and carried out by him, and I was very +much worried. He made a flower-garden for Euphemia on the extreme +forward-deck, and having borrowed a wheelbarrow, he wheeled dozens +of loads of arable dirt up our gang-plank and dumped them out on +the deck. When he had covered the garden with a suitable depth of +earth, he smoothed it off and then planted flower-seeds. It was +rather late in the season, but most of them came up. I was pleased +with the garden, but sorry I had not made it myself. + +One afternoon I got away from the office considerably earlier than +usual, and I hurried home to enjoy the short period of daylight +that I should have before supper. It had been raining the day +before, and as the bottom of our garden leaked so that earthy water +trickled down at one end of our bed-room, I intended to devote a +short time to stuffing up the cracks in the ceiling or bottom of +the deck--whichever seems the most appropriate. + +But when I reached a bend in the river road, whence I always had +the earliest view of my establishment, I did not have that view. I +hurried on. The nearer I approached the place where I lived, the +more horror-stricken I became. There was no mistaking the fact. + +The boat was not there! + +In an instant the truth flashed upon me. + +The water was very high--the rain had swollen the river--my house +had floated away! + +It was Wednesday. On Wednesday afternoons our boarder came home +early. + +I clapped my hat tightly on my head and ground my teeth. + +"Confound that boarder!" I thought. "He has been fooling with the +anchor. He always said it was of no use, and taking advantage of +my absence, he has hauled it up, and has floated away, and has +gone--gone with my wife and my home!" + +Euphemia and "Rudder Grange" had gone off together--where I knew +not,--and with them that horrible suggester! + +I ran wildly along the bank. I called aloud, I shouted and hailed +each passing craft--of which there were only two--but their crews +must have been very inattentive to the woes of landsmen, or else +they did not hear me, for they paid no attention to my cries. + +I met a fellow with an axe on his shoulder. I shouted to him +before I reached him: + +"Hello! did you see a boat--a house, I mean,--floating up the +river?" + +"A boat-house?" asked the man. + +"No, a house-boat," I gasped. + +"Didn't see nuthin' like it," said the man, and he passed on, to +his wife and home, no doubt. But me! Oh, where was my wife and my +home? + +I met several people, but none of them had seen a fugitive canal- +boat. + +How many thoughts came into my brain as I ran along that river +road! If that wretched boarder had not taken the rudder for an +ironing table he might have steered in shore! Again and again I +confounded--as far as mental ejaculations could do it--his +suggestions. + +I was rapidly becoming frantic when I met a person who hailed me. + +"Hello!" he said, "are you after a canal-boat adrift?" + +"Yes," I panted. + +"I thought you was," he said. "You looked that way. Well, I can +tell you where she is. She's stuck fast in the reeds at the lower +end o' Peter's Pint." + +"Where's that?" said I. + +"Oh, it's about a mile furder up. I seed her a-driftin' up with +the tide--big flood tide, to-day--and I thought I'd see somebody +after her, afore long. Anything aboard?" + +Anything! + +I could not answer the man. Anything, indeed! I hurried on up the +river without a word. Was the boat a wreck? I scarcely dared to +think of it. I scarcely dared to think at all. + +The man called after me and I stopped. I could but stop, no matter +what I might hear. + +"Hello, mister," he said, "got any tobacco?" + +I walked up to him. I took hold of him by the lapel of his coat. +It was a dirty lapel, as I remember even now, but I didn't mind +that. + +"Look here," said I. "Tell me the truth, I can bear it. Was that +vessel wrecked?" + +The man looked at me a little queerly. I could not exactly +interpret his expression. + +"You're sure you kin bear it?" said he. + +"Yes," said I, my hand trembling as I held his coat. + +"Well, then," said he, "it's mor'n I kin," and he jerked his coat +out of my hand, and sprang away. When he reached the other side of +the road, he turned and shouted at me, as though I had been deaf. + +"Do you know what I think?" he yelled. "I think you're a darned +lunatic," and with that he went his way. + +I hastened on to Peter's Point. Long before I reached it, I saw +the boat. + +It was apparently deserted. But still I pressed on. I must know +the worst. When I reached the Point, I found that the boat had run +aground, with her head in among the long reeds and mud, and the +rest of her hull lying at an angle from the shore. + +There was consequently no way for me to get on board, but to wade +through the mud and reeds to her bow, and then climb up as well as +I could. + +This I did, but it was not easy to do. Twice I sank above my knees +in mud and water, and had it not been for reeds, masses of which I +frequently clutched when I thought I was going over, I believe I +should have fallen down and come to my death in that horrible +marsh. When I reached the boat, I stood up to my hips in water and +saw no way of climbing up. The gang-plank had undoubtedly floated +away, and if it had not, it would have been of no use to me in my +position. + +But I was desperate. I clasped the post that they put in the bow +of canal-boats; I stuck my toes and my finger-nails in the cracks +between the boards--how glad I was that the boat was an old one and +had cracks!--and so, painfully and slowly, slipping part way down +once or twice, and besliming myself from chin to foot, I climbed up +that post and scrambled upon deck. In an instant, I reached the +top of the stairs, and in another instant I rushed below. + +There sat my wife and our boarder, one on each side of the dining- +room table, complacently playing checkers! + +My sudden entrance startled them. My appearance startled them +still more. + +Euphemia sprang to her feet and tottered toward me. + +"Mercy!" she exclaimed; "has anything happened?" + +"Happened!" I gasped. + +"Look here," cried the boarder, clutching me by the arm, "what a +condition you're in. Did you fall in?" + +"Fall in!" said I. + +Euphemia and the boarder looked at each other. I looked at them. +Then I opened my mouth in earnest. + +"I suppose you don't know," I yelled, "that you have drifted away!" + +"By George!" cried the boarder, and in two bounds he was on deck. + +Dirty as I was, Euphemia fell into my arms. I told her all. She +hadn't known a bit of it! + +The boat had so gently drifted off, and had so gently grounded +among the reeds, that the voyage had never so much as disturbed +their games of checkers. + +"He plays such a splendid game," Euphemia sobbed, "and just as you +came, I thought I was going to beat him. I had two kings and two +pieces on the next to last row, and you are nearly drowned. You'll +get your death of cold--and--and he had only one king." + +She led me away and I undressed and washed myself and put on my +Sunday clothes. + +When I reappeared I went out on deck with Euphemia. The boarder +was there, standing by the petunia bed. His arms were folded and +he was thinking profoundly. As we approached, he turned toward us. + +"You were right about that anchor," he said, "I should not have +hauled it in; but it was such a little anchor that I thought it +would be of more use on board as a garden hoe." + +"A very little anchor will sometimes do very well," said I, +cuttingly, "when it is hooked around a tree." + +"Yes, there is something in that," said he. + +It was now growing late, and as our agitation subsided we began to +be hungry. Fortunately, we had everything necessary on board, and, +as it really didn't make any difference in our household economy, +where we happened to be located, we had supper quite as usual. In +fact, the kettle had been put on to boil during the checker- +playing. + +After supper, we went on deck to smoke, as was our custom, but +there was a certain coolness between me and our boarder. + +Early the next morning I arose and went upstairs to consider what +had better be done, when I saw the boarder standing on shore, near +by. + +"Hello!" he cried, "the tide's down and I got ashore without any +trouble. You stay where you are. I've hired a couple of mules to +tow the boat back. They'll be here when the tide rises. And, +hello! I've found the gang-plank. It floated ashore about a +quarter of a mile below here." + +In the course of the afternoon the mules and two men with a long +rope appeared, and we were then towed back to where we belonged. + +And we are there yet. Our boarder remains with us, as the weather +is still fine, and the coolness between us is gradually +diminishing. But the boat is moored at both ends, and twice a day +I look to see if the ropes are all right. + +The petunias are growing beautifully, but the geraniums do not seem +to flourish. Perhaps there is not a sufficient depth of earth for +them. Several times our boarder has appeared to be on the point of +suggesting something in regard to them, but, for some reason or +other, he says nothing. + + + +CHAPTER III. + +TREATING OF A NOVEL STYLE OF GIRL. + + +One afternoon, as I was hurrying down Broadway to catch the five +o'clock train, I met Waterford. He is an old friend of mine, and I +used to like him pretty well. + +"Hello!" said he, "where are you going?" + +"Home," I answered. + +"Is that so?" said he. "I didn't know you had one." + +I was a little nettled at this, and so I said, somewhat brusquely +perhaps: + +"But you must have known I lived somewhere." + +"Oh, yes! But I thought you boarded," said he. "I had no idea +that you had a home." + +"But I have one, and a very pleasant home, too. You must excuse me +for not stopping longer, as I must catch my train." + +"Oh! I'll walk along with you," said Waterford, and so we went down +the street together. + +"Where is your little house?" he asked. + +Why in the world he thought it was a little house I could not at +the time imagine, unless he supposed that two people would not +require a large one. But I know, now, that he lived in a very +little house himself. + +But it was of no use getting angry with Waterford, especially as I +saw he intended walking all the way down to the ferry with me, so I +told him I didn't live in any house at all. + +"Why, where DO you live?" he exclaimed, stopping short. + +"I live in a boat," said I. + +"A boat! A sort of 'Rob Roy' arrangement, I suppose. Well, I +would not have thought that of you. And your wife, I suppose, has +gone home to her people?" + +"She has done nothing of the kind," I answered. "She lives with +me, and she likes it very much. We are extremely comfortable, and +our boat is not a canoe, or any such nonsensical affair. It is a +large, commodious canal-boat." + +Waterford turned around and looked at me. + +"Are you a deck-hand?" he asked. + +"Deck-grandmother!" I exclaimed. + +"Well, you needn't get mad about it," he said. "I didn't mean to +hurt your feelings; but I couldn't see what else you could be on a +canal-boat. I don't suppose, for instance, that you're captain." + +"But I am," said I. + +"Look here!" said Waterford; "this is coming it rather strong, +isn't it?" + +As I saw he was getting angry, I told him all about it,--told him +how we had hired a stranded canal-boat and had fitted it up as a +house, and how we lived so cosily in it, and had called it "Rudder +Grange," and how we had taken a boarder. + +"Well!" said he, "this is certainly surprising. I'm coming out to +see you some day. It will be better than going to Barnum's." + +I told him--it is the way of society--that we would be glad to see +him, and we parted. Waterford never did come to see us, and I +merely mention this incident to show how some of our friends talked +about Rudder Grange, when they first heard that we lived there. + +After dinner that evening, when I went up on deck with Euphemia to +have my smoke, we saw the boarder sitting on the bulwarks near the +garden, with his legs dangling down outside. + +"Look here!" said he. + +I looked, but there was nothing unusual to see. + +"What is it?" I asked. + +He turned around and seeing Euphemia, said: + +"Nothing." + +It would be a very stupid person who could not take such a hint as +that, and so, after a walk around the garden, Euphemia took +occasion to go below to look at the kitchen fire. + +As soon as she had gone, the boarder turned to me and said: + +"I'll tell you what it is. She's working herself sick." + +"Sick?" said I. "Nonsense!" + +"No nonsense about it," he replied. + +The truth was, that the boarder was right and I was wrong. We had +spent several months at Rudder Grange, and during this time +Euphemia had been working very hard, and she really did begin to +look pale and thin. Indeed, it would be very wearying for any +woman of culture and refinement, unused to house-work, to cook and +care for two men, and to do all the work of a canal-boat besides. + +But I saw Euphemia so constantly, and thought so much of her, and +had her image so continually in my heart, that I did not notice +this until our boarder now called my attention to it. I was sorry +that he had to do it. + +"If I were in your place," said he, "I would get her a servant." + +"If you were in my place," I replied, somewhat cuttingly, "you +would probably suggest a lot of little things which would make +everything very easy for her." + +"I'd try to," he answered, without getting in the least angry. + +Although I felt annoyed that he had suggested it, still I made up +my mind that Euphemia must have a servant. + +She agreed quite readily when I proposed the plan, and she urged me +to go and see the carpenter that very day, and get him to come and +partition off a little room for the girl. + +It was some time, of course, before the room was made (for who ever +heard of a carpenter coming at the very time he was wanted?) and, +when it was finished, Euphemia occupied all her spare moments in +getting it in nice order for the servant when she should come. I +thought she was taking too much trouble, but she had her own ideas +about such things. + +"If a girl is lodged like a pig, you must expect her to behave like +a pig, and I don't want that kind." + +So she put up pretty curtains at the girl's window, and with a box +that she stood on end, and some old muslin and a lot of tacks, she +made a toilet-table so neat and convenient that I thought she ought +to take it into our room and give the servant our wash-stand. + +But all this time we had no girl, and as I had made up my mind +about the matter, I naturally grew impatient, and at last I +determined to go and get a girl myself. + +So, one day at lunch-time, I went to an intelligence office in the +city. There I found a large room on the second floor, and some +ladies, and one or two men, sitting about, and a small room, back +of it, crowded with girls from eighteen to sixty-eight years old. +There were also girls upon the stairs, and girls in the hall below, +besides some girls standing on the sidewalk before the door. + +When I made known my business and had paid my fee, one of the +several proprietors who were wandering about the front room went +into the back apartment and soon returned with a tall Irishwoman +with a bony weather-beaten face and a large weather-beaten shawl. +This woman was told to take a chair by my side. Down sat the huge +creature and stared at me. I did not feel very easy under her +scrutinizing gaze, but I bore it as best I could, and immediately +began to ask her all the appropriate questions that I could think +of. Some she answered satisfactorily, and some she didn't answer +at all; but as soon as I made a pause, she began to put questions +herself. + +"How many servants do you kape?" she asked. + +I answered that we intended to get along with one, and if she +understood her business, I thought she would find her work very +easy, and the place a good one. + +She turned sharp upon me and said: + +"Have ye stationary wash-tubs?" + +I hesitated. I knew our wash-tubs were not stationary, for I had +helped to carry them about. But they might be screwed fast and +made stationary if that was an important object. But, before +making this answer, I thought of the great conveniences for washing +presented by our residence, surrounded as it was, at high tide, by +water. + +"Why, we live in a stationary wash-tub," I said, smiling. + +The woman looked at me steadfastly for a minute, and then she rose +to her feet. Then she called out, as if she were crying fish or +strawberries: + +"Mrs. Blaine!" + +The female keeper of the intelligence office, and the male keeper, +and a thin clerk, and all the women in the back room, and all the +patrons in the front room, jumped up and gathered around us. + +Astonished and somewhat disconcerted, I rose to my feet and +confronted the tall Irishwoman, and stood smiling in an uncertain +sort of a way, as if it were all very funny; but I couldn't see the +point. I think I must have impressed the people with the idea that +I wished I hadn't come. + +"He says," exclaimed the woman, as if some other huckster were +crying fish on the other side of the street--"he says he lives in a +wash-toob." + +"He's crazy!" ejaculated Mrs. Blaine, with an air that indicated +"policeman" as plainly as if she had put her thought into words. + +A low murmur ran through the crowd of women, while the thin clerk +edged toward the door. + +I saw there was no time to lose. I stepped back a little from the +tall savage, who was breathing like a hot-air engine in front of +me, and made my explanations to the company. I told the tale of +"Rudder Grange," and showed them how it was like to a stationary +wash-tub--at certain stages of the tide. + +I was listened to with great attention. When I had finished, the +tall woman turned around and faced the assemblage. + +"An' he wants a cook to make soup! In a canal-boat!" said she, and +off she marched into the back-room, followed closely by all the +other women. + +"I don't think we have any one here who would suit you," said Mrs. +Blaine. + +I didn't think so either. What on earth would Euphemia have done +with that volcanic Irishwoman in her little kitchen! I took up my +hat and bade Mrs. Blaine good morning. + +"Good morning," said she, with a distressing smile. + +She had one of those mouths that look exactly like a gash in the +face. + +I went home without a girl. In a day or two Euphemia came to town +and got one. Apparently she got her without any trouble, but I am +not sure. + +She went to a "Home"--Saint Somebody's Home--a place where they +keep orphans to let, so to speak. Here Euphemia selected a light- +haired, medium-sized orphan, and brought her home. + +The girl's name was Pomona. Whether or not her parents gave her +this name is doubtful. At any rate, she did not seem quite decided +in her mind about it herself, for she had not been with us more +than two weeks before she expressed a desire to be called Clare. +This longing of her heart, however, was denied her. So Euphemia, +who was always correct, called her Pomona. I did the same whenever +I could think not to say Bologna--which seemed to come very pat for +some reason or other. + +As for the boarder, he generally called her Altoona, connecting her +in some way with the process of stopping for refreshments, in which +she was an adept. + +She was an earnest, hearty girl. She was always in a good humor, +and when I asked her to do anything, she assented in a bright, +cheerful way, and in a loud tone full of good-fellowship, as though +she would say: + +"Certainly, my high old cock! To be sure I will. Don't worry +about it--give your mind no more uneasiness on that subject. I'll +bring the hot water." + +She did not know very much, but she was delighted to learn, and she +was very strong. Whatever Euphemia told her to do, she did +instantly with a bang. What pleased her better than anything else +was to run up and down the gang-plank, carrying buckets of water to +water the garden. She delighted in out-door work, and sometimes +dug so vigorously in our garden that she brought up pieces of the +deck-planking with every shovelful. + +Our boarder took the greatest interest in her, and sometimes +watched her movements so intently that he let his pipe go out. + +"What a whacking girl that would be to tread out grapes in the +vineyards of Italy! She'd make wine cheap," he once remarked. + +"Then I'm glad she isn't there," said Euphemia, "for wine oughtn't +to be cheap." + +Euphemia was a thorough little temperance woman. + +The one thing about Pomona that troubled me more than anything else +was her taste for literature. It was not literature to which I +objected, but her very peculiar taste. She would read in the +kitchen every night after she had washed the dishes, but if she had +not read aloud, it would not have made so much difference to me. +But I am naturally very sensitive to external impressions, and I do +not like the company of people who, like our girl, cannot read +without pronouncing in a measured and distinct voice every word of +what they are reading. And when the matter thus read appeals to +one's every sentiment of aversion, and there is no way of escaping +it, the case is hard indeed. + +From the first, I felt inclined to order Pomona, if she could not +attain the power of silent perusal, to cease from reading +altogether; but Euphemia would not hear to this. + +"Poor thing!" said she; "it would be cruel to take from her her +only recreation. And she says she can't read any other way. You +needn't listen if you don't want to." + +That was all very well in an abstract point of view; but the fact +was, that in practice, the more I didn't want to listen, the more I +heard. + +As the evenings were often cool, we sat in our dining-room, and the +partition between this room and the kitchen seemed to have no +influence whatever in arresting sound. So that when I was trying +to read or to reflect, it was by no means exhilarating to my mind +to hear from the next room that: + +"The la dy ce sel i a now si zed the weep on and all though the +boor ly vil ly an re tain ed his vy gor ous hold she drew the blade +through his fin gers and hoorl ed it far be hind her dryp ping with +jore." + +This sort of thing, kept up for an hour or so at a time, used to +drive me nearly wild. But Euphemia did not mind it. I believe +that she had so delicate a sense of what was proper, that she did +not hear Pomona's private readings. + +On one occasion, even Euphemia's influence could scarcely restrain +me from violent interference. + +It was our boarder's night out (when he was detained in town by his +business), and Pomona was sitting up to let him in. This was +necessary, for our front-door (or main-hatchway) had no night- +latch, but was fastened by means of a bolt. Euphemia and I used to +sit up for him, but that was earlier in the season, when it was +pleasant to be out on deck until quite a late hour. But Pomona +never objected to sitting (or getting) up late, and so we allowed +this weekly duty to devolve on her. + +On this particular night I was very tired and sleepy, and soon +after I got into bed I dropped into a delightful slumber. But it +was not long before I was awakened by the fact that: + +"Sa rah did not fl inch but gras ped the heat ed i ron in her un in +jur ed hand and when the ra bid an i mal a proach ed she thr ust +the lur id po ker in his--" + +"My conscience!" said I to Euphemia, "can't that girl be stopped?" + +"You wouldn't have her sit there and do nothing, would you?" said +she. + +"No; but she needn't read out that way." + +"She can't read any other way," said Euphemia, drowsily. + +"Yell af ter yell res oun ded as he wil dly spr rang--" + +"I can't stand that, and I won't," said I. "Why don't she go into +the kitchen?--the dining-room's no place for her." + +"She must not sit there," said Euphemia. "There's a window-pane +out. Can't you cover up your head?" + +"I shall not be able to breathe if I do; but I suppose that's no +matter," I replied. + +The reading continued. + +"Ha, ha! Lord Mar mont thun der ed thou too shalt suf fer all that +this poor--" + +I sprang out of bed. + +Euphemia thought I was going for my pistol, and she gave one bound +and stuck her head out of the door. + +"Pomona, fly!" she cried. + +"Yes, sma'am," said Pomona; and she got up and flew--not very fast, +I imagine. Where she flew to I don't know, but she took the lamp +with her, and I could hear distant syllables of agony and blood, +until the boarder came home and Pomona went to bed. + +I think that this made an impression upon Euphemia, for, although +she did not speak to me upon the subject (or any other) that night, +the next time I heard Pomona reading, the words ran somewhat thus: + +"The as ton ish ing che ap ness of land is ac count ed for by the +want of home mar kets, of good ro ads and che ap me ans of trans +por ta ti on in ma ny sec ti ons of the State." + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +TREATING OF A NOVEL STYLE OF BURGLAR. + + +I have spoken of my pistol. During the early part of our residence +at Rudder Grange I never thought of such a thing as owning a +pistol. + +But it was different now. I kept a Colt's revolver loaded in the +bureau drawer in our bedroom. + +The cause of this change was burglars. Not that any of these +unpleasant persons had visited us, but we much feared they would. +Several houses in the vicinity had been entered during the past +month, and we could never tell when our turn would come. + +To be sure, our boarder suggested that if we were to anchor out a +little further at night, no burglar would risk catching his death +of cold by swimming out to us; but Euphemia having replied that it +would be rather difficult to move a canal-boat every night without +paddle-wheels, or sails, or mules, especially if it were aground, +this plan was considered to be effectually disposed of. + +So we made up our minds that we must fasten up everything very +securely, and I bought a pistol and two burglar-alarms. One of +these I affixed to the most exposed window, and the other to the +door which opened on the deck. These alarms were very simple +affairs, but they were good enough. When they were properly +attached to a window or door, and it was opened, a little gong +sounded like a violently deranged clock, striking all the hours of +the day at once. + +The window did not trouble us much, but it was rather irksome to +have to make the attachment to the door every night and to take it +off every morning. However, as Euphemia said, it was better to +take a little trouble than to have the house full of burglars, +which was true enough. + +We made all the necessary arrangements in case burglars should make +an inroad upon us. At the first sound of the alarm, Euphemia and +the girl were to lie flat on the floor or get under their beds. +Then the boarder and I were to stand up, back to back, each with +pistol in hand, and fire away, revolving on a common centre the +while. In this way, by aiming horizontally at about four feet from +the floor, we could rake the premises, and run no risk of shooting +each other or the women of the family. + +To be sure, there were some slight objections to this plan. The +boarder's room was at some distance from ours, and he would +probably not hear the alarm, and the burglars might not be willing +to wait while I went forward and roused him up, and brought him to +our part of the house. But this was a minor difficulty. I had no +doubt but that, if it should be necessary, I could manage to get +our boarder into position in plenty of time. + +It was not very long before there was an opportunity of testing the +plan. + +About twelve o'clock one night one of the alarms (that on the +kitchen window) went off with a whirr and a wild succession of +clangs. For a moment I thought the morning train had arrived, and +then I woke up. Euphemia was already under the bed. + +I hurried on a few clothes, and then I tried to find the bureau in +the dark. This was not easy, as I lost my bearings entirely. But +I found it at last, got the top drawer open and took out my pistol. +Then I slipped out of the room, hurried up the stairs, opened the +door (setting off the alarm there, by the way), and ran along the +deck (there was a cold night wind), and hastily descended the steep +steps that led into the boarder's room. The door that was at the +bottom of the steps was not fastened, and, as I opened it, a little +stray moonlight illumed the room. I hastily stepped to the bed and +shook the boarder by the shoulder. He kept HIS pistol under his +pillow. + +In an instant he was on his feet, his hand grasped my throat, and +the cold muzzle of his Derringer pistol was at my forehead. It was +an awfully big muzzle, like the mouth of a bottle. + +I don't know when I lived so long as during the first minute that +he held me thus. + +"Rascal!" he said. "Do as much as breathe, and I'll pull the +trigger." + +I didn't breathe. + +I had an accident insurance on my life. Would it hold good in a +case like this? Or would Euphemia have to go back to her father? + +He pushed me back into the little patch of moonlight. + +"Oh! is it you?" he said, relaxing his grasp. "What do you want? +A mustard plaster?" + +He had a package of patent plasters in his room. You took one and +dipped it in hot water, and it was all ready. + +"No," said I, gasping a little. "Burglars." + +"Oh!" he said, and he put down his pistol and put on his clothes. + +"Come along," he said, and away we went over the deck. + +When we reached the stairs all was dark and quiet below. + +It was a matter of hesitancy as to going down. + +I started to go down first, but the boarder held me back. + +"Let me go down," he said. + +"No," said I, "my wife is there." + +"That's the very reason you should not go," he said. "She is safe +enough yet, and they would fire only at a man. It would be a bad +job for her if you were killed. I'll go down." + +So he went down, slowly and cautiously, his pistol in one hand, and +his life in the other, as it were. + +When he reached the bottom of the steps I changed my mind. I could +not remain above while the burglar and Euphemia were below, so I +followed. + +The boarder was standing in the middle of the dining-room, into +which the stairs led. I could not see him, but I put my hand +against him as I was feeling my way across the floor. + +I whispered to him: + +"Shall we put our backs together and revolve and fire?" + +"No," he whispered back, "not now; he may be on a shelf by this +time, or under a table. Let's look him up." + +I confess that I was not very anxious to look him up, but I +followed the boarder, as he slowly made his way toward the kitchen +door. As we opened the door we instinctively stopped. + +The window was open, and by the light of the moon that shone in, we +saw the rascal standing on a chair, leaning out of the window, +evidently just ready to escape. Fortunately, we were unheard. + +"Let's pull him in," whispered the boarder. + +"No," I whispered in reply. "We don't want him in. Let's hoist +him out." + +"All right," returned the boarder. + +We laid our pistols on the floor, and softly approached the window. +Being barefooted, out steps were noiseless. + +"Hoist when I count three," breathed the boarder into my ear. + +We reached the chair. Each of us took hold of two of its legs. + +"One--two--three!" said the boarder, and together we gave a +tremendous lift and shot the wretch out of the window. + +The tide was high, and there was a good deal of water around the +boat. We heard a rousing splash outside. + +Now there was no need of silence. + +"Shall we run on deck and shoot him as he swims?" I cried. + +"No," said the boarder, "we'll get the boat-hook, and jab him if he +tries to climb up." + +We rushed on deck. I seized the boat-hook and looked over the +side. But I saw no one. + +"He's gone to the bottom!" I exclaimed. + +"He didn't go very far then," said the boarder, "for it's not more +than two feet deep there." + +Just then our attention was attracted by a voice from the shore. + +"Will you please let down the gang-plank?" We looked ashore, and +there stood Pomona, dripping from every pore. + +We spoke no words, but lowered the gangplank. + +She came aboard. + +"Good night!" said the boarder, and he went to bed. + +"Pomona!" said I, "what have you been doing?" + +"I was a lookin' at the moon, sir, when pop! the chair bounced, and +out I went." + +"You shouldn't do that," I said, sternly. + +"Some day you'll be drowned. Take off your wet things and go to +bed." + +"Yes, sma'am--sir, I mean," said she, as she went down-stairs. + +When I reached my room I lighted the lamp, and found Euphemia still +under the bed. + +"Is it all right?" she asked. + +"Yes," I answered. "There was no burglar. Pomona fell out of the +window." + +"Did you get her a plaster?" asked Euphemia, drowsily. + +"No, she did not need one. She's all right now. Were you worried +about me, dear?" + +"No, I trusted in you entirely, and I think I dozed a little under +the bed." + +In one minute she was asleep. + +The boarder and I did not make this matter a subject of +conversation afterward, but Euphemia gave the girl a lecture on her +careless ways, and made her take several Dover's powders the next +day. + +An important fact in domestic economy was discovered about this +time by Euphemia and myself. Perhaps we were not the first to +discover it, but we certainly did find it out,--and this fact was, +that housekeeping costs money. At the end of every week we counted +up our expenditures--it was no trouble at all to count up our +receipts--and every week the result was more unsatisfactory. + +"If we could only get rid of the disagreeable balance that has to +be taken along all the time, and which gets bigger and bigger like +a snow-ball, I think we would find the accounts more satisfactory," +said Euphemia. + +This was on a Saturday night. We always got our pencils and paper +and money at the end of the week. + +"Yes," said I, with an attempt to appear facetious and unconcerned, +"but it would be all well enough if we could take that snow-ball to +the fire and melt it down." + +"But there never is any fire where there are snow-balls," said +Euphemia. + +"No," said I, "and that's just the trouble." + +It was on the following Thursday, when I came home in the evening, +that Euphemia met me with a glowing face. It rather surprised me +to see her look so happy, for she had been very quiet and +preoccupied for the first part of the week. So much so, indeed, +that I had thought of ordering smaller roasts for a week or two, +and taking her to a Thomas Concert with the money saved. But this +evening she looked as if she did not need Thomas's orchestra. + +"What makes you so bright, my dear?" said I, when I had greeted +her. "Has anything jolly happened?" + +"No," said she; "nothing yet, but I am going to make a fire to melt +snow-balls." + +Of course I was very anxious to know how she was going to do it, +but she would not tell me. It was a plan that she intended to keep +to herself until she saw how it worked. I did not press her, +because she had so few secrets, and I did not hear anything about +this plan until it had been carried out. + +Her scheme was as follows: After thinking over our financial +condition and puzzling her brain to find out some way of bettering +it, she had come to the conclusion that she would make some money +by her own exertions, to help defray our household expenses. She +never had made any money, but that was no reason why she should not +begin. It was too bad that I should have to toil and toil and not +make nearly enough money after all. So she would go to work and +earn something with her own hands. + +She had heard of an establishment in the city, where ladies of +limited means, or transiently impecunious, could, in a very quiet +and private way, get sewing to do. They could thus provide for +their needs without any one but the officers of the institution +knowing anything about it. + +So Euphemia went to this place, and she got some work. It was not +a very large bundle, but it was larger than she had been accustomed +to carry, and, what was perfectly dreadful, it was wrapped up in a +newspaper! When Euphemia told me the story, she said that this was +too much for her courage. She could not go on the cars, and +perhaps meet people belonging to our church, with a newspaper +bundle under her arm. + +But her genius for expedients saved her from this humiliation. She +had to purchase some sewing-cotton, and some other little things, +and when she had bought them, she handed her bundle to the woman +behind the counter, and asked her if she would not be so good as to +have that wrapped up with the other things. It was a good deal to +ask, she knew, and the woman smiled, for the articles she had +bought would not make a package as large as her hand. However, her +request was complied with, and she took away a very decent package, +with the card of the store stamped on the outside. I suppose that +there are not more than half a dozen people in this country who +would refuse Euphemia anything that she would be willing to ask +for. + +So she took the work home, and she labored faithfully at it for +about a week, She did not suppose it would take her so long; but +she was not used to such very plain sewing, and was much afraid +that she would not do it neatly enough. Besides this, she could +only work on it in the daytime--when I was away--and was, of +course, interrupted a great deal by her ordinary household duties, +and the necessity of a careful oversight of Pomona's somewhat +erratic methods of doing her work. + +But at last she finished the job and took it into the city. She +did not want to spend any more money on the trip than was +absolutely necessary, and so was very glad to find that she had a +remnant of pocket-money sufficient to pay her fare both ways. + +When she reached the city, she walked up to the place where her +work was to be delivered, and found it much farther when she went +on foot than it had seemed to her riding in the street cars. She +handed over her bundle to the proper person, and, as it was soon +examined and approved, she received her pay therefor. + +It amounted to sixty cents. She had made no bargain, but she was a +little astonished. However, she said nothing, but left the place +without asking for any more work. In fact she forgot all about it. +She had an idea that everything was all wrong, and that idea +engrossed her mind entirely. There was no mistake about the sum +paid, for the lady clerk had referred to the printed table of +prices when she calculated the amount due. But something was +wrong, and, at the moment, Euphemia could not tell what it was. +She left the place, and started to walk back to the ferry. But she +was so tired and weak, and hungry--it was now an hour or two past +her regular luncheon time--that she thought she should faint if she +did not go somewhere and get some refreshments. + +So, like a sensible little woman as she was, she went into a +restaurant. She sat down at a table, and a waiter came to her to +see what she would have. She was not accustomed to eating-houses, +and perhaps this was the first time that she had ever visited one +alone. What she wanted was something simple. So she ordered a cup +of tea and some rolls, and a piece of chicken. The meal was a very +good one, and Euphemia enjoyed it. When she had finished, she went +up to the counter to settle. Her bill was sixty cents. She paid +the money that she had just received, and walked down to the ferry- +-all in a daze, she said. When she got home she thought it over, +and then she cried. + +After a while she dried her eyes, and when I came home she told me +all about it. + +"I give it up," she said. "I don't believe I can help you any." + +Poor little thing! I took her in my arms and comforted her, and +before bedtime I had convinced her that she was fully able to help +me better than any one else on earth, and that without puzzling her +brains about business, or wearing herself out by sewing for pay. + +So we went on in our old way, and by keeping our attention on our +weekly balance, we prevented it from growing very rapidly. + +We fell back on our philosophy (it was all the capital we had), and +became as calm and contented as circumstances allowed. + + + +CHAPTER V. + +POMONA PRODUCES A PARTIAL REVOLUTION IN RUDDER GRANGE. + + +Euphemia began to take a great deal of comfort in her girl. Every +evening she had some new instance to relate of Pomona's inventive +abilities and aptness in adapting herself to the peculiarities of +our method of housekeeping. + +"Only to think!" said she, one afternoon, "Pomona has just done +another VERY smart thing. You know what a trouble it has always +been for us to carry all our waste water upstairs, and throw it +over the bulwarks. Well, she has remedied all that. She has cut a +nice little low window in the side of the kitchen, and has made a +shutter of the piece she cut out, with leather hinges to it, and +now she can just open this window, throw the water out, shut it +again, and there it is! I tell you she's smart." + +"Yes; there is no doubt of that," I said; "but I think that there +is danger of her taking more interest in such extraordinary and +novel duties than in the regular work of the house." + +"Now, don't discourage the girl, my dear," she said, "for she is of +the greatest use to me, and I don't want you to be throwing cold +water about like some people." + +"Not even if I throw it out of Pomona's little door, I suppose." + +"No. Don't throw it at all. Encourage people. What would the +world be if everybody chilled our aspirations and extraordinary +efforts? Like Fulton's steamboat." + +"All right," I said; "I'll not discourage her." + +It was now getting late in the season. It was quite too cool to +sit out on deck in the evening, and our garden began to look +desolate. + +Our boarder had wheeled up a lot of fresh earth, and had prepared a +large bed, in which he had planted turnips. They made an excellent +fall crop, he assured us. + +From being simply cool it began to be rainy, and the weather grew +decidedly unpleasant. But our boarder bade us take courage. This +was probably the "equinoctial," and when it was over there would be +a delightful Indian summer, and the turnips would grow nicely. + +This sounded very well, but the wind blew up cold at night, and +there was a great deal of unpleasant rain. + +One night it blew what Pomona called a "whirlicane," and we went to +bed very early to keep warm. We heard our boarder on deck in the +garden after we were in bed, and Euphemia said she could not +imagine what he was about, unless he was anchoring his turnips to +keep them from blowing away. + +During the night I had a dream. I thought I was a boy again, and +was trying to stand upon my head, a feat for which I had been +famous. But instead of throwing myself forward on my hands, and +then raising my heels backward over my head, in the orthodox +manner, I was on my back, and trying to get on my head from that +position. I awoke suddenly, and found that the footboard of the +bedstead was much higher than our heads. We were lying on a very +much inclined plane, with our heads downward. I roused Euphemia, +and we both got out of bed, when, at almost the same moment, we +slipped down the floor into ever so much water. + +Euphemia was scarcely awake, and she fell down gurgling. It was +dark, but I heard her fall, and I jumped over the bedstead to her +assistance. I had scarcely raised her up, when I heard a pounding +at the front door or main-hatchway, and our boarder shouted: + +"Get up! Come out of that! Open the door! The old boat's turning +over!" + +My heart fell within me, but I clutched Euphemia. I said no word, +and she simply screamed. I dragged her over the floor, sometimes +in the water and sometimes out of it. I got the dining-room door +open and set her on the stairs. They were in a topsy-turvy +condition, but they were dry. I found a lantern which hung on a +nail, with a match-box under it, and I struck a light. Then I +scrambled back and brought her some clothes. + +All this time the boarder was yelling and pounding at the door. +When Euphemia was ready I opened the door and took her out. + +"You go dress yourself;" said the boarder. "I'll hold her here +until you come back." + +I left her and found my clothes (which, chair and all, had tumbled +against the foot of the bed and so had not gone into the water), +and soon reappeared on deck. The wind was blowing strongly, but it +did not now seem to be very cold. The deck reminded me of the +gang-plank of a Harlem steamboat at low tide. It was inclined at +an angle of more than forty-five degrees, I am sure. There was +light enough for us to see about us, but the scene and all the +dreadful circumstances made me feel the most intense desire to wake +up and find it all a dream. There was no doubt, however, about the +boarder being wide awake. + +"Now then," said he, "take hold of her on that side and we'll help +her over here. You scramble down on that side; it's all dry just +there. The boat's turned over toward the water, and I'll lower her +down to you. I'll let a rope over the sides. You can hold on to +that as you go down." + +I got over the bulwarks and let myself down to the ground. Then +the boarder got Euphemia up and slipped her over the side, holding +to her hands, and letting her gently down until I could reach her. +She said never a word, but screamed at times. I carried her a +little way up the shore and set her down. I wanted to take her up +to a house near by, where we bought our milk, but she declined to +go until we had saved Pomona. + +So I went back to the boat, having carefully wrapped up Euphemia, +to endeavor to save the girl. I found that the boarder had so +arranged the gang-plank that it was possible, without a very great +exercise of agility, to pass from the shore to the boat. When I +first saw him, on reaching the shelving deck, he was staggering up +the stairs with a dining-room chair and a large framed engraving of +Raphael's Dante--an ugly picture, but full of true feeling; at +least so Euphemia always declared, though I am not quite sure that +I know what she meant. + +"Where is Pomona?" I said, endeavoring to stand on the hill-side of +the deck. + +"I don't know," said he, "but we must get the things out. The +tide's rising and the wind's getting up. The boat will go over +before we know it." + +"But we must find the girl," I said. "She can't be left to drown." + +"I don't think it would matter much," said he, getting over the +side of the boat with his awkward load. "She would be of about as +much use drowned as any other way. If it hadn't been for that hole +she cut in the side of the boat, this would never have happened." + +"You don't think it was that!" I said, holding the picture and the +chair while he let himself down to the gang-plank. + +"Yes, it was," he replied. "The tide's very high, and the water +got over that hole and rushed in. The water and the wind will +finish this old craft before very long." + +And then he took his load from me and dashed down the gang-plank. +I went below to look for Pomona. The lantern still hung on the +nail, and I took it down and went into the kitchen. There was +Pomona, dressed, and with her hat on, quietly packing some things +in a basket. + +"Come, hurry out of this," I cried. "Don't you know that this +house--this boat, I mean, is a wreck?" + +"Yes, sma'am--sir, I mean--I know it, and I suppose we shall soon +be at the mercy of the waves." + +"Well, then, go as quickly as you can. What are you putting in +that basket?" + +"Food," she said. "We may need it." + +I took her by the shoulder and hurried her on deck, over the +bulwark, down the gang-plank, and so on to the place where I had +left Euphemia. + +I found the dear girl there, quiet and collected, all up in a +little bunch, to shield herself from the wind. I wasted no time, +but hurried the two women over to the house of our milk-merchant. +There, with some difficulty, I roused the good woman, and after +seeing Euphemia and Pomona safely in the house, I left them to tell +the tale, and ran back to the boat. + +The boarder was working like a Trojan. He had already a pile of +our furniture on the beach. + +I set about helping him, and for an hour we labored at this hasty +and toilsome moving. It was indeed a toilsome business. The +floors were shelving, the stairs leaned over sideways, ever so far, +and the gang-plank was desperately short and steep. + +Still, we saved quite a number of household articles. Some things +we broke and some we forgot, and some things were too big to move +in this way; but we did very well, considering the circumstances. + +The wind roared, the tide rose, and the boat groaned and creaked. +We were in the kitchen, trying to take the stove apart (the boarder +was sure we could carry it up, if we could get the pipe out and the +legs and doors off), when we heard a crash. We rushed on deck and +found that the garden had fallen in! Making our way as well as we +could toward the gaping rent in the deck, we saw that the turnip- +bed had gone down bodily into the boarder's room. He did not +hesitate, but scrambled down his narrow stairs. I followed him. +He struck a match that he had in his pocket, and lighted a little +lantern that hung under the stairs. His room was a perfect rubbish +heap. The floor, bed, chairs, pitcher, basin--everything was +covered or filled with garden mold and turnips. Never did I behold +such a scene. He stood in the midst of it, holding his lantern +high above his head. At length he spoke. + +"If we had time," he said, "we might come down here and pick out a +lot of turnips." + +"But how about your furniture?" I exclaimed. + +"Oh, that's ruined!" he replied. + +So we did not attempt to save any of it, but we got hold of his +trunk and carried that on shore. + +When we returned, we found that the water was pouring through his +partition, making the room a lake of mud. And, as the water was +rising rapidly below, and the boat was keeling over more and more, +we thought it was time to leave, and we left. + +It would not do to go far away from our possessions, which were +piled up in a sad-looking heap on the shore; and so, after I had +gone over to the milk-woman's to assure Euphemia of our safety, the +boarder and I passed the rest of the night--there was not much of +it left--in walking up and down the beach smoking some cigars which +he fortunately had in his pocket. + +In the morning I took Euphemia to the hotel, about a mile away--and +arranged for the storage of our furniture there, until we could +find another habitation. This habitation, we determined, was to be +in a substantial house, or part of a house, which should not be +affected by the tides. + +During the morning the removal of our effects was successfully +accomplished, and our boarder went to town to look for a furnished +room. He had nothing but his trunk to take to it. + +In the afternoon I left Euphemia at the hotel, where she was taking +a nap (she certainly needed it, for she had spent the night in a +wooden rocking-chair at the milk-woman's), and I strolled down to +the river to take a last look at the remains of old Rudder Grange. + +I felt sadly enough as I walked along the well-worn path to the +canal-boat, and thought how it had been worn by my feet more than +any other's, and how gladly I had walked that way, so often during +that delightful summer. I forgot all that had been disagreeable, +and thought only of the happy times we had had. + +It was a beautiful autumn afternoon, and the wind had entirely died +away. When I came within sight of our old home, it presented a +doleful appearance. The bow had drifted out into the river, and +was almost entirely under water. The stern stuck up in a mournful +and ridiculous manner, with its keel, instead of its broadside, +presented to the view of persons on the shore. As I neared the +boat I heard a voice. I stopped and listened. There was no one in +sight. Could the sounds come from the boat? I concluded that it +must be so, and I walked up closer. Then I heard distinctly the +words: + +"He grasp ed her by the thro at and yell ed, swear to me thou nev +er wilt re veal my se cret, or thy hot heart's blood shall stain +this mar bel fib or; she gave one gry vy ous gasp and--" + +It was Pomona! + +Doubtless she had climbed up the stern of the boat and had +descended into the depths of the wreck to rescue her beloved book, +the reading of which had so long been interrupted by my harsh +decrees. Could I break in on this one hour of rapture? I had not +the heart to do it, and as I slowly moved away, there came to me +the last words that I ever heard from Rudder Grange: + +"And with one wild shry ik to heav en her heart's blo od spat ter +ed that prynce ly home of woe--" + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE NEW RUDDER GRANGE. + + +I have before given an account of the difficulties we encountered +when we started out house-hunting, and it was this doleful +experience which made Euphemia declare that before we set out on a +second search for a residence, we should know exactly what we +wanted. + +To do this, we must know how other people live, we must examine +into the advantages and disadvantages of the various methods of +housekeeping, and make up our minds on the subject. + +When we came to this conclusion we were in a city boarding-house, +and were entirely satisfied that this style of living did not suit +us at all. + +At this juncture I received a letter from the gentleman who had +boarded with us on the canal-boat. Shortly after leaving us the +previous fall, he had married a widow lady with two children, and +was now keeping house in a French flat in the upper part of the +city. We had called upon the happy couple soon after their +marriage, and the letter, now received, contained an invitation for +us to come and dine, and spend the night. + +"We'll go," said Euphemia. "There's nothing I want so much as to +see how people keep house in a French flat. Perhaps we'll like it. +And I must see those children." So we went. + +The house, as Euphemia remarked, was anything but flat. It was +very tall indeed--the tallest house in the neighborhood. We +entered the vestibule, the outer door being open, and beheld, on +one side of us, a row of bell-handles. Above each of these handles +was the mouth of a speaking-tube, and above each of these, a little +glazed frame containing a visiting-card. + +"Isn't this cute?" said Euphemia, reading over the cards. "Here's +his name and this is his bell and tube! Which would you do first, +ring or blow?" + +"My dear," said I, "you don't blow up those tubes. We must ring +the bell, just as if it were an ordinary front-door bell, and +instead of coming to the door, some one will call down the tube to +us." + +I rang the bell under the boarder's name, and very soon a voice at +the tube said: + +"Well?" + +Then I told our names, and in an instant the front door opened. + +"Why, their flat must be right here," whispered Euphemia. "How +quickly the girl came!" + +And she looked for the girl as we entered. But there was no one +there. + +"Their flat is on the fifth story," said I. "He mentioned that in +his letter. We had better shut the door and go up." + +Up and up the softly carpeted stairs we climbed, and not a soul we +saw or heard. + +"It is like an enchanted cavern," said Euphemia. "You say the +magic word, the door in the rock opens and you go on, and on, +through the vaulted passages--" + +"Until you come to the ogre," said the boarder, who was standing at +the top of the stairs. He did not behave at all like an ogre, for +he was very glad to see us, and so was his wife. After we had +settled down in the parlor and the boarder's wife had gone to see +about something concerning the dinner, Euphemia asked after the +children. + +"I hope they haven't gone to bed," she said, "for I do so want to +see the dear little things." + +The ex-boarder, as Euphemia called him, smiled grimly. + +"They're not so very little," he said. "My wife's son is nearly +grown. He is at an academy in Connecticut, and he expects to go +into a civil engineer's office in the spring. His sister is older +than he is. My wife married--in the first instance--when she was +very young--very young in deed." + +"Oh!" said Euphemia; and then, after a pause, "And neither of them +is at home now?" + +"No," said the ex-boarder. "By the way, what do you think of this +dado? It is a portable one; I devised it myself. You can take it +away with you to another house when you move. But there is the +dinner-bell. I'll show you over the establishment after we have +had something to eat." + +After our meal we made a tour of inspection. The flat, which +included the whole floor, contained nine or ten rooms, of all +shapes and sizes. The corners in some of the rooms were cut off +and shaped up into closets and recesses, so that Euphemia said the +corners of every room were in some other room. + +Near the back of the flat was a dumb-waiter, with bells and +speaking-tubes. When the butcher, the baker, or the kerosene-lamp +maker, came each morning, he rang the bell, and called up the tube +to know what was wanted. The order was called down, and he brought +the things in the afternoon. + +All this greatly charmed Euphemia. It was so cute, so complete. +There were no interviews with disagreeable trades-people, none of +the ordinary annoyances of housekeeping. Everything seemed to be +done with a bell, a speaking-tube or a crank. + +"Indeed," said the ex-boarder, "if it were not for people tripping +over the wires, I could rig up attachments by which I could sit in +the parlor, and by using pedals and a key-board, I could do all the +work of this house without getting out of my easy-chair." + +One of the most peculiar features of the establishment was the +servant's room. This was at the rear end of the floor, and as +there was not much space left after the other rooms had been made, +it was very small; so small, indeed, that it would accommodate only +a very short bedstead. This made it necessary for our friends to +consider the size of the servant when they engaged her. + +"There were several excellent girls at the intelligence office +where I called," said the ex-boarder, "but I measured them, and +they were all too tall. So we had to take a short one, who is only +so so. There was one big Scotch girl who was the very person for +us, and I would have taken her if my wife had not objected to my +plan for her accommodation. + +"What was that?" I asked. + +"Well," said he, "I first thought of cutting a hole in the +partition wall at the foot of the bed, for her to put her feet +through." + +"Never!" said his wife, emphatically. "I would never have allowed +that." + +"And then," continued he, "I thought of turning the bed around, and +cutting a larger hole, through which she might have put her head +into the little room on this side. A low table could have stood +under the hole, and her head might have rested on a cushion on the +table very comfortably." + +"My dear," said his wife, "it would have frightened me to death to +go into that room and see that head on a cushion on a table--" + +"Like John the Baptist," interrupted Euphemia. + +"Well," said our ex-boarder, "the plan would have had its +advantages." + +"Oh!" cried Euphemia, looking out of a back window. "What a lovely +little iron balcony! Do you sit out there on warm evenings?" + +"That's a fire-escape," said the ex-boarder. "We don't go out +there unless it is very hot indeed, on account of the house being +on fire. You see there is a little door in the floor of the +balcony and an iron ladder leading to the balcony beneath, and so +on, down to the first story." + +"And you have to creep through that hole and go down that dreadful +steep ladder every time there is a fire?" said Euphemia. + +"Well, I guess we would never go down but once," he answered. + +"No, indeed," said Euphemia; "you'd fall down and break your neck +the first time," and she turned away from the window with a very +grave expression on her face. + +Soon after this our hostess conducted Euphemia to the guest- +chamber, while her husband and I finished a bed-time cigar. + +When I joined Euphemia in her room, she met me with a mysterious +expression on her face. She shut the door, and then said in a very +earnest tone: + +"Do you see that little bedstead in the corner? I did not notice +it until I came in just now, and then, being quite astonished, I +said, 'Why here's a child's bed; who sleeps here?' 'Oh,' says she, +'that's our little Adele's bedstead. We have it in our room when +she's here.' 'Little Adele!' said I, 'I didn't know she was +little--not small enough for that bed, at any rate.' 'Why, yes,' +said she, 'Adele is only four years old. The bedstead is quite +large enough for her.' 'And she is not here now?' I said, utterly +amazed at all this. 'No,' she answered, 'she is not here now, but +we try to have her with us as much as we can, and always keep her +little bed ready for her.' 'I suppose she's with her father's +people,' I said, and she answered, 'Oh yes,' and bade me good- +night. What does all this mean? Our boarder told us that the +daughter is grown up, and here his wife declares that she is only +four years old! I don't know what in the world to make of this +mystery!" + +I could give Euphemia no clue. I supposed there was some mistake, +and that was all I could say, except that I was sleepy, and that we +could find out all about it in the morning. But Euphemia could not +dismiss the subject from her mind. She said no more,--but I could +see--until I fell asleep--that she was thinking about it. + +It must have been about the middle of the night, perhaps later, +when I was suddenly awakened by Euphemia starting up in the bed, +with the exclamation: + +"I have it!" + +"What?" I cried, sitting up in a great hurry. "What is it? What +have you got? What's the matter?" + +"I know it!" she said, "I know it. Our boarder is a GRANDFATHER! +Little Adele is the grown-up daughter's child. He was quite +particular to say that his wife married VERY young. Just to think +of it! So short a time ago, he was living with us--a bachelor--and +now, in four short months, he is a grandfather!" + +Carefully propounded inquiries, in the morning, proved Euphemia's +conclusions to be correct. + +The next evening, when we were quietly sitting in our own room, +Euphemia remarked that she did not wish to have anything to do with +French flats. + +"They seem to be very convenient," I said. + +"Oh yes, convenient enough, but I don't like them. I would hate to +live where everything let down like a table-lid, or else turned +with a crank. And when I think of those fire-escapes, and the +boarder's grandchild, it makes me feel very unpleasantly." + +"But the grandchild don't follow as a matter of course," said I. + +"No," she answered, "but I shall never like French flats." + +And we discussed them no more. + +For some weeks we examined into every style of economic and +respectable housekeeping, and many methods of living in what +Euphemia called "imitation comfort" were set aside as unworthy of +consideration. + +"My dear," said Euphemia, one evening, "what we really ought to do +is to build. Then we would have exactly the house we want." + +"Very true," I replied; "but to build a house, a man must have +money." + +"Oh no!" said she, "or at least not much. For one thing, you might +join a building association. In some of those societies I know +that you only have to pay a dollar a week." + +"But do you suppose the association builds houses for all its +members?" I asked. + +"Of course I suppose so. Else why is it called a building +association?" + +I had read a good deal about these organizations, and I explained +to Euphemia that a dollar a week was never received by any of them +in payment for a new house. + +"Then build yourself," she said; "I know how that can be done." + +"Oh, it's easy enough," I remarked, "if you have the money." + +"No, you needn't have any money," said Euphemia, rather hastily. +"Just let me show you. Supposing, for instance, that you want to +build a house worth--well, say twenty thousand dollars, in some +pretty town near the city." + +"I would rather figure on a cheaper house than that for a country +place," I interrupted. + +"Well then, say two thousand dollars. You get masons, and +carpenters, and people to dig the cellar, and you engage them to +build your house. You needn't pay them until it's done, of course. +Then when it's all finished, borrow two thousand dollars and give +the house as security. After that you see, you have only to pay +the interest on the borrowed money. When you save enough money to +pay back the loan, the house is your own. Now, isn't that a good +plan?" + +"Yes," said I, "if there could be found people who would build your +house and wait for their money until some one would lend you its +full value on a mortgage." + +"Well," said Euphemia, "I guess they could be found if you would +only look for them." + +"I'll look for them, when I go to heaven," I said. + +We gave up for the present, the idea of building or buying a house, +and determined to rent a small place in the country, and then, as +Euphemia wisely said, if we liked it, we might buy it. After she +had dropped her building projects she thought that one ought to +know just how a house would suit before having it on one's hands. + +We could afford something better than a canal-boat now, and +therefore we were not so restricted as in our first search for a +house. But, the one thing which troubled my wife--and, indeed, +caused me much anxious thought, was that scourge of almost all +rural localities--tramps. It would be necessary for me to be away +all day,--and we could not afford to keep a man,--so we must be +careful to get a house somewhere off the line of ordinary travel, +or else in a well-settled neighborhood, where there would be some +one near at hand in case of unruly visitors. + +"A village I don't like," said Euphemia: "there is always so much +gossip, and people know all about what you have, and what you do. +And yet it would be very lonely, and perhaps dangerous, for us to +live off somewhere, all by ourselves. And there is another +objection to a village. We don't want a house with a small yard +and a garden at the back. We ought to have a dear little farm, +with some fields for corn, and a cow, and a barn and things of that +sort. All that would be lovely. I'll tell you what we want," she +cried, seized with a sudden inspiration; "we ought to try to get +the end-house of a village. Then our house could be near the +neighbors, and our farm could stretch out a little way into the +country beyond us. Let us fix our minds upon such a house and I +believe we can get it." + +So we fixed our minds, but in the course of a week or two we +unfixed them several times to allow the consideration of places, +which otherwise would have been out of range; and during one of +these intervals of mental disfixment we took a house. + +It was not the end-house of a village, but it was in the outskirts +of a very small rural settlement. Our nearest neighbor was within +vigorous shouting distance, and the house suited us so well in +other respects, that we concluded that this would do. The house +was small, but large enough. There were some trees around it, and +a little lawn in front. There was a garden, a small barn and +stable, a pasture field, and land enough besides for small patches +of corn and potatoes. The rent was low, the water good, and no one +can imagine how delighted we were. + +We did not furnish the whole house at first, but what mattered it? +We had no horse or cow, but the pasture and barn were ready for +them. We did not propose to begin with everything at once. + +Our first evening in that house was made up of hours of unalloyed +bliss. We walked from room to room; we looked out on the garden +and the lawn; we sat on the little porch while I smoked. + +"We were happy at Rudder Grange," said Euphemia; "but that was only +a canal-boat, and could not, in the nature of things, have been a +permanent home." + +"No," said I, "it could not have been permanent. But, in many +respects, it was a delightful home. The very name of it brings +pleasant thoughts." + +"It was a nice name," said Euphemia, "and I'll tell you what we +might do: Let us call this place Rudder Grange--the New Rudder +Grange! The name will do just as well for a house as for a boat." + +I agreed on the spot, and the house was christened. + +Our household was small; we had a servant--a German woman; and we +had ourselves, that was all. + +I did not do much in the garden; it was too late in the season. +The former occupant had planted some corn and potatoes, with a few +other vegetables, and these I weeded and hoed, working early in the +morning and when I came home in the afternoon. Euphemia tied up +the rose-vines, trimmed the bushes, and with a little rake and hoe +she prepared a flower-bed in front of the parlor-window. This +exercise gave us splendid appetites, and we loved our new home more +and more. + +Our German girl did not suit us exactly at first, and day by day +she grew to suit us less. She was a quiet, kindly, pleasant +creature, and delighted in an out-of-door life. She was as willing +to weed in the garden as she was to cook or wash. At first I was +very much pleased with this, because, as I remarked to Euphemia, +you can find very few girls who would be willing to work in the +garden, and she might be made very useful. + +But, after a time, Euphemia began to get a little out of patience +with her. She worked out-of-doors entirely too much. And what she +did there, as well as some of her work in the house, was very much +like certain German literature--you did not know how it was done, +or what it was for. + +One afternoon I found Euphemia quite annoyed. + +"Look here," she said, "and see what that girl has been at work at, +nearly all this afternoon. I was upstairs sewing and thought she +was ironing. Isn't it too provoking?" + +It WAS provoking. The contemplative German had collected a lot of +short ham-bones--where she found them I cannot imagine--and had +made of them a border around my wife's flower-bed. The bones stuck +up straight a few inches above the ground, all along the edge of +the bed, and the marrow cavity of each one was filled with earth in +which she had planted seeds. + +"'These,' she says, 'will spring up and look beautiful,'" said +Euphemia; "they have that style of thing in her country." + +"Then let her take them off with her to her country," I exclaimed. + +"No, no," said Euphemia, hurriedly, "don't kick them out. It would +only wound her feelings. She did it all for the best, and thought +it would please me to have such a border around my bed. But she is +too independent, and neglects her proper work. I will give her a +week's notice and get another servant. When she goes we can take +these horrid bones away. But I hope nobody will call on us in the +meantime." + +"Must we keep these things here a whole week?" I asked. + +"Oh, I can't turn her away without giving her a fair notice. That +would be cruel." + +I saw the truth of the remark, and determined to bear with the +bones and her rather than be unkind. + +That night Euphemia informed the girl of her decision, and the next +morning, soon after I had left, the good German appeared with her +bonnet on and her carpet-bag in her hand, to take leave of her +mistress. + +"What!" cried Euphemia. "You are not going to-day?" + +"If it is goot to go at all it is goot to go now," said the girl. + +"And you will go off and leave me without any one in the house, +after my putting myself out to give you a fair notice? It's +shameful!" + +"I think it is very goot for me to go now," quietly replied the +girl. "This house is very loneful. I will go to-morrow in the +city to see your husband for my money. Goot morning." And off she +trudged to the station. + +Before I reached the house that afternoon, Euphemia rushed out to +tell this story. I would not like to say how far I kicked those +ham-bones. + +This German girl had several successors, and some of them suited as +badly and left as abruptly as herself; but Euphemia never forgot +the ungrateful stab given her by this "ham-bone girl," as she +always called her. It was her first wound of the kind, and it came +in the very beginning of the campaign when she was all unused to +this domestic warfare. + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +TREATING OF AN UNSUCCESSFUL BROKER AND A DOG. + + +It was a couple of weeks, or thereabouts, after this episode that +Euphemia came down to the gate to meet me on my return from the +city. I noticed a very peculiar expression on her face. She +looked both thoughtful and pleased. Almost the first words she +said to me were these: + +"A tramp came here to-day." + +"I am sorry to hear that," I exclaimed. "That's the worst news I +have had yet. I did hope that we were far enough from the line of +travel to escape these scourges. How did you get rid of him? Was +he impertinent?" + +"You must not feel that way about all tramps," said she. +"Sometimes they are deserving of our charity, and ought to be +helped. There is a great difference in them." + +"That may be," I said; "but what of this one? When was he here, +and when did he go?" + +"He did not go at all. He is here now." + +"Here now!" I cried. "Where is he?" + +"Do not call out so loud," said Euphemia, putting her hand on my +arm. "You will waken him. He is asleep." + +"Asleep!" said I. "A tramp? Here?" + +"Yes. Stop, let me tell you about him. He told me his story, and +it is a sad one. He is a middle-aged man--fifty perhaps--and has +been rich. He was once a broker in Wall street, but lost money by +the failure of various railroads--the Camden and Amboy, for one." + +"That hasn't failed," I interrupted. + +"Well then it was the Northern Pacific, or some other one of them-- +at any rate I know it was either a railroad or a bank,--and he soon +became very poor. He has a son in Cincinnati, who is a successful +merchant, and lives in a fine house, with horses and carriages, and +all that; and this poor man has written to his son, but has never +had any answer. So now he is going to walk to Cincinnati to see +him. He knows he will not be turned away if he can once meet his +son, face to face. He was very tired when he stopped here,--and he +has ever and ever so far to walk yet, you know,--and so after I had +given him something to eat, I let him lie down in the outer +kitchen, on that roll of rag-carpet that is there. I spread it out +for him. It is a hard bed for one who has known comfort, but he +seems to sleep soundly." + +"Let me see him," said I, and I walked back to the outer kitchen. + +There lay the unsuccessful broker fast asleep. His face, which was +turned toward me as I entered, showed that it had been many days +since he had been shaved, and his hair had apparently been uncombed +for about the same length of time. His clothes were very old, and +a good deal torn, and he wore one boot and one shoe. + +"Whew!" said I. "Have you been giving him whisky?" + +"No," whispered Euphemia, "of course not. I noticed that smell, +and he said he had been cleaning his clothes with alcohol." + +"They needed it, I'm sure," I remarked as I turned away. "And +now," said I, "where's the girl?" + +"This is her afternoon out. What is the matter? You look +frightened." + +"Oh, I'm not frightened, but I find I must go down to the station +again. Just run up and put on your bonnet. It will be a nice +little walk for you." + +I had been rapidly revolving the matter in my mind. What was I to +do with this wretch who was now asleep in my outer kitchen? If I +woke him up and drove him off,--and I might have difficulty in +doing it,--there was every reason to believe that he would not go +far, but return at night and commit some revengeful act. I never +saw a more sinister-looking fellow. And he was certainly drunk. +He must not be allowed to wander about our neighborhood. I would +go for the constable and have him arrested. + +So I locked the door from the kitchen into the house and then the +outside door of the kitchen, and when my wife came down we hurried +off. On the way I told her what I intended to do, and what I +thought of our guest. She answered scarcely a word, and I hoped +that she was frightened. I think she was. + +The constable, who was also coroner of our township, had gone to a +creek, three miles away, to hold an inquest, and there was nobody +to arrest the man. The nearest police-station was at Hackingford, +six miles away, on the railroad. I held a consultation with the +station-master, and the gentleman who kept the grocery-store +opposite. + +They could think of nothing to be done except to shoot the man, and +to that I objected. + +"However," said I, "he can't stay there;" and a happy thought just +then striking me, I called to the boy who drove the village +express-wagon, and engaged him for a job. The wagon was standing +at the station, and to save time, I got in and rode to my house. +Euphemia went over to call on the groceryman's wife until I +returned. + +I had determined that the man should be taken away, although, until +I was riding home, I had not made up my mind where to have him +taken. But on the road I settled this matter. + +On reaching the house, we drove into the yard as close to the +kitchen as we could go. Then I unlocked the door, and the boy--who +was a big, strapping fellow--entered with me. We found the ex- +broker still wrapped in the soundest slumber. Leaving the boy to +watch him, I went upstairs and got a baggage-tag which I directed +to the chief of police at the police station in Hackingford. I +returned to the kitchen and fastened this tag, conspicuously, on +the lappel of the sleeper's coat. Then, with a clothes-line, I +tied him up carefully, hand and foot. To all this he offered not +the slightest opposition. When he was suitably packed, with due +regard to the probable tenderness of wrist and ankle in one brought +up in luxury, the boy and I carried him to the wagon. + +He was a heavy load, and we may have bumped him a little, but his +sleep was not disturbed. Then we drove him to the express office. +This was at the railroad station, and the station-master was also +express agent. At first he was not inclined to receive my parcel, +but when I assured him that all sorts of live things were sent by +express, and that I could see no reason for making an exception in +this case, he added my arguments to his own disposition, as a +house-holder, to see the goods forwarded to their destination, and +so gave me a receipt, and pasted a label on the ex-broker's +shoulder. I set no value on the package, which I prepaid. + +"Now then," said the station-master, "he'll go all right, if the +express agent on the train will take him." + +This matter was soon settled, for, in a few minutes, the train +stopped at the station. My package was wheeled to the express car, +and two porters, who entered heartily into the spirit of the thing, +hoisted it into the car. The train-agent, who just then noticed +the character of the goods, began to declare that he would not have +the fellow in his car; but my friend the station-master shouted out +that everything was all right,--the man was properly packed, +invoiced and paid for, and the train, which was behind time, moved +away before the irate agent could take measures to get rid of his +unwelcome freight. + +"Now," said I, "there'll be a drunken man at the police-station in +Hackingford in about half-an-hour. His offense will be as evident +there as here, and they can do what they please with him. I shall +telegraph, to explain the matter and prepare them for his arrival." + +When I had done this Euphemia and I went home. The tramp had cost +me some money, but I was well satisfied with my evening's work, and +felt that the township owed me, at least, a vote of thanks. + +But I firmly made up my mind that Euphemia should never again be +left unprotected. I would not even trust to a servant who would +agree to have no afternoons out. I would get a dog. + +The next day I advertised for a fierce watchdog, and in the course +of a week I got one. Before I procured him I examined into the +merits, and price, of about one hundred dogs. My dog was named +Pete, but I determined to make a change in that respect. He was a +very tall, bony, powerful beast, of a dull black color, and with a +lower jaw that would crack the hind-leg of an ox, so I was +informed. He was of a varied breed, and the good Irishman of whom +I bought him said he had fine blood in him, and attempted to refer +him back to the different classes of dogs from which he had been +derived. But after I had had him awhile, I made an analysis based +on his appearance and character, and concluded that he was mainly +blood-hound, shaded with wolf-dog and mastiff, and picked out with +touches of bull-dog. + +The man brought him home for me, and chained him up in an unused +wood-shed, for I had no doghouse as yet. + +"Now thin," said he, "all you've got to do is to keep 'im chained +up there for three or four days till he gets used to ye. An' I'll +tell ye the best way to make a dog like ye. Jist give him a good +lickin'. Then he'll know yer his master, and he'll like ye iver +aftherward. There's plenty of people that don't know that. And, +by the way, sir, that chain's none too strong for 'im. I got it +when he wasn't mor'n half grown. Ye'd bether git him a new one." + +When the man had gone, I stood and looked at the dog, and could not +help hoping that he would learn to like me without the intervention +of a thrashing. Such harsh methods were not always necessary, I +felt sure. + +After our evening meal--a combination of dinner and supper, of +which Euphemia used to say that she did not know whether to call it +dinper or supner--we went out together to look at our new guardian. + +Euphemia was charmed with him. + +"How massive!" she exclaimed. "What splendid limbs! And look at +that immense head! I know I shall never be afraid now. I feel +that that is a dog I can rely upon. Make him stand up, please, so +I can see how tall he is." + +"I think it would be better not to disturb him," I answered, "he +may be tired. He will get up of his own accord very soon. And +indeed I hope that he will not get up until I go to the store and +get him a new chain." + +As I said this I made a step forward to look at his chain, and at +that instant a low growl, like the first rumblings of an +earthquake, ran through the dog. + +I stepped back again and walked over to the village for the chain. +The dog-chains shown me at the store all seemed too short and too +weak, and I concluded to buy two chains such as used for hitching +horses and to join them so as to make a long as well as a strong +one of them. I wanted him to be able to come out of the wood-shed +when it should be necessary to show himself. + +On my way home with my purchase the thought suddenly struck me, How +will you put that chain on your dog? The memory of the rumbling +growl was still vivid. + +I never put the chain on him. As I approached him with it in my +hand, he rose to his feet, his eyes sparkled, his black lips drew +back from his mighty teeth, he gave one savage bark and sprang at +me. + +His chain held and I went into the house. That night he broke +loose and went home to his master, who lived fully ten miles away. + +When I found in the morning that he was gone I was in doubt whether +it would be better to go and look for him or not. But I concluded +to keep up a brave heart, and found him, as I expected, at the +place where I had bought him. The Irishman took him to my house +again and I had to pay for the man's loss of time as well as for +his fare on the railroad. But the dog's old master chained him up +with the new chain and I felt repaid for my outlay. + +Every morning and night I fed that dog, and I spoke as kindly and +gently to him as I knew how. But he seemed to cherish a distaste +for me, and always greeted me with a growl. He was an awful dog. + +About a week after the arrival of this animal, I was astonished and +frightened on nearing the house to hear a scream from my wife. I +rushed into the yard and was greeted with a succession of screams +from two voices, that seemed to come from the vicinity of the wood- +shed. Hurrying thither, I perceived Euphemia standing on the roof +of the shed in perilous proximity to the edge, while near the ridge +of the roof sat our hired girl with her handkerchief over her head. + +"Hurry, hurry!" cried Euphemia. "Climb up here! The dog is loose! +Be quick! Be quick! Oh! he's coming, he's coming!" + +I asked for no explanation. There was a rail-fence by the side of +the shed and I sprang on this, and was on the roof just as the dog +came bounding and barking from the barn. + +Instantly Euphemia had me in her arms, and we came very near going +off the roof together. + +"I never feared to have you come home before," she sobbed. "I +thought he would tear you limb from limb." + +"But how did all this happen?" said I. + +"Och! I kin hardly remember," said the girl from under her +handkerchief. + +"Well, I didn't ask you," I said, somewhat too sharply. + +"Oh, I'll tell you," said Euphemia. "There was a man at the gate +and he looked suspicious and didn't try to come in, and Mary was at +the barn looking for an egg, and I thought this was a good time to +see whether the dog was a good watch-dog or not, so I went and +unchained him--" + +"Did you unchain that dog?" I cried. + +"Yes, and the minute he was loose he made a rush at the gate, but +the man was gone before he got there, and as he ran down the road I +saw that he was Mr. Henderson's man, who was coming here on an +errand, I expect, and then I went down to the barn to get Mary to +come and help me chain up the dog, and when she came out he began +to chase me and then her; and we were so frightened that we climbed +up here, and I don't know, I'm sure, how I ever got up that fence; +and do you think he can climb up here?" + +"Oh no! my dear," I said. + +"An' he's just the beast to go afther a stip-ladder," said the +girl, in muffled tones. + +"And what are we to do?" asked Euphemia. "We can't eat and sleep +up here. Don't you think that if we were all to shout out +together, we could make some neighbor hear?" + +"Oh yes!" I said, "there is no doubt of it. But then, if a +neighbor came, the dog would fall on him--" + +"And tear him limb from limb," interrupted Euphemia. + +"Yes, and besides, my dear, I should hate to have any of the +neighbors come and find us all up here. It would look so utterly +absurd. Let me try and think of some other plan." + +"Well, please be as quick as you can. It's dreadful to be--who's +that?" + +I looked up and saw a female figure just entering the yard. + +"Oh, what shall we do" exclaimed Euphemia. "The dog will get her. +Call to her!" + +"No, no," said I, "don't make a noise. It will only bring the dog. +He seems to have gone to the barn, or somewhere. Keep perfectly +quiet, and she may go up on the porch, and as the front door is not +locked, she may rush into the house, if she sees him coming." + +"I do hope she will do that," said Euphemia, anxiously. + +"And yet," said I, "it's not pleasant to have strangers going into +the house when there's no one there." + +"But it's better than seeing a stranger torn to pieces before your +eyes," said Euphemia. + +"Yes," I replied, "it is. Don't you think we might get down now? +The dog isn't here." + +"No, no!" cried Euphemia. "There he is now, coming this way. And +look at that woman! She is coming right to this shed." + +Sure enough, our visitor had passed by the front door, and was +walking toward us. Evidently she had heard our voices. + +"Don't come here!" cried Euphemia. "You'll be killed! Run! run! +The dog is coming! Why, mercy on us! It's Pomona!" + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +POMONA ONCE MORE. + + +Sure enough, it was Pomona. There stood our old servant-girl, of +the canal-boat, with a crooked straw bonnet on her head, a faded +yellow parasol in her hand, a parcel done up in newspaper under her +arm, and an expression of astonishment on her face. + +"Well, truly!" she ejaculated. + +"Into the house, quick!" I said. "We have a savage dog!" + +"And here he is!" cried Euphemia. "Oh! she will be torn to atoms." + +Straight at Pomona came the great black beast, barking furiously. +But the girl did not move; she did not even turn her head to look +at the dog, who stopped before he reached her and began to rush +wildly around her, barking terribly. + +We held our breath. I tried to say "get out!" or "lie down!" but +my tongue could not form the words. + +"Can't you get up here?" gasped Euphemia. + +"I don't want to," said the girl. + +The dog now stopped barking, and stood looking at Pomona, +occasionally glancing up at us. Pomona took not the slightest +notice of him. + +"Do you know, ma'am," said she to Euphemia, "that if I had come +here yesterday, that dog would have had my life's blood." + +"And why don't he have it to-day?" said Euphemia, who, with myself, +was utterly amazed at the behavior of the dog. + +"Because I know more to-day than I did yesterday," answered Pomona. +"It is only this afternoon that I read something, as I was coming +here on the cars. This is it," she continued, unwrapping her paper +parcel, and taking from it one of the two books it contained. "I +finished this part just as the cars stopped, and I put my scissors +in the place; I'll read it to you." + +Standing there with one book still under her arm, the newspaper +half unwrapped from it, hanging down and flapping in the breeze, +she opened the other volume at the scissors-place, turned back a +page or two, and began to read as follows: + + +"Lord Edward slowly san-ter-ed up the bro-ad anc-es-tral walk, when +sudden-ly from out a cop-se, there sprang a fur-i-ous hound. The +marsh-man, con-ce-al-ed in a tree expected to see the life's blood +of the young nob-le-man stain the path. But no, Lord Edward did +not stop nor turn his head. With a smile, he strode stead-i-ly on. +Well he knew that if by be-traying no em-otion, he could show the +dog that he was walking where he had a right, the bru-te would re- +cog-nize that right and let him pass un-sca-thed. Thus in this +moment of peril his nob-le courage saved him. The hound, abashed, +returned to his cov-ert, and Lord Edward pass-ed on. + +"Foi-led again," mutter-ed the marsh-man. + + +"Now, then," said Pomona, closing the book, "you see I remembered +that, the minute I saw the dog coming, and I didn't betray any +emotion. Yesterday, now, when I didn't know it, I'd 'a been sure +to betray emotion, and he would have had my life's blood. Did he +drive you up there?" + +"Yes," said Euphemia; and she hastily explained the situation. + +"Then I guess I'd better chain him up," remarked Pomona; and +advancing to the dog she took him boldly by the collar and pulled +him toward the shed. The animal hung back at first, but soon +followed her, and she chained him up securely. + +"Now you can come down," said Pomona. + +I assisted Euphemia to the ground, and Pomona persuaded the hired +girl to descend. + +"Will he grab me by the leg?" asked the girl. + +"No; get down, gump," said Pomona, and down she scrambled. + +We took Pomona into the house with us and asked her news of +herself. + +"Well," said she, "there ain't much to tell. I staid awhile at the +institution, but I didn't get much good there, only I learned to +read to myself, because if I read out loud they came and took the +book away. Then I left there and went to live out, but the woman +was awful mean. She throwed away one of my books and I was only +half through it. It was a real good book, named 'The Bridal +Corpse, or Montregor's Curse,' and I had to pay for it at the +circulatin' library. So I left her quick enough, and then I went +on the stage." + +"On the stage!" cried Euphemia. "What did you do on the stage?" + +"Scrub," replied Pomona. "You see that I thought if I could get +anything to do at the theayter, I could work my way up, so I was +glad to get scrubbin'. I asked the prompter, one morning, if he +thought there was a chance for me to work up, and he said yes, I +might scrub the galleries, and then I told him that I didn't want +none of his lip, and I pretty soon left that place. I heard you +was akeepin' house out here, and so I thought I'd come along and +see you, and if you hadn't no girl I'd like to live with you again, +and I guess you might as well take me, for that other girl said, +when she got down from the shed, that she was goin' away to-morrow; +she wouldn't stay in no house where they kept such a dog, though I +told her I guessed he was only cuttin' 'round because he was so +glad to get loose." + +"Cutting around!" exclaimed Euphemia. "It was nothing of the kind. +If you had seen him you would have known better. But did you come +now to stay? Where are your things?" + +"On me," replied Pomona. + +When Euphemia found that the Irish girl really intended to leave, +we consulted together and concluded to engage Pomona, and I went so +far as to agree to carry her books to and from the circulating +library to which she subscribed, hoping thereby to be able to +exercise some influence on her taste. And thus part of the old +family of Rudder Grange had come together again. True, the boarder +was away, but, as Pomona remarked, when she heard about him, "You +couldn't always expect to ever regain the ties that had always +bound everybody." + +Our delight and interest in our little farm increased day by day. +In a week or two after Pomona's arrival I bought a cow. Euphemia +was very anxious to have an Alderney,--they were such gentle, +beautiful creatures,--but I could not afford such a luxury. I +might possibly compass an Alderney calf, but we would have to wait +a couple of years for our milk, and Euphemia said it would be +better to have a common cow than to do that. + +Great was our inward satisfaction when the cow, our OWN cow, walked +slowly and solemnly into our yard and began to crop the clover on +our little lawn. Pomona and I gently drove her to the barn, while +Euphemia endeavored to quiet the violent demonstrations of the dog +(fortunately chained) by assuring him that this was OUR cow and +that she was to live here, and that he was to take care of her and +never bark at her. All this and much more, delivered in the +earnest and confidential tone in which ladies talk to infants and +dumb animals, made the dog think that he was to be let loose to +kill the cow, and he bounded and leaped with delight, tugging at +his chain so violently that Euphemia became a little frightened and +left him. This dog had been named Lord Edward, at the earnest +solicitation of Pomona, and he was becoming somewhat reconciled to +his life with us. He allowed me to unchain him at night and I +could generally chain him up in the morning without trouble if I +had a good big plate of food with which to tempt him into the shed. + +Before supper we all went down to the barn to see the milking. +Pomona, who knew all about such things, having been on a farm in +her first youth, was to be the milkmaid. But when she began +operations, she did no more than begin. Milk as industriously as +she might, she got no milk. + +"This is a queer cow," said Pomona. + +"Are you sure that you know how to milk?" asked Euphemia anxiously. + +"Can I milk?" said Pomona. "Why, of course, ma'am. I've seen 'em +milk hundreds of times." + +"But you never milked, yourself?" I remarked. + +"No, sir, but I know just how it's done." + +That might be, but she couldn't do it, and at last we had to give +up the matter in despair, and leave the poor cow until morning, +when Pomona was to go for a man who occasionally worked on the +place, and engage him to come and milk for us. + +That night as we were going to bed I looked out of the window at +the barn which contained the cow, and was astonished to see that +there was a light inside of the building. + +"What!" I exclaimed. "Can't we be left in peaceful possession of a +cow for a single night?" And, taking my revolver, I hurried down- +stairs and out-of-doors, forgetting my hat in my haste. Euphemia +screamed after me to be careful and keep the pistol pointed away +from me. + +I whistled for the dog as I went out, but to my surprise he did not +answer. + +"Has he been killed?" I thought, and, for a moment, I wished that I +was a large family of brothers--all armed. + +But on my way to the barn I met a person approaching with a lantern +and a dog. It was Pomona, and she had a milk-pail on her arm. + +"See here, sir," she said, "it's mor'n half full. I just made up +my mind that I'd learn to milk--if it took me all night. I didn't +go to bed at all, and I've been at the barn fur an hour. And there +ain't no need of my goin' after no man in the mornin'," said she, +hanging up the barn key on its nail. + +I simply mention this circumstance to show what kind of a girl +Pomona had grown to be. + +We were all the time at work in some way, improving our little +place. "Some day we will buy it," said Euphemia. We intended to +have some wheat put in in the fall and next year we would make the +place fairly crack with luxuriance. We would divide the duties of +the farm, and, among other things, Euphemia would take charge of +the chickens. She wished to do this entirely herself, so that +there might be one thing that should be all her own, just as my +work in town was all my own. As she wished to buy the chickens and +defray all the necessary expenses out of her own private funds, I +could make no objections, and, indeed, I had no desire to do so. +She bought a chicken-book, and made herself mistress of the +subject. For a week, there was a strong chicken flavor in all our +conversation. + +This was while the poultry yard was building. There was a chicken- +house on the place, but no yard, and Euphemia intended to have a +good big one, because she was going into the business to make +money. + +"Perhaps my chickens may buy the place," she said, and I very much +hoped they would. + +Everything was to be done very systematically. She would have +Leghorns, Brahmas, and common fowls. The first, because they laid +so many eggs; the second, because they were such fine, big fowls, +and the third, because they were such good mothers. + +"We will eat, and sell the eggs of the first and third classes," +she said, "and set the eggs of the second class, under the hens of +the third class." + +"There seems to be some injustice in that arrangement," I said, +"for the first class will always be childless; the second class +will have nothing to do with their offspring, while the third will +be obliged to bring up and care for the children of others." + +But I really had no voice in this matter. As soon as the carpenter +had finished the yard, and had made some coops and other necessary +arrangements, Euphemia hired a carriage and went about the country +to buy chickens. It was not easy to find just what she wanted, and +she was gone all day. + +However, she brought home an enormous Brahma cock and ten hens, +which number was pretty equally divided into her three classes. +She was very proud of her purchases, and indeed they were fine +fowls. In the evening I made some allusion to the cost of all this +carpenter work, carriage-hire, etc., besides the price of the +chickens. + +"O!" said she, "you don't look at the matter in the right light. +You haven't studied it up as I have. Now, just let me show you how +this thing will pay, if carried on properly." Producing a piece of +paper covered with figures, she continued: "I begin with ten hens-- +I got four common ones, because it would make it easier to +calculate. After a while, I set these ten hens on thirteen eggs +each; three of these eggs will probably spoil,--that leaves ten +chickens hatched out. Of these, I will say that half die, that +will make five chickens for each hen; you see, I leave a large +margin for loss. This makes fifty chickens, and when we add the +ten hens, we have sixty fowls at the end of the first year. Next +year I set these sixty and they bring up five chickens each,--I am +sure there will be a larger proportion than this, but I want to be +safe,--and that is three hundred chickens; add the hens, and we +have three hundred and sixty at the end of the second year. In the +third year, calculating in the same safe way, we shall have twenty- +one hundred and sixty chickens; in the fourth year there will be +twelve thousand nine hundred and sixty, and at the end of the fifth +year, which is as far as I need to calculate now, we shall have +sixty-four thousand and eight hundred chickens. What do you think +of that? At seventy-five cents apiece,--a very low price,--that +would be forty-eight thousand and six hundred dollars. Now, what +is the petty cost of a fence, and a few coops, by the side of a sum +like that?" + +"Nothing at all," I answered. "It is lost like a drop in the +ocean. I hate, my dear, to interfere in any way with such a +splendid calculation as that, but I would like to ask you one +question." + +"Oh, of course," she said, "I suppose you are going to say +something about the cost of feeding all this poultry. That is to +come out of the chickens supposed to die. They won't die. It is +ridiculous to suppose that each hen will bring up but five +chickens. The chickens that will live, out of those I consider as +dead, will more than pay for the feed." + +"That is not what I was going to ask you, although of course it +ought to be considered. But you know you are only going to set +common hens, and you do not intend to raise any. Now, are those +four hens to do all the setting and mother-work for five years, and +eventually bring up over sixty-four thousand chickens?" + +"Well, I DID make a mistake there," she said, coloring a little. +"I'll tell you what I'll do; I'll set every one of my hens every +year." + +"But all those chickens may not be hens. You have calculated that +every one of them would set as soon as it was old enough." + +She stopped a minute to think this over. + +"Two heads are better than one, I see," she said, directly. "I'll +allow that one-half of all the chickens are roosters, and that will +make the profits twenty-four thousand three hundred dollars--more +than enough to buy this place." + +"Ever so much more," I cried. "This Rudder Grange is ours!" + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +WE CAMP OUT. + + +My wife and I were both so fond of country life and country +pursuits that month after month passed by at our little farm in a +succession of delightful days. Time flew like a "limited express" +train, and it was September before we knew it. + +I had been working very hard at the office that summer, and was +glad to think of my two weeks' vacation, which were to begin on the +first Monday of the month. I had intended spending these two weeks +in rural retirement at home, but an interview in the city with my +family physician caused me to change my mind. I told him my plan. + +"Now," said he, "if I were you, I'd do nothing of the kind. You +have been working too hard; your face shows it. You need rest and +change. Nothing will do you so much good as to camp out; that will +be fifty times better than going to any summer resort. You can +take your wife with you. I know she'll like it. I don't care +where you go so that it's a healthy spot. Get a good tent and an +outfit, be off to the woods, and forget all about business and +domestic matters for a few weeks." + +This sounded splendid, and I propounded the plan to Euphemia that +evening. She thought very well of it, and was sure we could do it. +Pomona would not be afraid to remain in the house, under the +protection of Lord Edward, and she could easily attend to the cow +and the chickens. It would be a holiday for her too. Old John, +the man who occasionally worked for us, would come up sometimes and +see after things. With her customary dexterity Euphemia swept away +every obstacle to the plan, and all was settled before we went to +bed. + +As my wife had presumed, Pomona made no objections to remaining in +charge of the house. The scheme pleased her greatly. So far, so +good. I called that day on a friend who was in the habit of +camping out to talk to him about getting a tent and the necessary +"traps" for a life in the woods. He proved perfectly competent to +furnish advice and everything else. He offered to lend me all I +needed. He had a complete outfit; had done with them for the year, +and I was perfectly welcome. Here was rare luck. He gave me a +tent, camp-stove, dishes, pots, gun, fishing-tackle, a big canvas +coat with dozens of pockets riveted on it, a canvas hat, rods, +reels, boots that came up to my hips, and about a wagon-load of +things in all. He was a real good fellow. + +We laid in a stock of canned and condensed provisions, and I bought +a book on camping out so as to be well posted on the subject. On +the Saturday before the first Monday in September we would have +been entirely ready to start had we decided on the place where we +were to go. + +We found it very difficult to make this decision. There were +thousands of places where people went to camp out, but none of them +seemed to be the place for us. Most of them were too far away. We +figured up the cost of taking ourselves and our camp equipage to +the Adirondacks, the lakes, the trout-streams of Maine, or any of +those well-known resorts, and we found that we could not afford +such trips, especially for a vacation of but fourteen days. + +On Sunday afternoon we took a little walk. Our minds were still +troubled about the spot toward which we ought to journey next day, +and we needed the soothing influences of Nature. The country to +the north and west of our little farm was very beautiful. About +half a mile from the house a modest river ran; on each side of it +were grass-covered fields and hills, and in some places there were +extensive tracks of woodlands. + +"Look here!" exclaimed Euphemia, stopping short in the little path +that wound along by the river bank. "Do you see this river, those +woods, those beautiful fields, with not a soul in them or anywhere +near them; and those lovely blue mountains over there?"--as she +spoke she waved her parasol in the direction of the objects +indicated, and I could not mistake them. "Now what could we want +better than this?" she continued. "Here we can fish, and do +everything that we want to. I say, let us camp here on our own +river. I can take you to the very spot for the tent. Come on!" +And she was so excited about it that she fairly ran. + +The spot she pointed out was one we had frequently visited in our +rural walks. It was a grassy peninsula, as I termed it, formed by +a sudden turn of a creek which, a short distance below, flowed into +the river. It was a very secluded spot. The place was approached +through a pasture-field,--we had found it by mere accident,--and +where the peninsula joined the field (we had to climb a fence just +there), there was a cluster of chestnut and hickory trees, while +down near the point stood a wide-spreading oak. + +"Here, under this oak, is the place for the tent," said Euphemia, +her face flushed, her eyes sparkling, and her dress a little torn +by getting over the fence in a hurry. "What do we want with your +Adirondacks and your Dismal Swamps? This is the spot for us!" + +"Euphemia," said I, in as composed a tone as possible, although my +whole frame was trembling with emotion, "Euphemia, I am glad I +married you!" + +Had it not been Sunday, we would have set up our tent that night. + +Early the next morning, old John's fifteen-dollar horse drew from +our house a wagon-load of camp-fixtures. There was some difficulty +in getting the wagon over the field, and there were fences to be +taken down to allow of its passage; but we overcame all obstacles, +and reached the camp-ground without breaking so much as a teacup. +Old John helped me pitch the tent, and as neither of us understood +the matter very well, it took us some time. It was, indeed, nearly +noon when old John left us, and it may have been possible that he +delayed matters a little so as to be able to charge for a full +half-day for himself and horse. Euphemia got into the wagon to +ride back with him, that she might give some parting injunctions to +Pomona. + +"I'll have to stop a bit to put up the fences, ma'am," said old +John, "or Misther Ball might make a fuss." + +"Is this Mr. Ball's land?" I asked. + +"Oh yes, sir, it's Mr. Ball's land." + +"I wonder how he'll like our camping on it?" I said, thoughtfully. + +"I'd 'a' thought, sir, you'd 'a' asked him that before you came," +said old John, in a tone that seemed to indicate that he had his +doubts about Mr. Ball. + +"Oh, there'll be no trouble about that," cried Euphemia. "You can +drive me past Mr. Ball's,--it's not much out of the way,--and I'll +ask him." + +"In that wagon?" said I. "Will you stop at Mr. Ball's door in +that?" + +"Certainly," said she, as she arranged herself on the board which +served as a seat. "Now that our campaign has really commenced, we +ought to begin to rough it, and should not be too proud to ride +even in a--in a--" + +She evidently couldn't think of any vehicle mean enough for her +purpose. + +"In a green-grocery cart," I suggested. + +"Yes, or in a red one. Go ahead, John." + +When Euphemia returned on foot, I had a fire in the camp-stove and +the kettle was on. + +"Well," said Euphemia, "Mr. Ball says it's all right, if we keep +the fence up. He don't want his cows to get into the creek, and +I'm sure we don't want 'em walking over us. He couldn't +understand, though, why we wanted to live out here. I explained +the whole thing to him very carefully, but it didn't seem to make +much impression on him. I believe he thinks Pomona has something +the matter with her, and that we have come to stay out here in the +fresh air so as not to take it." + +"What an extremely stupid man Mr. Ball must be!" I said. + +The fire did not burn very well, and while I was at work at it, +Euphemia spread a cloth upon the grass, and set forth bread and +butter, cheese, sardines, potted ham, preserves, biscuits, and a +lot of other things. + +We did not wait for the kettle to boil, but concluded to do without +tea or coffee, for this meal, and content ourselves with pure +water. For some reason or other, however, the creek water did not +seem to be very pure, and we did not like it a bit. + +"After lunch," said I, "we will go and look for a spring; that will +be a good way of exploring the country." + +"If we can't find one," said Euphemia, "we shall have to go to the +house for water, for I can never drink that stuff." + +Soon after lunch we started out. We searched high and low, near +and far, for a spring, but could not find one. + +At length, by merest accident, we found ourselves in the vicinity +of old John's little house. I knew he had a good well, and so we +went in to get a drink, for our ham and biscuits had made us very +thirsty. + +We told old John, who was digging potatoes, and was also very much +surprised to see us so soon, about our unexpected trouble in +finding a spring. + +"No," said he, very slowly, "there is no spring very near to you. +Didn't you tell your gal to bring you water?" + +"No," I replied; "we don't want her coming down to the camp. She +is to attend to the house." + +"Oh, very well," said John; "I will bring you water, morning and +night,--good, fresh water,--from my well, for,--well, for ten cents +a day." + +"That will be nice," said Euphemia, "and cheap, too. And then it +will be well to have John come every day; he can carry our +letters." + +"I don't expect to write any letters." + +"Neither do I," said Euphemia; "but it will be pleasant to have +some communication with the outer world." + +So we engaged old John to bring us water twice a day. I was a +little disappointed at this, for I thought that camping on the edge +of a stream settled the matter of water. But we have many things +to learn in this world. + +Early in the afternoon I went out to catch some fish for supper. +We agreed to dispense with dinner, and have breakfast, lunch, and a +good solid supper. + +For some time I had poor luck. There were either very few fish in +the creek, or they were not hungry. + +I had been fishing an hour or more when I saw Euphemia running +toward me. + +"What's the matter?" said I. + +"Oh! nothing. I've just come to see how you were getting along. +Haven't you been gone an awfully long time? And are those all the +fish you've caught? What little bits of things they are! I +thought people who camped out caught big fish and lots of them?" + +"That depends a good deal upon where they go," said I. + +"Yes, I suppose so," replied Euphemia; "but I should think a stream +as big as this would have plenty of fish in it. However, if you +can't catch any, you might go up to the road and watch for Mr. +Mulligan. He sometimes comes along on Mondays." + +"I'm not going to the road to watch for any fish-man," I replied, a +little more testily than I should have spoken. "What sort of a +camping out would that be? But we must not be talking here or I +shall never get a bite. Those fish are a little soiled from +jumping about in the dust. You might wash them off at that shallow +place, while I go a little further on and try my luck." + +I went a short distance up the creek, and threw my line into a +dark, shadowy pool, under some alders, where there certainly should +be fish. And, sure enough, in less than a minute I got a splendid +bite,--not only a bite, but a pull. I knew that I had certainly +hooked a big fish! The thing actually tugged at my line so that I +was afraid the pole would break. I did not fear for the line, for +that, I knew, was strong. I would have played the fish until he +was tired, and I could pull him out without risk to the pole, but I +did not know exactly how the process of "playing" was conducted. I +was very much excited. Sometimes I gave a jerk and a pull, and +then the fish would give a jerk and a pull. + +Directly I heard some one running toward me, and then I heard +Euphemia cry out: + +"Give him the butt! Give him the butt!" + +"Give him what?" I exclaimed, without having time even to look up +at her. + +"The butt! the butt!" she cried, almost breathlessly. "I know +that's right! I read how Edward Everett Hale did it in the +Adirondacks." + +"No, it wasn't Hale at all," said I, as I jumped about the bank; +"it was Mr. Murray." + +"Well, it was one of those fishing ministers, and I know that it +caught the fish." + +"I know, I know. I read it, but I don't know how to do it." + +"Perhaps you ought to punch him with it," said she. + +"No! no!" I hurriedly replied, "I can't do anything like that. I'm +going to try to just pull him out lengthwise. You take hold of the +pole and go in shore as far as you can and I'll try and get hold of +the line." + +Euphemia did as I bade her, and drew the line in so that I could +reach it. As soon as I had a firm hold of it, I pulled in, +regardless of consequences, and hauled ashore an enormous cat-fish. + +"Hurrah!" I shouted, "here is a prize." + +Euphemia dropped the pole, and ran to me. + +"What a horrid beast!" she exclaimed. "Throw it in again." + +"Not at all!" said I. "This is a splendid fish, if I can ever get +him off the hook. Don't come near him! If he sticks that back-fin +into you, it will poison you." + +"Then I should think it would poison us to eat him," said she. + +"No; it's only his fin." + +"I've eaten cat-fish, but I never saw one like that," she said. +"Look at its horrible mouth! And it has whiskers like a cat!" + +"Oh! you never saw one with its head on," I said. "What I want to +do is to get this hook out." + +I had caught cat-fish before, but never one so large as this, and I +was actually afraid to take hold of it, knowing, as I did, that you +must be very careful how you clutch a fish of the kind. I finally +concluded to carry it home as it was, and then I could decapitate +it, and take out the hook at my leisure. So back to camp we went, +Euphemia picking up the little fish as we passed, for she did not +think it right to catch fish and not eat them. They made her hands +smell, it is true; but she did not mind that when we were camping. + +I prepared the big fish (and I had a desperate time getting the +skin off), while my wife, who is one of the daintiest cooks in the +world, made the fire in the stove, and got ready the rest of the +supper. She fried the fish, because I told her that was the way +cat-fish ought to be cooked, although she said that it seemed very +strange to her to camp out for the sake of one's health, and then +to eat fried food. + +But that fish was splendid! The very smell of it made us hungry. +Everything was good, and when supper was over and the dishes +washed, I lighted my pipe and we sat down under a tree to enjoy the +evening. + +The sun had set behind the distant ridge; a delightful twilight was +gently subduing every color of the scene; the night insects were +beginning to hum and chirp, and a fire that I had made under a tree +blazed up gayly, and threw little flakes of light into the shadows +under the shrubbery. + +"Now isn't this better than being cooped up in a narrow, +constricted house?" said I. + +"Ever so much better!" said Euphemia. "Now we know what Nature is. +We are sitting right down in her lap, and she is cuddling us up. +Isn't that sky lovely? Oh! I think this is perfectly splendid," +said she, making a little dab at her face,--"if it wasn't for the +mosquitoes." + +"They ARE bad," I said. "I thought my pipe would keep them off, +but it don't. There must be plenty of them down at that creek." + +"Down there!" exclaimed Euphemia. "Why there are thousands of them +here! I never saw anything like it. They're getting worse every +minute." + +"I'll tell you what we must do," I exclaimed, jumping up. "We must +make a smudge." + +"What's that? do you rub it on yourself?" asked Euphemia, +anxiously. + +"No, it's only a great smoke. Come, let us gather up dry leaves +and make a smoldering fire of them." + +We managed to get up a very fair smudge, and we stood to the +leeward of it, until Euphemia began to cough and sneeze, as if her +head would come off. With tears running from her eyes, she +declared that she would rather go and be eaten alive, than stay in +that smoke. + +"Perhaps we were too near it," said I. + +"That may be," she answered, "but I have had enough smoke. Why +didn't I think of it before? I brought two veils! We can put +these over our faces, and wear gloves." + +She was always full of expedients. + +Veiled and gloved, we bade defiance to the mosquitoes, and we sat +and talked for half an hour or more. I made a little hole in my +veil, through which I put the mouth-piece of my pipe. + +When it became really dark, I lighted the lantern, and we prepared +for a well-earned night's rest. The tent was spacious and +comfortable, and we each had a nice little cot-bed. + +"Are you going to leave the front-door open all night?" said +Euphemia, as I came in after a final round to see that all was +right. + +"I should hardly call this canvas-flap a front-door," I said, "but +I think it would be better to leave it open; otherwise we should +smother. You need not be afraid. I shall keep my gun here by my +bedside, and if any one offers to come in, I'll bring him to a full +stop quick enough." + +"Yes, if you are awake. But I suppose we ought not to be afraid of +burglars here. People in tents never are. So you needn't shut +it." + +It was awfully quiet and dark and lonely, out there by that creek, +when the light had been put out, and we had gone to bed. For some +reason I could not go to sleep. After I had been lying awake for +an hour or two, Euphemia spoke: + +"Are you awake?" said she, in a low voice, as if she were afraid of +disturbing the people in the next room. + +"Yes," said I. "How long have you been awake?" + +"I haven't been asleep." + +"Neither have I." + +"Suppose we light the lantern," said she. "Don't you think it +would be pleasanter?" + +"It might be," I replied; "but it would draw myriads of mosquitoes. +I wish I had brought a mosquito-net and a clock. It seems so +lonesome without the ticking. Good-night! We ought to have a long +sleep, if we do much tramping about to-morrow." + +In about half an hour more, just as I was beginning to be a little +sleepy, she said: + +"Where is that gun?" + +"Here by me," I answered. + +"Well, if a man should come in, try and be sure to put it up close +to him before you fire. In a little tent like this, the shot might +scatter everywhere, if you're not careful." + +"All right," I said. "Good-night!" + +"There's one thing we never thought of!" she presently exclaimed. + +"What's that," said I. + +"Snakes," said she. + +"Well, don't let's think of them. We must try and get a little +sleep." + +"Dear knows! I've been trying hard enough," she said, plaintively, +and all was quiet again. + +We succeeded this time in going to sleep, and it was broad daylight +before we awoke. + +That morning, old John came with our water before breakfast was +ready. He also brought us some milk, as he thought we would want +it. We considered this a good idea, and agreed with him to bring +us a quart a day. + +"Don't you want some wegetables?" said he. "I've got some nice +corn and some tomatoes, and I could bring you cabbage and peas." + +We had hardly expected to have fresh vegetables every day, but +there seemed to be no reason why old John should not bring them, as +he had to come every day with the water and milk. So we arranged +that he should furnish us daily with a few of the products of his +garden. + +"I could go to the butcher's and get you a steak or some chops, if +you'd let me know in the morning," said he, intent on the profits +of further commissions. + +But this was going too far. We remembered we were camping out, and +declined to have meat from the butcher. + +John had not been gone more than ten minutes before we saw Mr. Ball +approaching. + +"Oh, I hope he isn't going to say we can't stay!" exclaimed +Euphemia. + +"How d'ye do?" said Mr. Ball, shaking hands with us. "Did you +stick it out all night?" + +"Oh yes, indeed," I replied, "and expect to stick it out for a many +more nights if you don't object to our occupying your land." + +"No objection in the world," said he; "but it seems a little queer +for people who have a good house to be living out here in the +fields in a tent, now, don't it?" + +"Oh, but you see," said I, and I went on and explained the whole +thing to him,--the advice of the doctor, the discussion about the +proper place to go to, and the good reasons for fixing on this +spot. + +"Ye-es," said he, "that's all very well, no doubt. But how's the +girl?" + +"What girl?" I asked. + +"Your girl. The hired girl you left at the house." + +"Oh, she's all right," said I; "she's always well." + +"Well," said Mr. Ball, slowly turning on his heel, "if you say so, +I suppose she is. But you're going up to the house to-day to see +about her, aren't you?" + +"Oh, no," said Euphemia. "We don't intend to go near the house +until our camping is over." + +"Just so,--just so," said Mr. Ball; "I expected as much. But look +here, don't you think it would be well for me to ask Dr. Ames to +stop in and see how she is gettin' along? I dare say you've fixed +everything for her, but that would be safer, you know. He's coming +this morning to vaccinate my baby, and he might stop there, just as +well as not, after he has left my house." + +Euphemia and I could see no necessity for this proposed visit of +the doctor, but we could not well object to it, and so Mr. Ball +said he would be sure and send him. + +After our visitor had gone, the significance of his remarks flashed +on me. He still thought that Pomona was sick with something +catching, and that we were afraid to stay in the house with her. +But I said nothing about this to Euphemia. It would only worry +her, and our vacation was to be a season of unalloyed delight. + + + +CHAPTER X. + +WET BLANKETS. + + +We certainly enjoyed our second day in camp. All the morning, and +a great part of the afternoon, we "explored." We fastened up the +tent as well as we could, and then, I with my gun, and Euphemia +with the fishing-pole, we started up the creek. We did not go very +far, for it would not do to leave the tent too long. I did not +shoot anything, but Euphemia caught two or three nice little fish, +and we enjoyed the sport exceedingly. + +Soon after we returned in the afternoon, and while we were getting +things in order for supper, we had a call from two of our +neighbors, Captain Atkinson and wife. The captain greeted us +hilariously. + +"Hello!" he cried. "Why, this is gay. Who would ever have thought +of a domestic couple like you going on such a lark as this. We +just heard about it from old John, and we came down to see what you +are up to. You've got everything very nice. I think I'd like this +myself. Why, you might have a rifle-range out here. You could cut +down those bushes on the other side of the creek, and put up your +target over there on that hill. Then you could lie down here on +the grass and bang away all day. If you'll do that, I'll come down +and practice with you. How long are you going to keep it up?" + +I told him that we expected to spend my two weeks' vacation here. + +"Not if it rains, my boy," said he. "I know what it is to camp out +in the rain." + +Meanwhile, Mrs. Atkinson had been with Euphemia examining the tent, +and our equipage generally. + +"It would be very nice for a day's picnic," she said; "but I +wouldn't want to stay out-of-doors all night." + +And then, addressing me, she asked: + +"Do you have to breathe the fresh air all the time, night as well +as day? I expect that is a very good prescription, but I would not +like to have to follow it myself." + +"If the fresh air is what you must have," said the captain, "you +might have got all you wanted of that without taking the trouble to +come out here. You could have sat out on your back porch night and +day for the whole two weeks, and breathed all the fresh air that +any man could need." + +"Yes," said I, "and I might have gone down cellar and put my head +in the cold-air box of the furnace. But there wouldn't have been +much fun in that." + +"There are a good many things that there's no fun in," said the +captain. "Do you cook your own meals, or have them sent from the +house?" + +"Cook them ourselves, of course," said Euphemia. "We are going to +have supper now. Won't you wait and take some?" + +"Thank you," said Mrs. Atkinson, "but we must go." + +"Yes, we must be going," said the captain. "Good-bye. If it rains +I'll come down after you with an umbrella." + +"You need not trouble yourself about that," said I. "We shall +rough it out, rain or shine." + +"I'd stay here now," said Euphemia, when they had gone, "if it +rained pitch." + +"You mean pitchforks," I suggested. + +"Yes, anything," she answered. + +"Well, I don't know about the pitchforks," I said, looking over the +creek at the sky; "but am very much afraid that it is going to rain +rain-water to-morrow. But that won't drive us home, will it?" + +"No, indeed!" said she. "We're prepared for it. But I wish they'd +staid at home." + +Sure enough, it commenced to rain that night, and we had showers +all the next day. We staid in camp during the morning, and I +smoked and we played checkers, and had a very cosy time, with a +wood fire burning under a tree near by. We kept up this fire, not +to dry the air, but to make things look comfortable. In the +afternoon I dressed myself up in water-proof coat, boots and hat, +and went out fishing. I went down to the water and fished along +the banks for an hour, but caught nothing of any consequence. This +was a great disappointment, for we had expected to live on fresh +fish for a great part of the time while we were camping. With +plenty of fish, we could do without meat very well. + +We talked the matter over on my return, and we agreed that as it +seemed impossible to depend upon a supply of fish, from the waters +about our camp, it would be better to let old John bring fresh meat +from the butcher, and as neither of us liked crackers, we also +agreed that he should bring bread. + +Our greatest trouble, that evening, was to make a fire. The wood, +of which there was a good deal lying about under the trees, was now +all wet and would not burn. However, we managed to get up a fire +in the stove, but I did not know what we were going to do in the +morning. We should have stored away some wood under shelter. + +We set our little camp-table in the tent, and we had scarcely +finished our supper, when a very heavy rain set in, accompanied by +a violent wind. The canvas at one end of our tent must have been +badly fastened, for it was blown in, and in an instant our beds +were deluged. I rushed out to fasten up the canvas, and got +drenched almost to the skin, and although Euphemia put on her +waterproof cloak as soon as she could, she was pretty wet, for the +rain seemed to dash right through the tent. + +This gust of wind did not last long, and the rain soon settled down +into a steady drizzle, but we were in a sad plight. It was after +nine o'clock before we had put things into tolerable order. + +"We can't sleep in those beds," said Euphemia. + +"They're as wet as sop, and we shall have to go up to the house and +get something to spread over them. I don't want to do it, but we +mustn't catch our deaths of cold." + +There was nothing to be said against this, and we prepared to start +out. I would have gone by myself, but Euphemia would not consent +to be left alone. It was still raining, though not very hard, and +I carried an umbrella and a lantern. Climbing fences at night with +a wife, a lantern, and an umbrella to take care of, is not very +agreeable, but we managed to reach the house, although once or +twice we had an argument in regard to the path, which seemed to be +very different at night from what it was in the day-time. + +Lord Edward came bounding to the gate to meet us, and I am happy to +say that he knew me at once, and wagged his tail in a very sociable +way. + +I had the key of a side-door in my pocket, for we had thought it +wise to give ourselves command of this door, and so we let +ourselves in without ringing or waking Pomona. + +All was quiet within, and we went upstairs with the lantern. +Everything seemed clean and in order, and it is impossible to +convey any idea of the element of comfort which seemed to pervade +the house, as we quietly made our way upstairs, in our wet boots +and heavy, damp clothes. + +The articles we wanted were in a closet, and while I was making a +bundle of them, Euphemia went to look for Pomona. She soon +returned, walking softly. + +"She's sound asleep," said she, "and I didn't think there was any +need of waking her. We'll send word by John that we've been here. +And oh! you can't imagine how snug and happy she did look, lying +there in her comfortable bed, in that nice, airy room. I'll tell +you what it is, if it wasn't for the neighbors, and especially the +Atkinsons, I wouldn't go back one step." + +"Well," said I, "I don't know that I care so particularly about it, +myself. But I suppose I couldn't stay here and leave all +Thompson's things out there to take care of themselves." + +"Oh no!" said Euphemia. "And we're not going to back down. Are +you ready?" + +On our way down-stairs we had to pass the partly open door of our +own room. I could not help holding up the lantern to look in. +There was the bed, with its fair white covering and its smooth, +soft pillows; there were the easy-chairs, the pretty curtains, the +neat and cheerful carpet, the bureau, with Euphemia's work-basket +on it; there was the little table with the book that we had been +reading together, turned face downward upon it; there were my +slippers; there was-- + +"Come!" said Euphemia, "I can't bear to look in there. It's like a +dead child." + +And so we hurried out into the night and the rain. We stopped at +the wood-shed and got an armful of dry kindling, which Euphemia was +obliged to carry, as I had the bundle of bed-clothing, the +umbrella, and the lantern. + +Lord Edward gave a short, peculiar bark as we shut the gate behind +us, but whether it was meant as a fond farewell, or a hoot of +derision, I cannot say. + +We found everything as we left it at the camp, and we made our beds +apparently dry. But I did not sleep well. I could not help +thinking that it was not safe to sleep in a bed with a substratum +of wet mattress, and I worried Euphemia a little by asking her +several times if she felt the dampness striking through. + +To our great delight, the next day was fine and clear, and I +thought I would like, better than anything else, to take Euphemia +in a boat up the river and spend the day rowing about, or resting +in shady places on the shore. + +But what could we do about the tent? It would be impossible to go +away and leave that, with its contents, for a whole day. + +When old John came with our water, milk, bread, and a basket of +vegetables, we told him of our desired excursion, and the +difficulty in the way. This good man, who always had a keen scent +for any advantage to himself, warmly praised the boating plan, and +volunteered to send his wife and two of his younger children to +stay with the tent while we were away. + +The old woman, he said, could do her sewing here as well as +anywhere, and she would stay all day for fifty cents. + +This plan pleased us, and we sent for Mrs. Old John, who came with +three of her children,--all too young to leave behind, she said,-- +and took charge of the camp. + +Our day proved to be as delightful as we had anticipated, and when +we returned, hungry and tired, we were perfectly charmed to find +that Mrs. Old John had our supper ready for us. + +She charged a quarter, extra, for this service, and we did not +begrudge it to her, though we declined her offer to come every day +and cook and keep the place in order. + +"However," said Euphemia, on second thoughts, "you may come on +Saturday and clean up generally." + +The next day, which was Friday, I went out in the morning with the +gun. As yet I had shot nothing, for I had seen no birds about the +camp, which, without breaking the State laws, I thought I could +kill, and so I started off up the river-road. + +I saw no game, but after I had walked about a mile, I met a man in +a wagon. + +"Hello," said he, pulling up; "you'd better be careful how you go +popping around here on the public roads, frightening horses." + +As I had not yet fired a single shot, I thought this was a very +impudent speech, and I think so still. + +"You had better wait until I begin to pop," said I, "before you +make such a fuss about it." + +"No," said he, "I'd rather make the fuss before you begin. My +horse is skittish," and he drove off. + +This man annoyed me; but as I did not, of course, wish to frighten +horses, I left the road and made my way back to the tent over some +very rough fields. It was a poor day for birds, and I did not get +a shot. + +"What a foolish man!" said Euphemia, when I told her the above +incident, "to talk that way when you stood there with a gun in your +hand. You might have raked his wagon, fore and aft." + +That afternoon, as Euphemia and I were sitting under a tree by the +tent, we were very much surprised to see Pomona come walking down +the peninsula. + +I was annoyed and provoked at this. We had given Pomona positive +orders not to leave the place, under any pretense, while we were +gone. If necessary to send for anything, she could go to the +fence, back of the barn, and scream across a small field to some of +the numerous members of old John's family. Under this arrangement, +I felt that the house was perfectly safe. + +Before she could reach us, I called out: + +"Why did you leave the house, Pomona? Don't you know you should +never come away and leave the house empty? I thought I had made +you understand that." + +"It isn't empty," said Pomona, in an entirely unruffled tone. +"Your old boarder is there, with his wife and child." + +Euphemia and I looked at each other in dismay. + +"They came early this afternoon," continued Pomona, "by the 1:14 +train, and walked up, he carrying the child." + +"It can't be," cried Euphemia. "Their child's married." + +"It must have married very young, then," said Pomona, "for it isn't +over four years old now." + +"Oh!" said Euphemia, "I know! It's his grandchild." + +"Grandchild!" repeated Pomona, with her countenance more expressive +of emotion than I had ever yet seen it. + +"Yes," said Euphemia; "but how long are they going to stay? Where +did you tell them we were?" + +"They didn't say how long they was goin' to stay," answered Pomona. +"I told them you had gone to be with some friends in the country, +and that I didn't know whether you'd be home to-night or not." + +"How could you tell them such a falsehood?" cried Euphemia. + +"That was no falsehood," said Pomona; "it was true as truth. If +you're not your own friends, I don't know who is. And I wasn't a- +goin' to tell the boarder where you was till I found out whether +you wanted me to do it or not. And so I left 'em and run over to +old John's, and then down here." + +It was impossible to find fault with the excellent management of +Pomona. + +"What were they doing?" asked Euphemia. + +"I opened the parlor, and she was in there with the child,--putting +it to sleep on the sofa, I think. The boarder was out in the yard, +tryin' to teach Lord Edward some tricks." + +"He had better look out!" I exclaimed. + +"Oh, the dog's chained and growlin' fearful! What am I to do with +'em?" + +This was a difficult point to decide. If we went to see them, we +might as well break up our camp, for we could not tell when we +should be able to come back to it. + +We discussed the matter very anxiously, and finally concluded that +under the circumstances, and considering what Pomona had said about +our whereabouts, it would be well for us to stay where we were and +for Pomona to take charge of the visitors. If they returned to the +city that evening, she was to give them a good supper before they +went, sending John to the store for what was needed. If they +stayed all night, she could get breakfast for them. + +"We can write," said Euphemia, "and invite them to come and spend +some days with us, when we are at home and everything is all right. +I want dreadfully to see that child, but I don't see how I can do +it now." + +"No," said I. "They're sure to stay all night if we go up to the +house, and then I should have to have the tent and things hauled +away, for I couldn't leave them here." + +"The fact is," said Euphemia, "if we were miles away, in the woods +of Maine, we couldn't leave our camp to see anybody. And this is +practically the same." + +"Certainly," said I; and so Pomona went away to her new charge. + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +THE BOARDER'S VISIT. + + +For the rest of the afternoon, and indeed far into the night, our +conversation consisted almost entirely of conjectures regarding the +probable condition of things at the house. We both thought we had +done right, but we felt badly about it. It was not hospitable, to +be sure; but then I should have no other holiday until next year, +and our friends could come at any time to see us. + +The next morning old John brought a note from Pomona. It was +written with pencil on a small piece of paper torn from the margin +of a newspaper, and contained the words, "Here yit." + +"So you've got company," said old John, with a smile. "That's a +queer gal of yourn. She says I mustn't tell 'em you're here. As +if I'd tell 'em!" + +We knew well enough that old John was not at all likely to do +anything that would cut off the nice little revenue he was making +out of our camp, and so we felt no concern on that score. + +But we were very anxious for further news, and we told old John to +go to the house about ten o'clock and ask Pomona to send us another +note. + +We waited, in a very disturbed condition of mind, until nearly +eleven o'clock, when old John came with a verbal message from +Pomona: + +"She says she's a-comin' herself as soon as she can get a chance to +slip off." + +This was not pleasant news. It filled our minds with a confused +mass of probabilities, and it made us feel mean. How contemptible +it seemed to be a party to this concealment and in league with a +servant-girl who has to "slip off!" + +Before long, Pomona appeared, quite out of breath. + +"In all my life," said she, "I never see people like them two. I +thought I was never goin' to get away." + +"Are they there yet?" cried Euphemia. + +"How long are they going to stay?" + +"Dear knows!" replied Pomona. "Their valise came up by express +last night." + +"Oh, we'll have to go up to the house," said Euphemia. "It won't +do to stay away any longer." + +"Well," said Pomona, fanning herself with her apron, "if you know'd +all I know, I don't think you'd think so." + +"What do you mean?" said Euphemia. + +"Well, ma'am, they've just settled down and taken possession of the +whole place. He says to me that he know'd you'd both want them to +make themselves at home, just as if you was there, and they thought +they'd better do it. He asked me did I think you would be home by +Monday, and I said I didn't know, but I guessed you would. So says +he to his wife, 'Won't that be a jolly lark? We'll just keep house +for them here till they come. And he says he would go down to the +store and order some things, if there wasn't enough in the house, +and he asked her to see what would be needed, which she did, and +he's gone down for 'em now. And she says that, as it was Saturday, +she'd see that the house was all put to rights; and after breakfast +she set me to sweepin'; and it's only by way of her dustin' the +parlor and givin' me the little girl to take for a walk that I got +off at all." + +"But what have you done with the child?" exclaimed Euphemia. + +"Oh, I left her at old Johnses." + +"And so you think they're pleased with having the house to +themselves?" I said. + +"Pleased, sir?" replied Pomona; "they're tickled to death." + +"But how do you like having strangers telling you what to do?" +asked Euphemia. + +"Oh, well," said Pomona, "he's no stranger, and she's real +pleasant, and if it gives you a good camp out, I don't mind." + +Euphemia and I looked at each other. Here was true allegiance. We +would remember this. + +Pomona now hurried off, and we seriously discussed the matter, and +soon came to the conclusion that while it might be the truest +hospitality to let our friends stay at our house for a day or two +and enjoy themselves, still it would not do for us to allow +ourselves to be governed by a too delicate sentimentality. We must +go home and act our part of host and hostess. + +Mrs. Old John had been at the camp ever since breakfast-time, +giving the place a Saturday cleaning. What she had found to occupy +her for so long a time I could not imagine, but in her efforts to +put in a full half-day's work, I have no doubt she scrubbed some of +the trees. We had been so fully occupied with our own affairs that +we had paid very little attention to her, but she had probably +heard pretty much all that had been said. + +At noon we paid her (giving her, at her suggestion, something extra +in lieu of the midday meal, which she did not stay to take), and +told her to send her husband, with his wagon, as soon as possible, +as we intended to break up our encampment. We determined that we +would pack everything in John's wagon, and let him take the load to +his house, and keep it there until Monday, when I would have the +tent and accompaniments expressed to their owner. We would go home +and join our friends. It would not be necessary to say where we +had been. + +It was hard for us to break up our camp. In many respects we had +enjoyed the novel experience, and we had fully expected, during the +next week, to make up for all our short-comings and mistakes. It +seemed like losing all our labor and expenditure, to break up now, +but there was no help for it. Our place was at home. + +We did not wish to invite our friends to the camp. They would +certainly have come had they known we were there, but we had no +accommodations for them, neither had we any desire for even +transient visitors. Besides, we both thought that we would prefer +that our ex-boarder and his wife should not know that we were +encamped on that little peninsula. + +We set to work to pack up and get ready for moving, but the +afternoon passed away without bringing old John. Between five and +six o'clock along came his oldest boy, with a bucket of water. + +"I'm to go back after the milk," he said. + +"Hold up!" I cried. "Where is your father and his wagon? We've +been waiting for him for hours." + +"The horse is si-- I mean he's gone to Ballville for oats." + +"And why didn't he send and tell me?" I asked. + +"There wasn't nobody to send," answered the boy. + +"You are not telling the truth," exclaimed Euphemia; "there is +always some one to send, in a family like yours." + +To this the boy made no answer, but again said that he would go +after the milk. + +"We want you to bring no milk," I cried, now quite angry. "I want +you to go down to the station, and tell the driver of the express- +wagon to come here immediately. Do you understand? Immediately." + +The boy declared he understood, and started off quite willingly. +We did not prefer to have the express-wagon, for it was too public +a conveyance, and, besides, old John knew exactly how to do what +was required. But we need not have troubled ourselves. The +express-wagon did not come. + +When it became dark, we saw that we could not leave that night. +Even if a wagon did come, it would not be safe to drive over the +fields in the darkness. And we could not go away and leave the +camp-equipage. I proposed that Euphemia should go up to the house, +while I remained in camp. But she declined. We would keep +together, whatever happened, she said. + +We unpacked our cooking-utensils and provisions, and had supper. +There was no milk for our coffee, but we did not care. The evening +did not pass gayly. We were annoyed by the conduct of old John and +the express-boy, though, perhaps, it was not their fault. I had +given them no notice that I should need them. + +And we were greatly troubled at the continuance of the secrecy and +subterfuge which now had become really necessary, if we did not +wish to hurt our friends' feelings. + +The first thing that I thought of, when I opened my eyes in the +morning, was the fact that we would have to stay there all day, for +we could not move on Sunday. + +But Euphemia did not agree with me. After breakfast (we found that +the water and the milk had been brought very early, before we were +up) she stated that she did not intend to be treated in this way. +She was going up to old John's house herself; and away she went. + +In less than half an hour, she returned, followed by old John and +his wife, both looking much as if they had been whipped. + +"These people," said she, "have entered into a conspiracy against +us. I have questioned them thoroughly, and have made them answer +me. The horse was at home yesterday, and the boy did not go after +the express-wagon. They thought that if they could keep us here, +until our company had gone, we would stay as long as we originally +intended, and they would continue to make money out of us. But +they are mistaken. We are going home immediately." + +At this point I could not help thinking that Euphemia might have +consulted me in regard to her determination, but she was very much +in earnest, and I would not have any discussion before these +people. + +"Now, listen!" said Euphemia, addressing the down-cast couple, "we +are going home, and you two are to stay here all this day and to- +night, and take care of these things. You can't work to-day, and +you can shut up your house, and bring your whole family here if you +choose. We will pay you for the service,--although you do not +deserve a cent,--and we will leave enough here for you to eat. You +must bring your own sheets and pillowcases, and stay here until we +see you on Monday morning." + +Old John and his wife agreed to this plan with the greatest +alacrity, apparently well pleased to get off so easily; and, having +locked up the smaller articles of camp-furniture, we filled a +valise with our personal baggage and started off home. + +Our house and grounds never looked prettier than they did that +morning, as we stood at the gate. Lord Edward barked a welcome +from his shed, and before we reached the door, Pomona came running +out, her face radiant. + +"I'm awful glad to see you back," she said; "though I'd never have +said so while you was in camp." + +I patted the dog and looked into the garden. Everything was +growing splendidly. Euphemia rushed to the chicken-yard. It was +in first-rate order, and there were two broods of little yellow +puffy chicks. + +Down on her knees went my wife, to pick up the little creatures, +one by one, press their downy bodies to her cheek, and call them +tootsy-wootsies, and away went I to the barn, followed by Pomona, +and soon afterward by Euphemia. + +The cow was all right. + +"I've been making butter," said Pomona, "though it don't look +exactly like it ought to, yet, and the skim-milk I didn't know what +to do with, so I gave it to old John. He came for it every day, +and was real mad once because I had given a lot of it to the dog, +and couldn't let him have but a pint." + +"He ought to have been mad," said I to Euphemia, as we walked up to +the house. "He got ten cents a quart for that milk." + +We laughed, and didn't care. We were too glad to be at home. + +"But where are our friends?" I asked Pomona. We had actually +forgotten them. + +"Oh! they're gone out for a walk," said she. "They started off +right after breakfast." + +We were not sorry for this. It would be so much nicer to see our +dear home again when there was nobody there but ourselves. In- +doors we rushed. Our absence had been like rain on a garden. +Everything now seemed fresher and brighter and more delightful. We +went from room to room, and seemed to appreciate better than ever +what a charming home we had. + +We were so full of the delights of our return that we forgot all +about the Sunday dinner and our guests, but Pomona, whom my wife +was training to be an excellent cook, did not forget, and Euphemia +was summoned to a consultation in the kitchen. + +Dinner was late; but our guests were later. We waited as long as +the state of the provisions and our appetites would permit, and +then we sat down to the table and began to eat slowly. But they +did not come. We finished our meal, and they were still absent. +We now became quite anxious, and I proposed to Euphemia that we +should go and look for them. + +We started out, and our steps naturally turned toward the river. +An unpleasant thought began to crowd itself into my mind, and +perhaps the same thing happened to Euphemia, for, without saying +anything to each other, we both turned toward the path that led to +the peninsula. We crossed the field, climbed the fence, and there, +in front of the tent sat our old boarder splitting sticks with the +camp-hatchet. + +"Hurrah!" he cried, springing to his feet when he saw us. "How +glad I am to see you back! When did you return? Isn't this +splendid?" + +"What?" I said, as we shook hands. + +"Why this," he cried, pointing to the tent. "Don't you see? We're +camping out." + +"You are?" I exclaimed, looking around for his wife, while Euphemia +stood motionless, actually unable to make a remark. + +"Certainly we are. It's the rarest bit of luck. My wife and Adele +will be here directly. They've gone to look for water-cresses. +But I must tell you how I came to make this magnificent find. We +started out for a walk this morning, and we happened to hit on this +place, and here we saw this gorgeous tent with nobody near but a +little tow-headed boy." + +"Only a boy?" cried Euphemia. + +"Yes, a young shaver of about nine or ten. I asked him what he was +doing here, and he told me that this tent belonged to a gentleman +who had gone away, and that he was here to watch it until he came +back. Then I asked him how long the owner would probably be away, +and he said he supposed for a day or two. Then a splendid idea +struck me. I offered the boy a dollar to let me take his place: I +knew that any sensible man would rather have me in charge of his +tent, than a young codger like that. The boy agreed as quick as +lightning, and I paid him and sent him off. You see how little he +was to be trusted! The owner of this tent will be under the +greatest obligations to me. Just look at it!" he cried. "Beds, +table, stove,--everything anybody could want. I've camped out lots +of times, but never had such a tent as this. I intended coming up +this afternoon after my valise, and to tell your girl where we are. +But here is my wife and little Adele." + +In the midst of the salutations and the mutual surprise, Euphemia +cried: + +"But you don't expect to camp out, now? You are coming back to our +house?" + +"You see," said the ex-boarder, "we should never have thought of +doing anything so rude, had we supposed you would have returned so +soon. But your girl gave us to understand that you would not be +back for days, and so we felt free to go at any time; and I did not +hesitate to make this arrangement. And now that I have really +taken the responsibility of the tent and fixtures on myself, I +don't think it would be right to go away and leave the place, +especially as I don't know where to find that boy. The owner will +be back in a day or two, and I would like to explain matters to him +and give up the property in good order into his hands. And, to +tell the truth, we both adore camping-out, and we may never have +such a chance again. We can live here splendidly. I went out to +forage this morning, and found an old fellow living near by who +sold me a lot of provisions--even some coffee and sugar--and he's +to bring us some milk. We're going to have supper in about an +hour; won't you stay and take a camp-meal with us? It will be a +novelty for you, at any rate." + +We declined this invitation, as we had so lately dined. I looked +at Euphemia with a question in my eye. She understood me, and +gently shook her head. It would be a shame to make any +explanations which might put an end to this bit of camp-life, which +evidently was so eagerly enjoyed by our old friend. But we +insisted that they should come up to the house and see us, and they +agreed to dine with us the next evening. On Tuesday, they must +return to the city. + +"Now, this is what I call real hospitality," said the ex-boarder, +warmly grasping my hand. I could not help agreeing with him. + +As we walked home, I happened to look back and saw old John going +over the fields toward the camp, carrying a little tin-pail and a +water bucket. + +The next day, toward evening, a storm set in, and at the hour fixed +for our dinner, the rain was pouring down in such torrents that we +did not expect our guests. After dinner the rain ceased, and as we +supposed that they might not have made any preparations for a meal, +Euphemia packed up some dinner for them in a basket, and I took it +down to the camp. + +They were glad to see me, and said they had a splendid time all +day. They were up before sunrise, and had explored, tramped, +boated, and I don't know what else. + +My basket was very acceptable, and I would have stayed awhile with +them, but as they were obliged to eat in the tent, there was no +place for me to sit, it being too wet outside, and so I soon came +away. + +We were in doubt whether or not to tell our friends the true +history of the camp. I thought that it was not right to keep up +the deception, while Euphemia declared that if they were sensitive +people, they would feel very badly at having broken up our plans by +their visit, and then having appropriated our camp to themselves. +She thought it would be the part of magnanimity to say nothing +about it. + +I could not help seeing a good deal of force in her arguments, +although I wished very much to set the thing straight, and we +discussed the matter again as we walked down to the camp, after +breakfast next morning. + +There we found old John sitting on a stump. He said nothing, but +handed me a note written in lead-pencil on a card. It was from our +ex-boarder, and informed me that early that morning he had found +that there was a tug lying in the river, which would soon start for +the city. He also found that he could get passage on her for his +party, and as this was such a splendid chance to go home without +the bother of getting up to the station, he had just bundled his +family and his valise on board, and was very sorry they did not +have time to come up and bid us good-bye. The tent he left in +charge of a very respectable man, from whom he had had supplies. + +That morning I had the camp-equipage packed up and expressed to its +owner. We did not care to camp out any more that season, but +thought it would be better to spend the rest of my vacation at the +sea-shore. + +Our ex-boarder wrote to us that he and his wife were anxious that +we should return their visit during my holidays; but as we did not +see exactly how we could return a visit of the kind, we did not try +to do it. + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +LORD EDWARD AND THE TREE-MAN. + + +It was winter at Rudder Grange. The season was the same at other +places, but that fact did not particularly interest Euphemia and +myself. It was winter with us, and we were ready for it. That was +the great point, and it made us proud to think that we had not been +taken unawares, notwithstanding the many things that were to be +thought of on a little farm like ours. + +It is true that we had always been prepared for winter, wherever we +had lived; but this was a different case. In other days it did not +matter much whether we were ready or not; but now our house, our +cow, our poultry, and indeed ourselves, might have suffered,--there +is no way of finding out exactly how much,--if we had not made all +possible preparations for the coming of cold weather. + +But there was a great deal yet to be thought of and planned out, +although we were ready for winter. The next thing to think of was +spring. + +We laid out the farm. We decided where we would have wheat, corn, +potatoes, and oats. We would have a man by the day to sow and +reap. The intermediate processes I thought I could attend to +myself. + +Everything was talked over, ciphered over, and freely discussed by +my wife and myself, except one matter, which I planned and worked +out alone, doing most of the necessary calculations at the office, +so as not to excite Euphemia's curiosity. + +I had determined to buy a horse. This would be one of the most +important events of our married life, and it demanded a great deal +of thought, which I gave it. + +The horse was chosen for me by a friend. He was an excellent beast +(the horse), excelling, as my friend told me, in muscle and wit. +Nothing better than this could be said about a horse. He was a +sorrel animal, quite handsome, gentle enough for Euphemia to drive, +and not too high-minded to do a little farm-work, if necessary. He +was exactly the animal I needed. + +The carriage was not quite such a success. The horse having cost a +good deal more than I expected to pay, I found that I could only +afford a second-hand carriage. I bought a good, serviceable +vehicle, which would hold four persons, if necessary, and there was +room enough to pack all sorts of parcels and baskets. It was with +great satisfaction that I contemplated this feature of the +carriage, which was a rather rusty-looking affair, although sound +and strong enough. The harness was new, and set off the horse +admirably. + +On the afternoon when my purchases were completed, I did not come +home by the train. I drove home in my own carriage, drawn by my +own horse! The ten miles' drive was over a smooth road, and the +sorrel traveled splendidly. If I had been a line of kings a mile +long, all in their chariots of state, with gold and silver, and +outriders, and music, and banners waving in the wind, I could not +have been prouder than when I drew up in front of my house. + +There was a wagon-gate at one side of the front fence which had +never been used except by the men who brought coal, and I got out +and opened this, very quietly, so as not to attract the attention +of Euphemia. It was earlier than I usually returned, and she would +not be expecting me. I was then about to lead the horse up a +somewhat grass-grown carriage-way to the front door, but I +reflected that Euphemia might be looking out of some of the windows +and I had better drive up. So I got in and drove very slowly to +the door. + +However, she heard the unaccustomed noise of wheels, and looked out +of the parlor window. She did not see me, but immediately came +around to the door. I hurried out of the carriage so quickly that, +not being familiar with the steps, I barely escaped tripping. + +When she opened the front door she was surprised to see me standing +by the horse. + +"Have you hired a carriage?" she cried. "Are we going to ride?" + +"My dear," said I, as I took her by the hand, "we are going to +ride. But I have not hired a carriage. I have bought one. Do you +see this horse? He is ours--our own horse." + +If you could have seen the face that was turned up to me,--all you +other men in the world,--you would have torn your hair in despair. + +Afterward she went around and around that horse; she patted his +smooth sides; she looked, with admiration, at his strong, well- +formed legs; she stroked his head; she smoothed his mane; she was +brimful of joy. + +When I had brought the horse some water in a bucket--and what a +pleasure it was to water one's own horse!--Euphemia rushed into the +house and got her hat and cloak, and we took a little drive. + +I doubt if any horse ever drew two happier people. Euphemia said +but little about the carriage. That was a necessary adjunct, and +it was good enough for the present. But the horse! How nobly and +with what vigor he pulled us up the hills and how carefully and +strongly he held the carriage back as we went down! How easily he +trotted over the level road, caring nothing for the ten miles he +had gone that afternoon! What a sensation of power it gave us to +think that all that strength and speed and endurance was ours, that +it would go where we wished, that it would wait for us as long as +we chose, that it was at our service day and night, that it was a +horse, and we owned it! + +When we returned, Pomona saw us drive in,--she had not known of our +ride,--and when she heard the news she was as wild with proud +delight as anybody. She wanted to unharness him, but this I could +not allow. We did not wish to be selfish, but after she had seen +and heard what we thought was enough for her, we were obliged to +send her back to the kitchen for the sake of the dinner. + +Then we unharnessed him. I say we, for Euphemia stood by and I +explained everything, for some day, she said, she might want to do +it herself. Then I led him into the stable. How nobly he trod, +and how finely his hoofs sounded on the stable floor! + +There was hay in the mow and I had brought a bag of oats under the +seat of the carriage. + +"Isn't it just delightful," said Euphemia, "that we haven't any +man? If we had a man he would take the horse at the door, and we +should be deprived of all this. It wouldn't be half like owning a +horse." + +In the morning I drove down to the station, Euphemia by my side. +She drove back and Old John came up and attended to the horse. +This he was to do, for the present, for a small stipend. In the +afternoon Euphemia came down after me. How I enjoyed those rides! +Before this I had thought it ever so much more pleasant and +healthful to walk to and from the station than to ride, but then I +did not own a horse. At night I attended to everything, Euphemia +generally following me about the stable with a lantern. When the +days grew longer we would have delightful rides after dinner, and +even now we planned to have early breakfasts, and go to the station +by the longest possible way. + +One day, in the following spring, I was riding home from the +station with Euphemia,--we seldom took pleasure-drives now, we were +so busy on the place,--and as we reached the house I heard the dog +barking savagely. He was loose in the little orchard by the side +of the house. As I drove in, Pomona came running to the carriage. + +"Man up the tree!" she shouted. + +I helped Euphemia out, left the horse standing by the door, and ran +to the dog, followed by my wife and Pomona. Sure enough, there was +a man up the tree, and Lord Edward was doing his best to get at +him, springing wildly at the tree and fairly shaking with rage. + +I looked up at the man, he was a thoroughbred tramp, burly, dirty, +generally unkempt, but, unlike most tramps, he looked very much +frightened. His position, on a high crotch of an apple-tree, was +not altogether comfortable, and although, for the present, it was +safe, the fellow seemed to have a wavering faith in the strength of +apple-tree branches, and the moment he saw me, he earnestly +besought me to take that dog away, and let him down. + +I made no answer, but turning to Pomona, I asked her what this all +meant. + +"Why, sir, you see," said she, "I was in the kitchen bakin' pies, +and this fellow must have got over the fence at the side of the +house, for the dog didn't see him, and the first thing I know'd he +was stickin' his head in the window, and he asked me to give him +somethin' to eat. And when I said I'd see in a minute if there was +anything for him, he says to me, 'Gim me a piece of one of them +pies,'--pies I'd just baked and was settin' to cool on the kitchen +table! 'No, sir,' says I, 'I'm not goin' to cut one of them pies +for you, or any one like you.' 'All right!' says he. 'I'll come +in and help myself.' He must have known there was no man about, +and, comin' the way he did, he hadn't seen the dog. So he come +round to the kitchen door, but I shot out before he got there and +unchained Lord Edward. I guess he saw the dog, when he got to the +door, and at any rate he heard the chain clankin', and he didn't go +in, but just put for the gate. But Lord Edward was after him so +quick that he hadn't no time to go to no gates. It was all he +could do to scoot up this tree, and if he'd been a millionth part +of a minute later he'd 'a' been in another world by this time." + +The man, who had not attempted to interrupt Pomona's speech, now +began again to implore me to let him down, while Euphemia looked +pitifully at him, and was about, I think, to intercede with me in +his favor, but my attention was drawn off from her, by the strange +conduct of the dog. Believing, I suppose, that he might leave the +tramp for a moment, now that I had arrived, he had dashed away to +another tree, where he was barking furiously, standing on his hind +legs and clawing at the trunk. + +"What's the matter over there?" I asked. + +"Oh, that's the other fellow," said Pomona. "He's no harm." And +then, as the tramp made a movement as if he would try to come down, +and make a rush for safety, during the absence of the dog, she +called out, "Here, boy! here, boy!" and in an instant Lord Edward +was again raging at his post, at the foot of the apple-tree. + +I was grievously puzzled at all this, and walked over to the other +tree, followed, as before, by Euphemia and Pomona. + +"This one," said the latter, "is a tree-man--" + +"I should think so," said I, as I caught sight of a person in gray +trowsers standing among the branches of a cherry-tree not very far +from the kitchen door. The tree was not a large one, and the +branches were not strong enough to allow him to sit down on them, +although they supported him well enough, as he stood close to the +trunk just out of reach of Lord Edward. + +"This is a very unpleasant position, sir," said he, when I reached +the tree. "I simply came into your yard, on a matter of business, +and finding that raging beast attacking a person in a tree, I had +barely time to get up into this tree myself, before he dashed at +me. Luckily I was out of his reach; but I very much fear I have +lost some of my property." + +"No, he hasn't," said Pomona. "It was a big book he dropped. I +picked it up and took it into the house. It's full of pictures of +pears and peaches and flowers. I've been lookin' at it. That's +how I knew what he was. And there was no call for his gittin' up a +tree. Lord Edward never would have gone after him if he hadn't run +as if he had guilt on his soul." + +"I suppose, then," said I, addressing the individual in the cherry- +tree, "that you came here to sell me some trees." + +"Yes, sir," said he quickly, "trees, shrubs, vines, evergreens,-- +everything suitable for a gentleman's country villa. I can sell +you something quite remarkable, sir, in the way of cherry-trees,-- +French ones, just imported; bear fruit three times the size of +anything that could be produced on a tree like this. And pears-- +fruit of the finest flavor and enormous size--" + +"Yes," said Pomona. "I seen them in the book. But they must grow +on a ground-vine. No tree couldn't hold such pears as them." + +Here Euphemia reproved Pomona's forwardness, and I invited the +tree-agent to get down out of the tree. + +"Thank you," said he; "but not while that dog is loose. If you +will kindly chain him up, I will get my book, and show you +specimens of some of the finest small fruit in the world, all +imported from the first nurseries of Europe--the Red-gold Amber +Muscat grape,--the--" + +"Oh, please let him down!" said Euphemia, her eyes beginning to +sparkle. + +I slowly walked toward the tramp-tree, revolving various matters in +my mind. We had not spent much money on the place during the +winter, and we now had a small sum which we intended to use for the +advantage of the farm, but had not yet decided what to do with it. +It behooved me to be careful. + +I told Pomona to run and get me the dog-chain, and I stood under +the tree, listening, as well as I could, to the tree-agent talking +to Euphemia, and paying no attention to the impassioned entreaties +of the tramp in the crotch above me. When the chain was brought, I +hooked one end of it in Lord Edward's collar, and then I took a +firm grasp of the other. Telling Pomona to bring the tree-agent's +book from the house, I called to that individual to get down from +his tree. He promptly obeyed, and taking the book from Pomona, +began to show the pictures to Euphemia. + +"You had better hurry, sir," I called out. "I can't hold this dog +very long." And, indeed, Lord Edward had made a run toward the +agent, which jerked me very forcibly in his direction. But a +movement by the tramp had quickly brought the dog back to his more +desired victim. + +"If you will just tie up that dog, sir," said the agent, "and come +this way, I would like to show you the Meltinagua pear,--dissolves +in the mouth like snow, sir; trees will bear next year." + +"Oh, come look at the Royal Sparkling Ruby grape!" cried Euphemia. +"It glows in the sun like a gem." + +"Yes," said the agent, "and fills the air with fragrance during the +whole month of September--" + +"I tell you," I shouted, "I can't hold this dog another minute! +The chain is cutting the skin off my hands. Run, sir, run! I'm +going to let go!" + +"Run! run!" cried Pomona. "Fly for your life!" + +The agent now began to be frightened, and shut up his book. + +"If you only could see the plates, sir, I'm sure--" + +"Are you ready?" I cried, as the dog, excited by Pomona's wild +shouts, made a bolt in his direction. + +"Good-day, if I must--" said the agent, as he hurried to the gate. +But there he stopped. + +"There is nothing, sir," he said, "that would so improve your place +as a row of the Spitzenberg Sweet-scented Balsam fir along this +fence. I'll sell you three-year-old trees--" + +"He's loose!" I shouted, as I dropped the chain. + +In a second the agent was on the other side of the gate. Lord +Edward made a dash toward him; but, stopping suddenly, flew back to +the tree of the tramp. + +"If you should conclude, sir," said the tree-agent, looking over +the fence, "to have a row of those firs along here--" + +"My good sir," said I, "there is no row of firs there now, and the +fence is not very high. My dog, as you see, is very much excited +and I cannot answer for the consequences if he takes it into his +head to jump over." + +The tree-agent turned and walked slowly away. + +"Now, look-a-here," cried the tramp from the tree, in the voice of +a very ill-used person, "ain't you goin' to fasten up that dog, and +let me git down?" + +I walked up close to the tree and addressed him. + +"No," said I, "I am not. When a man comes to my place, bullies a +young girl who was about to relieve his hunger, and then boldly +determines to enter my house and help himself to my property, I +don't propose to fasten up any dog that may happen to be after him. +If I had another dog, I'd let him loose, and give this faithful +beast a rest. You can do as you please. You can come down and +have it out with the dog, or you can stay up there, until I have +had my dinner. Then I will drive down to the village and bring up +the constable, and deliver you into his hands. We want no such +fellows as you about." + +With that, I unhooked the chain from Lord Edward, and walked off to +put up the horse. The man shouted after me, but I paid no +attention. I did not feel in a good humor with him. + +Euphemia was much disturbed by the various occurrences of the +afternoon. She was sorry for the man in the tree; she was sorry +that the agent for the Royal Ruby grape had been obliged to go +away; and I had a good deal of trouble during dinner to make her +see things in the proper light. But I succeeded at last. + +I did not hurry through dinner, and when we had finished I went to +my work at the barn. Tramps are not generally pressed for time, +and Pomona had been told to give our captive something to eat. + +I was just locking the door of the carriage-house, when Pomona came +running to me to tell me that the tramp wanted to see me about +something very important--just a minute, he said. I put the key in +my pocket and walked over to the tree. It was now almost dark, but +I could see that the dog, the tramp, and the tree still kept their +respective places. + +"Look-a-here," said the individual in the crotch, "you don't know +how dreadful oneasy these limbs gits after you've been settin up +here as long as I have. And I don't want to have nuthin to do with +no constables. I'll tell you what I'll do if you'll chain up that +dog, and let me go, I'll fix things so that you'll not be troubled +no more by no tramps." + +"How will you do that?" I asked. + +"Oh, never you mind," said he. "I'll give you my word of honor +I'll do it. There's a reg'lar understandin' among us fellers, you +know." + +I considered the matter. The word of honor of a fellow such as he +was could not be worth much, but the merest chance of getting rid +of tramps should not be neglected. I went in to talk to Euphemia +about it, although I knew what she would say. I reasoned with +myself as much as with her. + +"If we put this one fellow in prison for a few weeks," I said, "the +benefit is not very great. If we are freed from all tramps, for +the season, the benefit is very great. Shall we try for the +greatest good?" + +"Certainly," said Euphemia; "and his legs must be dreadfully +stiff." + +So I went out, and after a struggle of some minutes, I chained Lord +Edward to a post at a little distance from the apple-tree. When he +was secure, the tramp descended nimbly from his perch, +notwithstanding his stiff legs, and hurried out of the gate. He +stopped to make no remarks over the fence. With a wild howl of +disappointed ambition, Lord Edward threw himself after him. But +the chain held. + +A lane of moderate length led from our house to the main road, and +the next day, as we were riding home, I noticed, on the trunk of a +large tree, which stood at the corner of the lane and road, a +curious mark. I drew up to see what it was, but we could not make +it out. It was a very rude device, cut deeply into the tree, and +somewhat resembled a square, a circle, a triangle, and a cross, +with some smaller marks beneath it. I felt sure that our tramp had +cut it, and that it had some significance, which would be +understood by the members of his fraternity. + +And it must have had, for no tramps came near us all that summer. +We were visited by a needy person now and then, but by no member of +the regular army of tramps. + +One afternoon, that fall, I walked home, and at the corner of the +lane I saw a tramp looking up at the mark on the tree, which was +still quite distinct. + +"What does that mean?" I said, stepping up to him. + +"How do I know?" said the man, "and what do you want to know fur?" + +"Just out of curiosity," I said; "I have often noticed it. I think +you can tell me what it means, and if you will do so, I'll give you +a dollar." + +"And keep mum about it?" said the man. + +"Yes," I replied, taking out the dollar. + +"All right!" said the tramp. "That sign means that the man that +lives up this lane is a mean, stingy cuss, with a wicked dog, and +it's no good to go there." + +I handed him the dollar and went away, perfectly satisfied with my +reputation. + +I wish here to make some mention of Euphemia's methods of work in +her chicken-yard. She kept a book, which she at first called her +"Fowl Record," but she afterward changed the name to "Poultry +Register." I never could thoroughly understand this book, although +she has often explained every part of it to me. She had pages for +registering the age, description, time of purchase or of birth, and +subsequent performances of every fowl in her yard. She had +divisions of the book for expenses, profits, probable losses and +positive losses; she noted the number of eggs put under each +setting hen; the number of eggs cracked per day, the number +spoiled, and finally, the number hatched. Each chick, on emerging +from its shell, was registered, and an account kept of its +subsequent life and adventures. There were frequent calculations +regarding the advantages of various methods of treatment, and there +were statements of the results of a great many experiments-- +something like this: "Set Toppy and her sister Pinky, April 2nd +187-; Toppy with twelve eggs,--three Brahma, four common, and five +Leghorn; Pinky with thirteen eggs (as she weighs four ounces more +than her sister), of which three were Leghorn, five common, and +five Brahma. During the twenty-second and twenty-third of April +(same year) Toppy hatched out four Brahmas, two commons, and three +Leghorns, while her sister, on these days and the morning of the +day following, hatched two Leghorns, six commons, and only one +Brahma. Now, could Toppy, who had only three Brahma eggs, and +hatched out four of that breed, have exchanged eggs with her +sister, thus making it possible for her to hatch out six common +chickens, when she only had five eggs of that kind? Or, did the +eggs get mixed up in some way before going into the possession of +the hens? Look into probabilities." + +These probabilities must have puzzled Euphemia a great deal, but +they never disturbed her equanimity. She was always as tranquil +and good-humored about her poultry-yard as if every hen laid an egg +every day, and a hen-chick was hatched out of every egg. + +For it may be remembered that the principle underlying Euphemia's +management of her poultry was what might be designated as the +"cumulative hatch." That is, she wished every chicken hatched in +her yard to become the mother of a brood of her own during the +year, and every one of this brood to raise another brood the next +year, and so on, in a kind of geometrical progression. This plan +called for a great many mother-fowls, and so Euphemia based her +highest hopes on a great annual preponderance of hens. + +We ate a good many young roosters that fall, for Euphemia would not +allow all the products of her yard to go to market, and, also, a +great many eggs and fowls were sold. She had not contented herself +with her original stock of poultry, but had bought fowls during the +winter, and she certainly had extraordinary good luck, or else her +extraordinary system worked extraordinarily well. + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +POMONA'S NOVEL. + + +It was in the latter part of August of that year that it became +necessary for some one in the office in which I was engaged to go +to St. Louis to attend to important business. Everything seemed to +point to me as the fit person, for I understood the particular +business better than any one else. I felt that I ought to go, but +I did not altogether like to do it. I went home, and Euphemia and +I talked over the matter far into the regulation sleeping-hours. + +There were very good reasons why we should go (for, of course, I +would not think of taking such a journey without Euphemia). In the +first place, it would be of advantage to me, in my business +connection, to take the trip, and then it would be such a charming +journey for us. We had never been west of the Alleghanies, and +nearly all the country we would see would be new to us. We would +come home by the great lakes and Niagara, and the prospect was +delightful to both of us. But then we would have to leave Rudder +Grange for at least three weeks, and how could we do that? + +This was indeed a difficult question to answer. Who could take +care of our garden, our poultry, our horse and cow, and all their +complicated belongings? The garden was in admirable condition. +Our vegetables were coming in every day in just that fresh and +satisfactory condition--altogether unknown to people who buy +vegetables--for which I had labored so faithfully, and about which +I had had so many cheerful anticipations. As to Euphemia's +chicken-yard,--with Euphemia away,--the subject was too great for +us. We did not even discuss it. But we would give up all the +pleasures of our home for the chance of this most desirable +excursion, if we could but think of some one who would come and +take care of the place while we were gone. Rudder Grange could not +run itself for three weeks. + +We thought of every available person. Old John would not do. We +did not feel that we could trust him. We thought of several of our +friends; but there was, in both our minds, a certain shrinking from +the idea of handing over the place to any of them for such a length +of time. For my part, I said, I would rather leave Pomona in +charge than any one else; but, then, Pomona was young and a girl. +Euphemia agreed with me that she would rather trust her than any +one else, but she also agreed in regard to the disqualifications. +So, when I went to the office the next morning, we had fully +determined to go on the trip, if we could find some one to take +charge of our place while we were gone. When I returned from the +office in the afternoon, I had agreed to go to St. Louis. By this +time, I had no choice in the matter, unless I wished to interfere +very much with my own interests. We were to start in two days. If +in that time we could get any one to stay at the place, very well; +if not, Pomona must assume the charge. We were not able to get any +one, and Pomona did assume the charge. It is surprising how +greatly relieved we felt when we were obliged to come to this +conclusion. The arrangement was exactly what we wanted, and now +that there was no help for it, our consciences were easy. + +We felt sure that there would be no danger to Pomona. Lord Edward +would be with her, and she was a young person who was +extraordinarily well able to take care of herself. Old John would +be within call in case she needed him, and I borrowed a bull-dog to +be kept in the house at night. Pomona herself was more than +satisfied with the plan. + +We made out, the night before we left, a long and minute series of +directions for her guidance in household, garden and farm matters, +and directed her to keep a careful record of everything note worthy +that might occur. She was fully supplied with all the necessaries +of life, and it has seldom happened that a young girl has been left +in such a responsible and independent position as that in which we +left Pomona. She was very proud of it. + +Our journey was ten times more delightful than we had expected it +would be, and successful in every way; and yet, although we enjoyed +every hour of the trip, we were no sooner fairly on our way home +than we became so wildly anxious to get there, that we reached +Rudder Grange on Wednesday, whereas we had written that we would be +home on Thursday. We arrived early in the afternoon and walked up +from the station, leaving our baggage to be sent in the express +wagon. As we approached our dear home, we wanted to run, we were +so eager to see it. + +There it was, the same as ever. I lifted the gate-latch; the gate +was locked. We ran to the carriage-gate; that was locked too. +Just then I noticed a placard on the fence; it was not printed, but +the lettering was large, apparently made with ink and a brush. It +read: + + + TO BE SOLD + + For TAXES. + + +We stood and looked at each other. Euphemia turned pale. + +"What does this mean?" said I. "Has our landlord--" + +I could say no more. The dreadful thought arose that the place +might pass away from us. We were not yet ready to buy it. But I +did not put the thought in words. There was a field next to our +lot, and I got over the fence and helped Euphemia over. Then we +climbed our side-fence. This was more difficult, but we +accomplished it without thinking much about its difficulties; our +hearts were too full of painful apprehensions. I hurried to the +front door; it was locked. All the lower windows were shut. We +went around to the kitchen. What surprised us more than anything +else was the absence of Lord Edward. Had HE been sold? + +Before we reached the back part of the house, Euphemia said she +felt faint and must sit down. I led her to a tree near by, under +which I had made a rustic chair. The chair was gone. She sat on +the grass and I ran to the pump for some water. I looked for the +bright tin dipper which always hung by the pump. It was not there. +But I had a traveling-cup in my pocket, and as I was taking it out +I looked around me. There was an air of bareness over everything. +I did not know what it all meant, but I know that my hand trembled +as I took hold of the pump-handle and began to pump. + +At the first sound of the pump-handle I heard a deep bark in the +direction of the barn, and then furiously around the corner came +Lord Edward. Before I had filled the cup he was bounding about me. +I believe the glad welcome of the dog did more to revive Euphemia +than the water. He was delighted to see us, and in a moment up +came Pomona, running from the barn. Her face was radiant, too. We +felt relieved. Here were two friends who looked as if they were +neither sold nor ruined. + +Pomona quickly saw that we were ill at ease, and before I could put +a question to her, she divined the cause. Her countenance fell. + +"You know," said she, "you said you wasn't comin' till to-morrow. +If you only HAD come then--I was goin' to have everything just +exactly right--an' now you had to climb in--" + +And the poor girl looked as if she might cry, which would have been +a wonderful thing for Pomona to do. + +"Tell me one thing," said I. "What about--those taxes?" + +"Oh, that's all right," she cried. "Don't think another minute +about that. I'll tell you all about it soon. But come in first, +and I'll get you some lunch in a minute." + +We were somewhat relieved by Pomona's statement that it was "all +right" in regard to the tax-poster, but we were very anxious to +know all about the matter. Pomona, however, gave us little chance +to ask her any questions. As soon as she had made ready our lunch, +she asked us, as a particular favor, to give her three-quarters of +an hour to herself, and then, said she, "I'll have everything +looking just as if it was to-morrow." + +We respected her feelings, for, of course, it was a great +disappointment to her to be taken thus unawares, and we remained in +the dining-room until she appeared, and announced that she was +ready for us to go about. We availed ourselves quickly of the +privilege, and Euphemia hurried to the chicken-yard, while I bent +my steps toward the garden and barn. As I went out I noticed that +the rustic chair was in its place, and passing the pump I looked +for the dipper. It was there. I asked Pomona about the chair, but +she did not answer as quickly as was her habit. + +"Would you rather," said she, "hear it all together, when you come +in, or have it in little bits, head and tail, all of a jumble?" + +I called to Euphemia and asked her what she thought, and she was so +anxious to get to her chickens that she said she would much rather +wait and hear it all together. We found everything in perfect +order,--the garden was even free from weeds, a thing I had not +expected. If it had not been for that cloud on the front fence, I +should have been happy enough. Pomona had said it was all right, +but she could not have paid the taxes--however, I would wait; and I +went to the barn. + +When Euphemia came in from the poultry-yard, she called me and said +she was in a hurry to hear Pomona's account of things. So I went +in, and we sat on the side porch, where it was shady, while Pomona, +producing some sheets of foolscap paper, took her seat on the upper +step. + +"I wrote down the things of any account what happened," said she, +"as you told me to, and while I was about it, I thought I'd make it +like a novel. It would be jus' as true, and p'r'aps more amusin'. +I suppose you don't mind?" + +No, we didn't mind. So she went on. + +"I haven't got no name for my novel. I intended to think one out +to-night. I wrote this all of nights. And I don't read the first +chapters, for they tell about my birth and my parentage and my +early adventures. I'll just come down to what happened to me while +you was away, because you'll be more anxious to hear about that. +All that's written here is true, jus' the same as if I told it to +you, but I've put it into novel language because it seems to come +easier to me." + +And then, in a voice somewhat different from her ordinary tones, as +if the "novel language" demanded it, she began to read: + +"Chapter Five. The Lonely house and the Faithful friend. Thus was +I left alone. None but two dogs to keep me com-pa-ny. I milk-ed +the lowing kine and water-ed and fed the steed, and then, after my +fru-gal repast, I clos-ed the man-si-on, shutting out all re- +collections of the past and also foresights into the future. That +night was a me-mor-able one. I slept soundly until the break of +morn, but had the events transpired which afterward occur-red, what +would have hap-pen-ed to me no tongue can tell. Early the next day +nothing hap-pened. Soon after breakfast, the vener-able John came +to bor-row some ker-osene oil and a half a pound of sugar, but his +attempt was foil-ed. I knew too well the in-sid-ious foe. In the +very out-set of his vil-li-an-y I sent him home with a empty can. +For two long days I wander-ed amid the ver-dant pathways of the +gar-den and to the barn, whenever and anon my du-ty call-ed me, nor +did I ere neg-lect the fowlery. No cloud o'er-spread this happy +pe-ri-od of my life. But the cloud was ri-sing in the horizon +although I saw it not. + +"It was about twenty-five minutes after eleven, on the morning of a +Thursday, that I sat pondering in my mind the ques-ti-on what to do +with the butter and the veg-et-ables. Here was butter, and here +was green corn and lima-beans and trophy tomats, far more than I +ere could use. And here was a horse, idly cropping the fol-i-age +in the field, for as my employer had advis-ed and order-ed I had +put the steed to grass. And here was a wagon, none too new, which +had it the top taken off, or even the curtains roll-ed up, would do +for a li-cen-ced vender. With the truck and butter, and mayhap +some milk, I could load that wagon--" + +"O, Pomona," interrupted Euphemia. "You don't mean to say that you +were thinking of doing anything like that?" + +"Well, I was just beginning to think of it," said Pomona, "but of +course I couldn't have gone away and left the house. And you'll +see I didn't do it." And then she continued her novel. "But while +my thoughts were thus employ-ed, I heard Lord Edward burst into +bark-ter--" + +At this Euphemia and I could not help bursting into laughter. +Pomona did not seem at all confused, but went on with her reading. + +"I hurried to the door, and, look-ing out, I saw a wagon at the +gate. Re-pair-ing there, I saw a man. Said he, 'Wilt open this +gate?' I had fasten-ed up the gates and remov-ed every steal-able +ar-ticle from the yard." + +Euphemia and I looked at each other. This explained the absence of +the rustic seat and the dipper. + +"Thus, with my mind at ease, I could let my faith-ful fri-end, the +dog (for he it was), roam with me through the grounds, while the +fi-erce bull-dog guard-ed the man-si-on within. Then said I, quite +bold, unto him, 'No. I let in no man here. My em-ploy-er and +employ-er-ess are now from home. What do you want?' Then says he, +as bold as brass, 'I've come to put the light-en-ing rods upon the +house. Open the gate.' 'What rods?' says I. 'The rods as was +ordered,' says he, 'open the gate.' I stood and gaz-ed at him. +Full well I saw through his pinch-beck mask. I knew his tricks. +In the ab-sence of my em-ployer, he would put up rods, and ever so +many more than was wanted, and likely, too, some miser-able trash +that would attrack the light-ening, instead of keep-ing it off. +Then, as it would spoil the house to take them down, they would be +kept, and pay demand-ed. 'No, sir,' says I. 'No light-en-ing rods +upon this house whilst I stand here,' and with that I walk-ed away, +and let Lord Edward loose. The man he storm-ed with pas-si-on. +His eyes flash-ed fire. He would e'en have scal-ed the gate, but +when he saw the dog he did forbear. As it was then near noon, I +strode away to feed the fowls; but when I did return, I saw a sight +which froze the blood with-in my veins--" + +"The dog didn't kill him?" cried Euphemia. + +"Oh no, ma'am!" said Pomona. "You'll see that that wasn't it. At +one corn-er of the lot, in front, a base boy, who had accompa-ni-ed +this man, was bang-ing on the fence with a long stick, and thus +attrack-ing to hisself the rage of Lord Edward, while the vile +intrig-er of a light-en-ing rod-der had brought a lad-der to the +other side of the house, up which he had now as-cend-ed, and was on +the roof. What horrors fill-ed my soul! How my form trembl-ed! +This," continued Pomona, "is the end of the novel," and she laid +her foolscap pages on the porch. + +Euphemia and I exclaimed, with one voice, against this. We had +just reached the most exciting part, and, I added, we had heard +nothing yet about that affair of the taxes. + +"You see, sir," said Pomona, "it took me so long to write out the +chapters about my birth, my parentage, and my early adventures, +that I hadn't time to finish up the rest. But I can tell you what +happened after that jus' as well as if I had writ it out." And so +she went on, much more glibly than before, with the account of the +doings of the lightning-rod man. + +"There was that wretch on top of the house, a-fixin' his old rods +and hammerin' away for dear life. He'd brought his ladder over the +side fence, where the dog, a-barkin' and plungin' at the boy +outside, couldn't see him. I stood dumb for a minute, an' then I +know'd I had him. I rushed into the house, got a piece of well- +rope, tied it to the bull-dog's collar, an' dragged him out and +fastened him to the bottom rung of the ladder. Then I walks over +to the front fence with Lord Edward's chain, for I knew that if he +got at that bull-dog there'd be times, for they'd never been +allowed to see each other yet. So says I to the boy, 'I'm goin' to +tie up the dog, so you needn't be afraid of his jumpin' over the +fence,'--which he couldn't do, or the boy would have been a corpse +for twenty minutes, or may be half an hour. The boy kinder +laughed, and said I needn't mind, which I didn't. Then I went to +the gate, and I clicked to the horse which was standin' there, an' +off he starts, as good as gold, an' trots down the road. The boy, +he said somethin' or other pretty bad, an' away he goes after him; +but the horse was a-trottin' real fast, an' had a good start." + +"How on earth could you ever think of doing such things?" said +Euphemia. "That horse might have upset the wagon and broken all +the lightning-rods, besides running over I don't know how many +people." + +"But you see, ma'am, that wasn't my lookout," said Pomona. "I was +a-defendin' the house, and the enemy must expect to have things +happen to him. So then I hears an awful row on the roof, and there +was the man just coming down the ladder. He'd heard the horse go +off, and when he got about half-way down an' caught a sight of the +bull-dog, he was madder than ever you seed a lightnin'-rodder in +all your born days. 'Take that dog off of there!' he yelled at me. +'No, I wont, says I. 'I never see a girl like you since I was +born,' he screams at me. 'I guess it would 'a' been better fur you +if you had,' says I; an' then he was so mad he couldn't stand it +any longer, and he comes down as low as he could, and when he saw +just how long the rope was,--which was pretty short,--he made a +jump, and landed clear of the dog. Then he went on dreadful +because he couldn't get at his ladder to take it away; and I +wouldn't untie the dog, because if I had he'd 'a' torn the tendons +out of that fellow's legs in no time. I never see a dog in such a +boiling passion, and yet never making no sound at all but blood- +curdlin' grunts. An' I don't see how the rodder would 'a' got his +ladder at all if the dog hadn't made an awful jump at him, and +jerked the ladder down. It just missed your geranium-bed, and the +rodder, he ran to the other end of it, and began pullin' it away, +dog an' all. 'Look-a-here,' says I, 'we can fix him now; and so he +cooled down enough to help me, and I unlocked the front door, and +we pushed the bottom end of the ladder in, dog and all; an' then I +shut the door as tight as it would go, an' untied the end of the +rope, an' the rodder pulled the ladder out while I held the door to +keep the dog from follerin', which he came pretty near doin', +anyway. But I locked him in, and then the man began stormin' again +about his wagon; but when he looked out an' see the boy comin' back +with it,--for somebody must 'a' stopped the horse,--he stopped +stormin' and went to put up his ladder ag'in. 'No, you don't,' +says I; 'I'll let the big dog loose next time, and if I put him at +the foot of your ladder, you'll never come down.' 'But I want to +go and take down what I put up,' he says; 'I aint a-goin' on with +this job.' ' No,' says I, 'you aint; and you can't go up there to +wrench off them rods and make rain-holes in the roof, neither.' He +couldn't get no madder than he was then, an' fur a minute or two he +couldn't speak, an' then he says, 'I'll have satisfaction for +this.' An' says I, 'How? 'An' says he, 'You'll see what it is to +interfere with a ordered job.' An' says I, 'There wasn't no order +about it;' an' says he, 'I'll show you better than that;' an' he +goes to his wagon an' gits a book. 'There,' says he, 'read that.' +'What of it? 'says I 'there's nobody of the name of Ball lives +here.' That took the man kinder aback, and he said he was told it +was the only house on the lane, which I said was right, only it was +the next lane he oughter 'a' gone to. He said no more after that, +but just put his ladder in his wagon, and went off. But I was not +altogether rid of him. He left a trail of his baleful presence +behind him. + +"That horrid bull-dog wouldn't let me come into the house! No +matter what door I tried, there he was, just foamin' mad. I let +him stay till nearly night, and then went and spoke kind to him; +but it was no good. He'd got an awful spite ag'in me. I found +something to eat down cellar, and I made a fire outside an' roasted +some corn and potatoes. That night I slep' in the barn. I wasn't +afraid to be away from the house, for I knew it was safe enough, +with that dog in it and Lord Edward outside. For three days, +Sunday an' all, I was kep' out of this here house. I got along +pretty well with the sleepin' and the eatin', but the drinkin' was +the worst. I couldn't get no coffee or tea; but there was plenty +of milk." + +"Why didn't you get some man to come and attend to the dog?" I +asked. "It was dreadful to live that way." + +"Well, I didn't know no man that could do it," said Pomona. "The +dog would 'a' been too much for Old John, and besides, he was mad +about the kerosene. Sunday afternoon, Captain Atkinson and Mrs. +Atkinson and their little girl in a push-wagon, come here, and I +told 'em you was gone away; but they says they would stop a minute, +and could I give them a drink; an' I had nothin' to give it to them +but an old chicken-bowl that I had washed out, for even the dipper +was in the house, an' I told 'em everything was locked up, which +was true enough, though they must 'a' thought you was a queer kind +of people; but I wasn't a-goin' to say nothin' about the dog, fur, +to tell the truth, I was ashamed to do it. So as soon as they'd +gone, I went down into the cellar,--and it's lucky that I had the +key for the outside cellar door,--and I got a piece of fat corn- +beef and the meat-axe. I unlocked the kitchen door and went in, +with the axe in one hand and the meat in the other. The dog might +take his choice. I know'd he must be pretty nigh famished, for +there was nothin' that he could get at to eat. As soon as I went +in, he came runnin' to me; but I could see he was shaky on his +legs. He looked a sort of wicked at me, and then he grabbed the +meat. He was all right then." + +"Oh, my!" said Euphemia, "I am so glad to hear that. I was afraid +you never got in. But we saw the dog--is he as savage yet?" + +"Oh no!" said Pomona; "nothin' like it." + +"Look here, Pomona," said I, "I want to know about those taxes. +When do they come into your story?" + +"Pretty soon, sir," said she, and she went on: + +"After that, I know'd it wouldn't do to have them two dogs so that +they'd have to be tied up if they see each other. Just as like as +not I'd want them both at once, and then they'd go to fightin', and +leave me to settle with some blood-thirsty lightnin'-rodder. So, +as I know'd if they once had a fair fight and found out which was +master, they'd be good friends afterwards, I thought the best thing +to do would be to let 'em fight it out, when there was nothin' else +for 'em to do. So I fixed up things for the combat." + +"Why, Pomona!" cried Euphemia, "I didn't think you were capable of +such a cruel thing." + +"It looks that way, ma'am, but really it aint," replied the girl. +"It seemed to me as if it would be a mercy to both of 'em to have +the thing settled. So I cleared away a place in front of the wood- +shed and unchained Lord Edward, and then I opened the kitchen door +and called the bull. Out he came, with his teeth a-showin', and +his blood-shot eyes, and his crooked front legs. Like lightnin' +from the mount'in blast, he made one bounce for the big dog, and +oh! what a fight there was! They rolled, they gnashed, they +knocked over the wood-horse and sent chips a-flyin' all ways at +wonst. I thought Lord Edward would whip in a minute or two; but he +didn't, for the bull stuck to him like a burr, and they was havin' +it, ground and lofty, when I hears some one run up behind me, and +turnin' quick, there was the 'Piscopalian minister, 'My! my! my!' +he hollers; 'what a awful spectacle! Aint there no way of stoppin' +it?' ' No, sir,' says I, and I told him how I didn't want to stop +it, and the reason why. Then says he, 'Where's your master?' and I +told him how you was away. 'Isn't there any man at all about?' +says he. 'No,' says I. 'Then,' says he, 'if there's nobody else +to stop it, I must do it myself.' An' he took off his coat. 'No,' +says I, 'you keep back, sir. If there's anybody to plunge into +that erena, the blood be mine;' an' I put my hand, without +thinkin', ag'in his black shirt-bosom, to hold him back; but he +didn't notice, bein' so excited. 'Now,' says I, 'jist wait one +minute, and you'll see that bull's tail go between his legs. He's +weakenin'.' An' sure enough, Lord Edward got a good grab at him, +and was a-shakin' the very life out of him, when I run up and took +Lord Edward by the collar. 'Drop it!' says I, and he dropped it, +for he know'd he'd whipped, and he was pretty tired hisself. Then +the bull-dog, he trotted off with his tail a-hangin' down. 'Now, +then,' says I, 'them dogs will be bosom friends forever after +this.' 'Ah me!' says he, 'I'm sorry indeed that your employer, for +who I've always had a great respect, should allow you to get into +such habits.' That made me feel real bad, and I told him, mighty +quick, that you was the last man in the world to let me do anything +like that, and that, if you'd 'a' been here, you'd 'a' separated +them dogs, if they'd a-chawed your arms off; that you was very +particular about such things; and that it would be a pity if he was +to think you was a dog-fightin' gentleman, when I'd often heard you +say that, now you was fixed an' settled, the one thing you would +like most would be to be made a vestryman." + +I sat up straight in my chair. + +"Pomona!" I exclaimed, "you didn't tell him that?" + +"That's what I said, sir, for I wanted him to know what you really +was; an' he says, 'Well, well, I never knew that. It might be a +very good thing. I'll speak to some of the members about it. +There's two vacancies now in our vestry." + +I was crushed; but Euphemia tried to put the matter into the +brightest light. + +"Perhaps it may all turn out for the best," she said, "and you may +be elected, and that would be splendid. But it would be an awfully +funny thing for a dog-fight to make you a vestry-man." + +I could not talk on this subject. "Go on, Pomona," I said, trying +to feel resigned to my shame, "and tell us about that poster on the +fence." + +"I'll be to that almost right away," she said. "It was two or +three days after the dog-fight that I was down at the barn, and +happenin' to look over to Old John's, I saw that tree-man there. +He was a-showin' his book to John, and him and his wife and all the +young ones was a-standin' there, drinkin' down them big peaches and +pears as if they was all real. I know'd he'd come here ag'in, for +them fellers never gives you up; and I didn't know how to keep him +away, for I didn't want to let the dogs loose on a man what, after +all, didn't want to do no more harm than to talk the life out of +you. So I just happened to notice, as I came to the house, how +kind of desolate everything looked, and I thought perhaps I might +make it look worse, and he wouldn't care to deal here. So I +thought of puttin' up a poster like that, for nobody whose place +was a-goin' to be sold for taxes would be likely to want trees. So +I run in the house, and wrote it quick and put it up. And sure +enough, the man he come along soon, and when he looked at that +paper, and tried the gate, an' looked over the fence an' saw the +house all shut up an' not a livin' soul about,--for I had both the +dogs in the house with me,--he shook his head an' walked off, as +much as to say, 'If that man had fixed his place up proper with my +trees, he wouldn't 'a' come to this!' An' then, as I found the +poster worked so good, I thought it might keep other people from +comin' a-botherin' around, and so I left it up; but I was a-goin' +to be sure and take it down before you came." + +As it was now pretty late in the afternoon, I proposed that Pomona +should postpone the rest of her narrative until evening. She said +that there was nothing else to tell that was very particular; and I +did not feel as if I could stand anything more just now, even if it +was very particular. + +When we were alone, I said to Euphemia: + +"If we ever have to go away from this place again--" + +"But we wont go away," she interrupted, looking up to me with as +bright a face as she ever had, "at least not for a long, long, long +time to come. And I'm so glad you're to be a vestryman." + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +POMONA TAKES A BRIDAL TRIP. + + +Our life at Rudder Grange seemed to be in no way materially changed +by my becoming a vestryman. The cow gave about as much milk as +before, and the hens laid the usual number of eggs. Euphemia went +to church with a little more of an air, perhaps, but as the wardens +were never absent, and I was never, therefore, called upon to +assist in taking up the collection, her sense of my position was +not inordinately manifested. + +For a year or two, indeed, there was no radical change in anything +about Rudder Grange, except in Pomona. In her there was a change. +She grew up. + +She performed this feat quite suddenly. She was a young girl when +she first came to us, and we had never considered her as anything +else, when one evening she had a young man to see her. Then we +knew she had grown up. + +We made no objections to her visitors,--she had several, from time +to time,--"for," said Euphemia, "suppose my parents had objected to +your visits." I could not consider the mere possibility of +anything like this, and we gave Pomona all the ordinary +opportunities for entertaining her visitors. To tell the truth, I +think we gave her more than the ordinary opportunities. I know +that Euphemia would wait on herself to almost any extent, rather +than call upon Pomona, when the latter was entertaining an evening +visitor in the kitchen or on the back porch. + +"Suppose my mother," she once remarked, in answer to a mild +remonstrance from me in regard to a circumstance of this nature,-- +"suppose my mother had rushed into our presence when we were +plighting our vows, and had told me to go down into the cellar and +crack ice!" + +It was of no use to talk to Euphemia on such subjects; she always +had an answer ready. + +"You don't want Pomona to go off and be married, do you?" I asked, +one day as she was putting up some new muslin curtains in the +kitchen. "You seem to be helping her to do this all you can, and +yet I don't know where on earth you will get another girl who will +suit you so well." + +"I don't know, either," replied Euphemia, with a tack in her mouth, +and I'm sure I don't want her to go. But neither do I want winter +to come, or to have to wear spectacles; but I suppose both of these +things will happen, whether I like it or not." + +For some time after this Pomona had very little company, and we +began to think that there was no danger of any present matrimonial +engagement on her part,--a thought which was very gratifying to us, +although we did not wish in any way to interfere with her +prospects,--when, one afternoon, she quietly went up into the +village and was married. + +Her husband was a tall young fellow, a son of a farmer in the +county, who had occasionally been to see her, but whom she must +have frequently met on her "afternoons out." + +When Pomona came home and told us this news we were certainly well +surprised. + +"What on earth are we to do for a girl?" cried Euphemia. + +"You're to have me till you can get another one," said Pomona +quietly. "I hope you don't think I'd go 'way, and leave you +without anybody." + +"But a wife ought to go to her husband," said Euphemia, "especially +so recent a bride. Why didn't you let me know all about it? I +would have helped to fit you out. We would have given you the +nicest kind of a little wedding." + +"I know that," said Pomona; "you're jus' good enough. But I didn't +want to put you to all that trouble--right in preserving-time too. +An' he wanted it quiet, for he's awful backward about shows. An' +as I'm to go to live with his folks,--at least in a little house on +the farm,--I might as well stay here as anywhere, even if I didn't +want to, for I can't go there till after frost." + +"Why not?" I asked. + +"The chills and fever," said she. "They have it awful down in that +valley. Why, he had a chill while we was bein' married, right at +the bridal altar." + +"You don't say so!" exclaimed Euphemia. "How dreadful!" + +"Yes, indeed," said Pomona. "He must 'a' forgot it was his chill- +day, and he didn't take his quinine, and so it come on him jus' as +he was apromisin' to love an' pertect. But he stuck it out, at the +minister's house, and walked home by his-self to finish his chill." + +"And you didn't go with him?" cried Euphemia, indignantly. + +"He said, no. It was better thus. He felt it weren't the right +thing to mingle the agur with his marriage vows. He promised to +take sixteen grains to-morrow, and so I came away. He'll be all +right in a month or so, an' then we'll go an' keep house. You see +it aint likely I could help him any by goin' there an' gettin' it +myself." + +"Pomona," said Euphemia, "this is dreadful. You ought to go and +take a bridal tour and get him rid of those fearful chills." + +"I never thought of that," said Pomona, her face lighting up +wonderfully. + +Now that Euphemia had fallen upon this happy idea, she never +dropped it until she had made all the necessary plans, and had put +them into execution. In the course of a week she had engaged +another servant, and had started Pomona and her husband off on a +bridal-tour, stipulating nothing but that they should take plenty +of quinine in their trunk. + +It was about three weeks after this, and Euphemia and I were +sitting on our front steps,--I had come home early, and we had been +potting some of the tenderest plants,--when Pomona walked in at the +gate. She looked well, and had on a very bright new dress. +Euphemia noticed this the moment she came in. We welcomed her +warmly, for we felt a great interest in this girl, who had grown up +in our family and under our care. + +"Have you had your bridal trip?" asked Euphemia. + +"Oh yes!" said Pomona. "It's all over an' done with, an' we're +settled in our house." + +"Well, sit right down here on the steps and tell us all about it," +said Euphemia, in a glow of delightful expectancy, and Pomona, +nothing loth, sat down and told her tale. + +"You see," said she, untying her bonnet strings, to give an easier +movement to her chin, "we didn't say where we was goin' when we +started out, for the truth was we didn't know. We couldn't afford +to take no big trip, and yet we wanted to do the thing up jus' as +right as we could, seein' as you had set your heart on it, an' as +we had, too, for that matter. Niagery Fall was what I wanted, but +he said that it cost so much to see the sights there that he hadn't +money to spare to take us there an' pay for all the sight-seein', +too. We might go, he said, without seein' the sights, or, if there +was any way of seein' the sights without goin', that might do, but +he couldn't do both. So we give that up, and after thinkin' a good +deal, we agreed to go to some other falls, which might come +cheaper, an' may-be be jus' as good to begin on. So we thought of +Passaic Falls, up to Paterson, an' we went there, an' took a room +at a little hotel, an' walked over to the falls. But they wasn't +no good, after all, for there wasn't no water runnin' over em. +There was rocks and precipicers, an' direful depths, and everything +for a good falls, except water, and that was all bein' used at the +mills. 'Well, Miguel,' says I, 'this is about as nice a place for +a falls as ever I see,' but--" + +"Miguel!" cried Euphemia. "Is that your husband's name?" + +"Well, no," said Pomona, "it isn't. His given name is Jonas, but I +hated to call him Jonas, an' on a bridal trip, too. He might jus' +as well have had a more romantic-er name, if his parents had 'a' +thought of it. So I determined I'd give him a better one, while we +was on our journey, anyhow, an' I changed his name to Miguel, which +was the name of a Spanish count. He wanted me to call him Jiguel, +because, he said, that would have a kind of a floating smell of his +old name, but I didn't never do it. Well, neither of us didn't +care to stay about no dry falls, so we went back to the hotel and +got our supper, and begun to wonder what we should do next day. He +said we'd better put it off and dream about it, and make up our +minds nex' mornin', which I agreed to, an', that evenin', as we was +sittin' in our room I asked Miguel to tell me the story of his +life. He said, at first, it hadn't none, but when I seemed a +kinder put out at this, he told me I mustn't mind, an' he would +reveal the whole. So he told me this story: + +"'My grandfather,' said he, 'was a rich and powerful Portugee, a- +livin' on the island of Jamaica. He had heaps o' slaves, an' owned +a black brigantine, that he sailed in on secret voyages, an', when +he come back, the decks an' the gunnels was often bloody, but +nobody knew why or wherefore. He was a big man with black hair an' +very violent. He could never have kept no help, if he hadn't owned +'em, but he was so rich, that people respected him, in spite of all +his crimes. My grandmother was a native o' the Isle o' Wight. She +was a frail an' tender woman, with yeller hair, and deep blue eyes, +an' gentle, an' soft, an' good to the poor. She used to take +baskits of vittles aroun' to sick folks, an' set down on the side +o' their beds an' read "The Shepherd o' Salisbury Plains" to 'em. +She hardly ever speaked above her breath, an' always wore white +gowns with a silk kerchief a-folded placidly aroun' her neck.' +'Them was awful different kind o' people,' I says to him, 'I wonder +how they ever come to be married.' 'They never was married,' says +he. 'Never married!' I hollers, a-jumpin' up from my chair, 'and +you sit there carmly an' look me in the eye.' 'Yes,' says he, +'they was never married. They never met; one was my mother's +father, and the other one my father's mother. 'Twas well they did +not wed.' 'I should think so,' said I, 'an' now, what's the good +of tellin' me a thing like that?' + +"'It's about as near the mark as most of the stories of people's +lives, I reckon,' says he, 'an' besides I'd only jus' begun it.' + +"'Well, I don't want no more,' says I, an' I jus' tell this story +of his to show what kind of stories he told about that time. He +said they was pleasant fictions, but I told him that if he didn't +look out he'd hear 'em called by a good deal of a worse kind of a +name than that. The nex' mornin' he asked me what was my dream, +an' I told him I didn't have exactly no dream about it, but my idea +was to have somethin' real romantic for the rest of our bridal +days. + +"'Well,' says he, 'what would you like? I had a dream, but it +wasn't no ways romantic, and I'll jus' fall in with whatever you'd +like best.' + +"'All right,' says I, 'an' the most romantic-est thing that I can +think of is for us to make-believe for the rest of this trip. We +can make-believe we're anything we please, an' if we think so in +real earnest it will be pretty much the same thing as if we really +was. We aint likely to have no chance ag'in of being jus' what +we've a mind to, an' so let's try it now.' + +"'What would you have a mind to be?' says he. + +"'Well,' says I, 'let's be an earl an' a earl-ess.' + +"'Earl-ess'? says he, 'there's no such a person.' + +"'Why, yes there is, of course,' I says to him. 'What's a she-earl +if she isn't a earl-ess?' + +"'Well, I don't know,' says he, 'never havin' lived with any of +'em, but we'll let it go at that. An' how do you want to work the +thing out?' + +"'This way,' says I. 'You, Miguel--' + +"'Jiguel,' says he. + +"'The earl,' says I, not mindin' his interruption, 'an' me, your +noble earl-ess, will go to some good place or other--it don't +matter much jus' where, and whatever house we live in we'll call +our castle an' we'll consider it's got draw-bridges an' +portcullises an' moats an' secrit dungeons, an' we'll remember our +noble ancesters, an' behave accordin'. An' the people we meet we +can make into counts and dukes and princes, without their knowin' +anything about it; an' we can think our clothes is silk an' satin +an' velwet, all covered with dimuns an' precious stones, jus' as +well as not.' + +"'Jus' as well,' says he. + +"'An' then,' I went on, 'we can go an' have chi-VAL-rous +adventures,--or make believe we're havin' 'em,--an' build up a +atmosphere of romanticness aroun' us that'll carry us back--' + +"'To ole Virginny,' says he. + +"'No,' says I, 'for thousands of years, or at least enough back for +the times of tournaments and chi-VAL-ry.' + +"'An' so your idea is that we make believe all these things, an' +don't pay for none of 'em, is it?' says he. + +"'Yes,' says I; 'an' you, Miguel--' + +"'Jiguel,' says he. + +"'Can ask me, if you don't know what chi-VAL-ric or romantic thing +you ought to do or to say so as to feel yourself truly an' reely a +earl, for I've read a lot about these people, an' know jus' what +ought to be did.' + +"Well, he set himself down an' thought a while, an' then he says, +'All right. We'll do that, an' we'll begin to-morrow mornin', for +I've got a little business to do in the city which wouldn't be +exactly the right thing for me to stoop to after I'm a earl, so +I'll go in an' do it while I'm a common person, an' come back this +afternoon, an you can walk about an' look at the dry falls, an' +amuse yourself gen'rally, till I come back.' + +"'All right,' says I, an' off he goes. + +"He come back afore dark, an' the nex' mornin' we got ready to +start off. + +"'Have you any particular place to go?' says he. + +"'No,' says I, 'one place is as likely to be as good as another for +our style o' thing. If it don't suit, we can imagine it does.' + +"'That'll do,' says he, an' we had our trunk sent to the station, +and walked ourselves. When we got there, he says to me, + +"Which number will you have, five or seven?' + +"'Either one will suit me, Earl Miguel,' says I. + +"'Jiguel,' says he, 'an' we'll make it seven. An' now I'll go an' +look at the time-table, an' we'll buy tickets for the seventh +station from here. The seventh station,' says he, comin' back, 'is +Pokus. We'll go to Pokus.' + +"So when the train come we got in, an' got out at Pokus. It was a +pretty sort of a place, out in the country, with the houses +scattered a long ways apart, like stingy chicken-feed. + +"'Let's walk down this road,' says he, 'till we come to a good +house for a castle, an' then we can ask 'em to take us to board, +an' if they wont do it we'll go to the next, an' so on.' + +"'All right,' says I, glad enough to see how pat he entered into +the thing. + +"We walked a good ways, an' passed some little houses that neither +of us thought would do, without more imaginin' than would pay, till +we came to a pretty big house near the river, which struck our +fancy in a minute. It was a stone house, an' it had trees aroun' +it, there was a garden with a wall, an' things seemed to suit +first-rate, so we made up our minds right off that we'd try this +place. + +"'You wait here under this tree,' says he, 'an' I'll go an' ask 'em +if they'll take us to board for a while.' + +"So I waits, an' he goes up to the gate, an' pretty soon he comes +out an' says, 'All right, they'll take us, an' they'll send a man +with a wheelbarrer to the station for our trunk.' So in we goes. +The man was a country-like lookin' man, an' his wife was a very +pleasant woman. The house wasn't furnished very fine, but we +didn't care for that, an' they gave us a big room that had rafters +instid of a ceilin', an' a big fire-place, an' that, I said, was +jus' exac'ly what we wanted. The room was almos' like a donjon +itself, which he said he reckoned had once been a kitchin, but I +told him that a earl hadn't nothin' to do with kitchins, an' that +this was a tapestry chamber, an' I'd tell him all about the strange +figgers on the embroidered hangin's, when the shadders begun to +fall. + +"It rained a little that afternoon, an' we stayed in our room, an' +hung our clothes an' things about on nails an' hooks, an' made +believe they was armor an' ancient trophies an' portraits of a long +line of ancesters. I did most of the make-believin' but he agreed +to ev'rything. The man who kep' the house's wife brought us our +supper about dark, because she said she thought we might like to +have it together cozy, an' so we did, an' was glad enough of it; +an' after supper we sat before the fire-place, where we made- +believe the flames was a-roarin' an' cracklin' an' a-lightin' up +the bright places on the armor a-hangin' aroun', while the storm-- +which we made-believe--was a-ragin' an' whirlin' outside. I told +him a long story about a lord an' a lady, which was two or three +stories I had read, run together, an' we had a splendid time. It +all seemed real real to me." + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +IN WHICH TWO NEW FRIENDS DISPORT THEMSELVES. + + +"The nex' mornin' was fine an' nice," continued Pomona, "an' after +our breakfast had been brought to us, we went out in the grounds to +take a walk. There was lots of trees back of the house, with walks +among 'em, an' altogether it was so ole-timey an' castleish that I +was as happy as a lark. + +"'Come along, Earl Miguel,' I says; 'let us tread a measure 'neath +these mantlin' trees.' + +"'All right,' says he. 'Your Jiguel attends you. An' what might +our noble second name be? What is we earl an' earl-ess of?' + +"'Oh, anything,' says I. 'Let's take any name at random.' + +"'All right,' says he. 'Let it be random. Earl an' Earl-ess +Random. Come along.' + +"So we walks about, I feelin' mighty noble an' springy, an' afore +long we sees another couple a-walkin' about under the trees. + +"'Who's them?' says I. + +"'Don't know,' says he, 'but I expect they're some o' the other +boarders. The man said he had other boarders when I spoke to him +about takin' us.' + +"'Let's make-believe they're a count an' count says I. 'Count an' +Countess of--' + +"'Milwaukee,' says he. + +"I didn't think much of this for a noble name, but still it would +do well enough, an' so we called 'em the Count an' Countess of +Milwaukee, an' we kep' on a meanderin'. Pretty soon he gets tired +an' says he was agoin' back to the house to have a smoke because he +thought it was time to have a little fun which weren't all +imaginations, an' I says to him to go along, but it would be the +hardest thing in this world for me to imagine any fun in smokin'. +He laughed an' went back, while I walked on, a-makin'-believe a +page, in blue puffed breeches, was a-holdin' up my train, which was +of light-green velvet trimmed with silver lace. Pretty soon, +turnin' a little corner, I meets the Count and Countess of +Milwaukee. She was a small lady, dressed in black, an' he was a +big fat man about fifty years old, with a grayish beard. They both +wore little straw hats, exac'ly alike, an' had on green carpet- +slippers. + +"They stops when they sees me, an' the lady she bows and says +'good-mornin',' an' then she smiles, very pleasant, an' asks if I +was a-livin' here, an' when I said I was, she says she was too, for +the present, an' what was my name. I had half a mind to say the +Earl-ess Random, but she was so pleasant and sociable that I didn't +like to seem to be makin' fun, an' so I said I was Mrs. De +Henderson. + +"'An' I,' says she, 'am Mrs. General Andrew Jackson, widow of the +ex-President of the United States. I am staying here on business +connected with the United States Bank. This is my brother,' says +she, pointin' to the big man. + +"'How d'ye do?' says he, a-puttin' his hands together, turnin' his +toes out an' makin' a funny little bow. 'I am General Tom Thumb,' +he says in a deep, gruff voice, 'an' I've been before all the +crown-ed heads of Europe, Asia, Africa, America an' Australia,--all +a's but one,--an' I'm waitin' here for a team of four little milk- +white oxen, no bigger than tall cats, which is to be hitched to a +little hay-wagon, which I am to ride in, with a little pitch-fork +an' real farmer's clothes, only small. This will come to-morrow, +when I will pay for it an' ride away to exhibit. It may be here +now, an' I will go an' see. Good-bye.' + +"'Good-bye, likewise,' says the lady. 'I hope you'll have all +you're thinkin' you're havin', an' more too, but less if you'd like +it. Farewell.' An' away they goes. + +"Well, you may be sure, I stood there amazed enough, an' mad too +when I heard her talk about my bein' all I was a-thinkin' I was. I +was sure my husband--scarce two weeks old, a husband--had told all. +It was too bad. I wished I had jus' said I was the Earl-ess of +Random an' brassed it out. + +"I rushed back an' foun' him smokin' a pipe on a back porch. I +charged him with his perfidy, but he vowed so earnest that he had +not told these people of our fancies, or ever had spoke to 'em, +that I had to believe him. + +"'I expec',' says he, 'that they're jus' makin'-believe--as we are. +There aint no patent on make-believes.' + +"This didn't satisfy me, an' as he seemed to be so careless about +it I walked away, an' left him to his pipe. I determined to go +take a walk along some of the country roads an' think this thing +over for myself. I went aroun' to the front gate, where the woman +of the house was a-standin' talkin' to somebody, an' I jus' bowed +to her, for I didn't feel like sayin' anything, an' walked past +her. + +"'Hello!' said she, jumpin' in front of me an' shuttin' the gate. +'You can't go out here. If you want to walk you can walk about in +the grounds. There's lots of shady paths.' + +"'Can't go out!' says I. 'Can't go out! What do you mean by +that?' + +"'I mean jus' what I say,' said she, an' she locked the gate. + +"I was so mad that I could have pushed her over an' broke the gate, +but I thought that if there was anything of that kind to do I had a +husband whose business it was to attend to it, an' so I runs aroun' +to him to tell him. He had gone in, but I met Mrs. Jackson an' her +brother. + +"'What's the matter?' said she, seein' what a hurry I was in. + +"'That woman at the gate,' I said, almost chokin' as I spoke, 'wont +let me out.' + +"'She wont?' said Mrs. Jackson. 'Well, that's a way she has. Four +times the Bank of the United States has closed its doors before I +was able to get there, on account of that woman's obstinacy about +the gate. Indeed, I have not been to the Bank at all yet, for of +course it is of no use to go after banking hours.' + +"'An' I believe, too,' said her brother in his heavy voice, 'that +she has kept out my team of little oxen. Otherwise it would be +here now.' + +"I couldn't stand any more of this an' ran into our room where my +husband was. When I told him what had happened, he was real sorry. + +"'I didn't know you thought of going out,' he said, 'or I would +have told you all about it. An' now sit down an' quiet yourself, +an' I'll tell you jus' how things is.' So down we sits, an' says +he, jus' as carm as a summer cloud, 'My dear, this is a lunertic +asylum. Now, don't jump,' he says; 'I didn't bring you here, +because I thought you was crazy, but because I wanted you to see +what kind of people they was who imagined themselves earls and +earl-esses, an' all that sort o' thing, an' to have an idea how the +thing worked after you'd been doing it a good while an' had got +used to it. I thought it would be a good thing, while I was Earl +Jiguel and you was a noble earl-ess, to come to a place where +people acted that way. I knowed you had read lots o' books about +knights and princes an' bloody towers, an' that you knowed all +about them things, but I didn't suppose you did know how them same +things looked in these days, an' a lunertic asylum was the only +place where you could see 'em. So I went to a doctor I knowed,' he +says, 'an' got a certificate from him to this private institution, +where we could stay for a while an' get posted on romantics.' + +"'Then,' says I, 'the upshot was that you wanted to teach a +lesson.' + +"'Jus' that,' says he. + +"'All right,' says I; 'it's teached. An' now let's get out of this +as quick as we kin.' + +"'That'll suit me,' he says, 'an' we'll leave by the noon train. +I'll go an' see about the trunk bein' sent down.' + +"So off he went to see the man who kept the house, while I falls to +packin' up the trunk as fast as I could." + +"Weren't you dreadfully angry at him?" asked Euphemia, who, having +a romantic streak in her own composition, did not sympathize +altogether with this heroic remedy for Pomona's disease. + +"No, ma'am," said Pomona, "not long. When I thought of Mrs. +General Jackson and Tom Thumb, I couldn't help thinkin' that I must +have looked pretty much the same to my husband, who, I knowed now, +had only been makin'-believe to make-believe. An' besides, I +couldn't be angry very long for laughin, for when he come back in a +minute, as mad as a March hare, an' said they wouldn't let me out +nor him nuther, I fell to laughin' ready to crack my sides. + +"'They say,' said he, as soon as he could speak straight, 'that we +can't go out without another certificate from the doctor. I told +'em I'd go myself an' see him about it but they said no, I +couldn't, for if they did that way everybody who ever was sent here +would be goin' out the next day to see about leavin'. I didn't +want to make no fuss, so I told them I'd write a letter to the +doctor and tell him to send an order that would soon show them +whether we could go out or not. They said that would be the best +thing to do, an so I'm goin' to write it this minute,'--which he +did. + +"'How long will we have to wait?' says I, when the letter was done. + +"'Well,' says he, 'the doctor can't get this before to-morrow +mornin', an' even if he answers right away, we won't get our order +to go out until the next day. So we'll jus' have to grin an' bear +it for a day an' a half.' + +"'This is a lively old bridal-trip,' said I,--'dry falls an' a +lunertic asylum.' + +"'We'll try to make the rest of it better,' said he. + +"But the next day wasn't no better. We staid in our room all day, +for we didn't care to meet Mrs. Jackson an' her crazy brother, an' +I'm sure we didn't want to see the mean creatures who kept the +house. We knew well enough that they only wanted us to stay so +that they could get more board-money out of us." + +"I should have broken out," cried Euphemia. "I would never have +staid an hour in that place, after I found out what it was, +especially on a bridal trip." + +"If we'd done that," said Pomona, "they'd have got men after us, +an' then everybody would have thought we was real crazy. We made +up our minds to wait for the doctor's letter, but it wasn't much +fun. An' I didn't tell no romantic stories to fill up the time. +We sat down an' behaved like the commonest kind o' people. You +never saw anybody sicker of romantics than I was when I thought of +them two loons that called themselves Mrs. Andrew Jackson and +General Tom Thumb. I dropped Miguel altogether, an' he dropped +Jiguel, which was a relief to me, an' I took strong to Jonas, even +callin' him Jone, which I consider a good deal uglier an' commoner +even than Jonas. He didn't like this much, but said that if it +would help me out of the Miguel, he didn't care. + +"Well, on the mornin' of the next day I went into the little front +room that they called the office, to see if there was a letter for +us yet, an' there wasn't nobody there to ask. But I saw a pile of +letters under a weight on the table, an' I jus' looked at these to +see if one of 'em was for us, an' if there wasn't the very letter +Jone had written to the doctor! They'd never sent it! I rushes +back to Jone an' tells him, an' he jus' set an' looked at me +without sayin' a word. I didn't wonder he couldn't speak. + +"'I'll go an' let them people know what I think of 'em,' says I. + +"'Don't do that,' said Jone, catchin' me by the sleeve. 'It wont +do no good. Leave the letter there, an' don't say nothin' about +it. We'll stay here till afternoon quite quiet, an' then we'll go +away. That garden wall isn't high.' + +"'An' how about the trunk?' says I. + +"'Oh, we'll take a few things in our pockets, an' lock up the +trunk, an' ask the doctor to send for it when we get to the city.' + +"'All right,' says I. An' we went to work to get ready to leave. + +"About five o'clock in the afternoon, when it was a nice time to +take a walk under the trees, we meandered quietly down to a corner +of the back wall, where Jone thought it would be rather convenient +to get over. He hunted up a short piece of board which he leaned +up ag'in the wall, an' then he put his foot on the top of that an' +got hold of the top of the wall an' climbed up, as easy as nuthin'. +Then he reached down to help me step onto the board. But jus' as +he was agoin' to take me by the hand: 'Hello!' says he. 'Look a- +there!' An' I turned round an' looked, an' if there wasn't Mrs. +Andrew Jackson an' General Tom Thumb a-walkin' down the path. + +"'What shall we do?' says I. + +"'Come along,' says he. 'We aint a-goin' to stop for them. Get +up, all the same.' + +"I tried to get up as he said, but it wasn't so easy for me on +account of my not bein' such a high stepper as Jone, an' I was a +good while a-gettin' a good footin' on the board. + +"Mrs. Jackson an' the General, they came right up to us an' set +down on a bench which was fastened between two trees near the wall. +An' there they set, a-lookin' steady at us with their four little +eyes, like four empty thimbles. + +"'You appear to be goin' away,' says Mrs. Jackson. + +"'Yes,' says Jone from the top of the wall. We're a-goin' to take +a slight stroll outside, this salu-brious evenin'.' + +"'Do you think,' says she, 'that the United States Bank would be +open this time of day?' + +"'Oh no,' says Jone, 'the banks all close at three o'clock. It's a +good deal after that now.' + +"'But if I told the officers who I was, wouldn't that make a +difference?' says she. 'Wouldn't they go down an' open the bank?' + +"'Not much,' says Jone, givin' a pull which brought me right up to +the top o' the wall an' almost clean down the other side, with one +jerk. 'I never knowed no officers that would do that. But,' says +he, a kind o' shuttin' his eyes so that she shouldn't see he was +lyin', 'we'll talk about that when we come back.' + +"'If you see that team of little oxen,' says the big man, 'send 'em +'round to the front gate.' + +"'All right,' says Jone; an' he let me down the outside of the wall +as if I had been a bag o' horse-feed. + +"'But if the bank isn't open you can't pay for it when it does +come,' we heard the old lady a-sayin' as we hurried off. + +"We didn't lose no time agoin' down to that station, an' it's lucky +we didn't, for a train for the city was comin' jus' as we got +there, an' we jumped aboard without havin' no time to buy tickets. +There wasn't many people in our car, an we got a seat together. + +"'Now then,' says Jone, as the cars went abuzzin' along, 'I feel as +if I was really on a bridal-trip, which I mus' say I didn't at that +there asylum.' + +"An' then I said: 'I should think not,' an' we both bust out a- +laughin', as well we might, feelin' sich a change of surroundin's. + +"'Do you think,' says somebody behind us, when we'd got through +laughin', 'that if I was to send a boy up to the cashier he would +either come down or send me the key of the bank?' + +"We both turned aroun' as quick as lightnin', an' if there wasn't +them two lunertics in the seat behind us! + +"It nearly took our breaths away to see them settin' there, staring +at us with their thimble eyes, an' a-wearin' their little straw +hats, both alike. + +"'How on the livin' earth did you two got here?' says I, as soon as +I could speak. + +"'Oh, we come by the same way you come--by the tem-per-ary stairs,' +says Mrs. Jackson. 'We thought if it was too late to draw any +money to-night, it might be well to be on hand bright an' early in +the mornin'. An' so we follered you two, as close as we could, +because we knew you could take us right to the very bank doors, an' +we didn't know the way ourselves, not never havin' had no occasion +to attend to nothin' of this kind before.' + +"Jone an' I looked at each other, but we didn't speak for a minute. + +"'Then,' says I, 'here's a pretty kittle o' fish.' + +"'I should kinder say so,' says Jone. 'We've got these here two +lunertics on our hands, sure enough, for there ain't no train back +to Pokus tonight, an' I wouldn't go back with 'em if there was. We +must keep an eye on 'em till we can see the doctor to-morrow.' + +"'I suppose we must,' said I, 'but this don't seem as much like a +bridal-trip as it did a while ago.' + +"'You're right there,' says Jone. + +"When the conductor came along we had to pay the fare of them two +lunertics, besides our own, for neither of 'em had a cent about +'em. When we got to town we went to a smallish hotel, near the +ferry, where Jone knowed the man who kep' it, who wouldn't bother +about none of us havin' a scrap of baggage, knowin' he'd get his +money all the same, out of either Jone or his father. The General +an' his sister looked a kind o' funny in their little straw hats +an' green carpet-slippers, an' the clerk didn't know whether he +hadn't forgot how to read writin' when the big man put down the +names of General Tom Thumb and Mrs. ex-President Andrew Jackson, +which he wasn't ex-President anyway, bein' dead; but Jone he +whispered they was travelin' under nommys dess plummys (I told him +to say that), an' he would fix it all right in the mornin'. An' +then we got some supper, which it took them two lunertics a long +time to eat, for they was all the time forgettin' what particular +kind o' business they was about, an' then we was showed to our +rooms. They had two rooms right across the hall from ours. We +hadn't been inside our room five minutes before Mrs. General +Jackson come a-knockin' at the door. + +"'Look a-here,' she says to me, 'there's a unforeseen contingency +in my room. An' it smells.' + +"So I went right in, an' sure enough it did smell, for she had +turned on all the gases, besides the one that was lighted. + +"'What did you do that for?' says I, a-turnin' them off as fast as +I could. + +"'I'd like to know what they're made for,' says she, 'if they isn't +to be turned on.' + +"When I told Jone about this he looked real serious, an' jus' then +a waiter came upstairs an' went into the big man's room. In a +minute he come out an' says to Jone an' me, a-grinnin': + +"'We can't suit him no better in this house.' + +"'What does he want?' asks Jone. + +"'Why, he wants a smaller bed,' says the waiter. 'He says he can't +sleep in a bed as big as that, an' we haven't none smaller in this +house, which he couldn't get into if we had, in my opinion,' says +he. + +"'All right,' says Jone. 'Jus' you go downstairs, an' I'll fix +him.' So the man goes off, still a-grinnin'. 'I tell you what it +is,' says Jone, 'it wont do to let them two lunertics have rooms to +themselves. They'll set this house afire or turn it upside down in +the middle of the night, if they has. There's nuthin' to be done +but for you to sleep with the woman an' for me to sleep with the +man, an' to keep 'em from cuttin' up till mornin'.' + +"So Jone he went into the room where General Tom Thumb was a- +settin' with his hat on, a-lookin' doleful at the bed, an' says he: + +"'What's the matter with the bed?' + +"'Oh, it's too large entirely,' says the General. 'It wouldn't do +for me to sleep in a bed like that. It would ruin my character as +a genuine Thumb.' + +"'Well,' says Jone, 'it's nearly two times too big for you, but if +you an' me was both to sleep in it, it would be about right, +wouldn't it?' + +"'Oh yes,' says the General. An' he takes off his hat, an' Jone +says good-night to me an' shuts the door. Our room was better than +Mrs. General Jackson's, so I takes her in there, an' the fust thing +she does is to turn on all the gases. + +"'Stop that!' I hollers. 'If you do that again,--I'll--I'll break +the United States Bank tomorrow!' + +"'How'll you do that?' says she. + +"'I'll draw out all my capital,' says I. + +"'I hope really you wont,' says she, 'till I've been there,' an' +she leans out of the open winder to look into the street, but while +she was a-lookin' out I see her left hand a-creepin' up to the gas +by the winder, that wasn't lighted. I felt mad enough to take her +by the feet an' pitch her out, as you an the boarder," said Pomona, +turning to me, "h'isted me out of the canal-boat winder." + +This, by the way, was the first intimation we had had that Pomona +knew how she came to fall out of that window. + +"But I didn't do it," she continued, "for there wasn't no soft +water underneath for her to fall into. After we went to bed I kep' +awake for a long time, bein' afraid she'd get up in the night an' +turn on all the gases and smother me alive. But I fell asleep at +last, an' when I woke up, early in the mornin', the first thing I +did was to feel for that lunertic. But she was gone!" + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +IN WHICH AN OLD FRIEND APPEARS AND THE BRIDAL TRIP TAKES A FRESH +START. + + +"Gone?" cried Euphemia, who, with myself, had been listening most +intently to Pomona's story. + +"Yes," continued Pomona, "she was gone. I give one jump out of bed +and felt the gases, but they was all right. But she was gone, an' +her clothes was gone. I dressed, as pale as death, I do expect, +an' hurried to Jone's room, an' he an' me an' the big man was all +ready in no time to go an' look for her. General Tom Thumb didn't +seem very anxious, but we made him hurry up an' come along with us. +We couldn't afford to leave him nowheres. The clerk down-stairs--a +different one from the chap who was there the night before--said +that a middle-aged, elderly lady came down about an hour before an' +asked him to tell her the way to the United States Bank, an' when +he told her he didn't know of any such bank, she jus' stared at +him, an' wanted to know what he was put there for. So he didn't +have no more to say to her, an' she went out, an' he didn't take no +notice which way she went. We had the same opinion about him that +Mrs. Jackson had, but we didn't stop to tell him so. We hunted up +an' down the streets for an hour or more; we asked every policeman +we met if he'd seen her; we went to a police station; we did +everything we could think of, but no Mrs. Jackson turned up. Then +we was so tired an' hungry that we went into some place or other +an' got our breakfast. When we started out ag'in, we kep' on up +one street an' down another, an' askin' everybody who looked as if +they had two grains of sense,--which most of 'em didn't look as if +they had mor'n one, an' that was in use to get 'em to where they +was goin.' At last, a little ways down a small street, we seed a +crowd, an' the minute we see it Jone an' me both said in our inside +hearts: 'There she is!' An' sure enough, when we got there, who +should we see, with a ring of street-loafers an' boys around her, +but Mrs. Andrew Jackson, with her little straw hat an' her green +carpet-slippers, a-dancin' some kind of a skippin' fandango, an' a- +holdin' out her skirts with the tips of her fingers. I was jus' +agoin' to rush in an' grab her when a man walks quick into the ring +and touches her on the shoulder. The minute I seed him I knowed +him. It was our old boarder!" + +"It was?" exclaimed Euphemia. + +"Yes it was truly him, an' I didn't want him to see me there in +such company, an' he most likely knowin' I was on my bridal-trip, +an' so I made a dive at my bonnet to see if I had a vail on; an' +findin' one, I hauled it down. + +"'Madam,' says the boarder, very respectful, to Mrs. Jackson, +'where do you live? Can't I take you home?' 'No, sir,' says she, +'at least not now. If you have a carriage, you may come for me +after a while. I am waiting for the Bank of the United States to +open, an' until which time I must support myself on the light +fantastic toe,' an' then she tuk up her skirts, an' begun to dance +ag'in. But she didn't make mor'n two skips before I rushed in, an' +takin' her by the arm hauled her out o' the ring. An' then up +comes the big man with his face as red as fire. 'Look' here!' says +he to her, as if he was ready to eat her up. 'Did you draw every +cent of that money?' 'Not yet, not yet,' says she. 'You did, you +purse-proud cantalope,' says he. 'You know very well you did, an' +now I'd like to know where my ox-money is to come from.' But Jone +an' me didn't intend to wait for no sich talk as this, an' he tuk +the man by the arm, and I tuk the old woman, an' we jus' walked 'em +off. The boarder he told the loafers to get out an' go home, an' +none of 'em follered us, for they know'd if they did he'd a batted +'em over the head. But he comes up alongside o' me, as I was a' +walkin' behind with Mrs. Jackson, an' says he: 'How d'ye do, +Pomona?' I must say I felt as if I could slip in between two +flagstones, but as I couldn't get away, I said I was pretty well. +'I heared you was on your bridal trip,' says he ag'in; 'is this +it?' It was jus' like him to know that, an' as there was no help +for it, I said it was. 'Is that your husband?' says he, pointin' +to Jone. 'Yes,' says I. 'It was very good in him to come along,' +says he. 'Is these two your groomsman and bridesmaid?' 'No sir,' +says I. 'They're crazy.' 'No wonder,' says he. 'It's enough to +drive 'em so, to see you two,' an' then he went ahead an' shook +hands with Jone, an' told him he'd know'd me a long time; but he +didn't say nuthin' about havin' histed me out of a winder, for +which I was obliged to him. An' then he come back to me an' says +he, 'Good-mornin', I must go to the office. I hope you'll have a +good time for the rest of your trip. If you happen to run short o' +lunertics, jus' let me know, and I'll furnish you with another +pair.' 'All right,' says I; 'but you mustn't bring your little +girl along.' + +"He kinder laughed at this, as we walked away, an' then he turned +around an' come back, and says he, 'Have you been to any the-ay- +ters, or anything, since you've been in town?' 'No,' says I, 'not +one.' 'Well,' says he, 'you ought to go. Which do you like best, +the the-ay-ter, the cir-cus, or wild-beasts?' I did really like +the the-ay-ter best, havin' thought of bein' a play-actor, as you +know, but I considered I'd better let that kind o' thing slide jus' +now, as bein' a little too romantic, right after the 'sylum, an' so +I says, 'I've been once to a circus, an' once to a wild-beast +garden, an' I like 'em both. I hardly know which I like best--the +roarin' beasts, a-prancin' about in their cages, with the smell of +blood an' hay, an' the towerin' elephants; or the horses, an' the +music, an' the gauzy figgers at the circus, an' the splendid +knights in armor an' flashin' pennants, all on fiery steeds, a- +plungin' ag'in the sides of the ring, with their flags a-flyin' in +the grand entry,' says I, real excited with what I remembered about +these shows. + +"'Well,' says he, 'I don't wonder at your feelin's. An' now, +here's two tickets for to-night, which you an' your husband can +have, if you like, for I can't go. They're to a meetin' of the +Hudson County Enter-mo-logical Society, over to Hoboken, at eight +o'clock.' + +"'Over to Hoboken!' says I; 'that's a long way.' + +"'Oh no, it isn't,' says he. 'An' it wont cost you a cent, but the +ferry. They couldn't have them shows in the city, for, if the +creatures was to get loose, there's no knowin' what might happen. +So take 'em, an' have as much fun as you can for the rest of your +trip. Good-bye!' An' off he went. + +"Well, we kep' straight on to the doctor's, an' glad we was when we +got there, an' mad he was when we lef' Mrs. Jackson an' the General +on his hands, for we wouldn't have no more to do with 'em, an' he +couldn't help undertaking' to see that they got back to the asylum. +I thought at first he wouldn't lift a finger to get us our trunk; +but he cooled down after a bit, an' said he hoped we'd try some +different kind of institution for the rest of our trip, which we +said we thought we would. + +"That afternoon we gawked around, a-lookin' at all the outside +shows, for Jone said he'd have to be pretty careful of his money +now, an' he was glad when I told him I had two free tickets in my +pocket for a show in the evenin.' + +"As we was a-walkin' down to the ferry, after supper, says he: + +"'Suppose you let me have a look at them tickets.' + +"So I hands 'em to him. He reads one of 'em, and then he reads the +other, which he needn't 'a' done, for they was both alike, an' then +he turns to me, an' says he: + +"'What kind of a man is your boarder-as-was?' + +"It wasn't the easiest thing in the world to say jus' what he was, +but I give Jone the idea, in a general sort of way, that he was +pretty lively. + +"'So I should think,' says he. 'He's been tryin' a trick on us, +and sendin' us to the wrong place. It's rather late in the season +for a show of the kind, but the place we ought to go to is a +potato-field.' + +"'What on earth are you talkin' about?' says I, dumbfoundered. + +"'Well,' says he, 'it's a trick he's been playin'. He thought a +bridal trip like ours ought to have some sort of a outlandish wind- +up, an' so he sent us to this place, which is a meetin' of chaps +who are agoin' to talk about insec's,--principally potato-bugs, I +expec'--an' anything stupider than that, I s'pose your boarder-as- +was couldn't think of, without havin' a good deal o' time to +consider.' + +"'It's jus' like him,' says I. 'Let's turn round and go back,' +which we did, prompt. + +"We gave the tickets to a little boy who was sellin' papers, but I +don't believe he went. + +"'Now then,' says Jone, after he'd been thinkin' awhile, 'there'll +be no more foolin' on this trip. I've blocked out the whole of the +rest of it, an' we'll wind up a sight better than that boarder-as- +was has any idea of. To-morrow we'll go to father's an' if the old +gentleman has got any money on the crops, which I expec' he has, by +this time, I'll take up a part o' my share, an' we'll have a trip +to Washington, an' see the President, an' Congress, an' the White +House, an' the lamp always a-burnin' before the Supreme Court, an'--' + +"'Don't say no more, says I, 'it's splendid!' + +"So, early the nex' day, we goes off jus' as fast as trains would +take us to his father's, an' we hadn't been there mor'n ten +minutes, before Jone found out he had been summoned on a jury. + +"'When must you go?' says I, when he come, lookin' a kind o' pale, +to tell me this. + +"'Right off,' says he. 'The court meets this mornin'. If I don't +hurry up, I'll have some of 'em after me. But I wouldn't cry about +it. I don't believe the case'll last more'n a day.' + +"The old man harnessed up an' took Jone to the court-house, an' I +went too, for I might as well keep up the idea of a bridal-trip as +not. I went up into the gallery, and Jone, he was set among the +other men in the jury-box. + +"The case was about a man named Brown, who married the half-sister +of a man named Adams, who afterward married Brown's mother, and +sold Brown a house he had got from Brown's grandfather, in trade +for half a grist-mill, which the other half of was owned by Adams's +half-sister's first husband, who left all his property to a soup +society, in trust, till his son should come of age, which he never +did, but left a will which give his half of the mill to Brown, and +the suit was between Brown and Adams and Brown again, and Adams's +half-sister, who was divorced from Brown, and a man named Ramsey, +who had put up a new over-shot wheel to the grist-mill." + +"Oh my!" exclaimed Euphemia. "How could you remember all that?" + +"I heard it so often, I couldn't help remembering it," replied +Pomona. And she went on with her narrative. + +"That case wasn't a easy one to understand, as you may see for +yourselves, and it didn't get finished that day. They argyed over +it a full week. When there wasn't no more witnesses to carve up, +one lawyer made a speech, an' he set that crooked case so straight, +that you could see through it from the over-shot wheel clean back +to Brown's grandfather. Then another feller made a speech, and he +set the whole thing up another way. It was jus' as clear, to look +through, but it was another case altogether, no more like the other +one than a apple-pie is like a mug o' cider. An' then they both +took it up, an' they swung it around between them, till it was all +twisted an' knotted an' wound up, an' tangled, worse than a skein +o' yarn in a nest o' kittens, an' then they give it to the jury. + +"Well, when them jurymen went out, there wasn't none of 'em, as +Jone tole me afterward, as knew whether is was Brown or Adams as +was dead, or whether the mill was to grind soup, or to be run by +soup-power. Of course they couldn't agree; three of 'em wanted to +give a verdict for the boy that died, two of 'em was for Brown's +grandfather, an' the rest was scattered, some goin' in for damages +to the witnesses, who ought to get somethin' for havin' their char- +ac-ters ruined. Jone he jus' held back, ready to jine the other +eleven as soon as they'd agree. But they couldn't do it, an' they +was locked up three days and four nights. You'd better believe I +got pretty wild about it, but I come to court every day an' waited +an' waited, bringin' somethin' to eat in a baskit. + +"One day, at dinner-time, I seed the judge astandin' at the court- +room door, a-wipin' his forrid with a handkerchief, an' I went up +to him an' said, 'Do you think, sir, they'll get through this thing +soon?' + +"'I can't say, indeed,' said he. 'Are you interested in the case?' + +"'I should think I was,' said I, an' then I told him about Jone's +bein' a juryman, an' how we was on our bridal-trip. + +"'You've got my sympathy, madam,' says he, 'but it's a difficult +case to decide, an' I don't wonder it takes a good while.' + +"'Nor I nuther,' says I, 'an' my opinion about these things is, +that if you'd jus' have them lawyers shut up in another room, an' +make 'em do their talkin' to theirselves, the jury could keep their +minds clear, and settle the cases in no time.' + +"'There's some sense in that, madam,' says he, an' then he went +into court ag'in. + +"Jone never had no chance to jine in with the other fellers, for +they couldn't agree, an' they were all discharged, at last. So the +whole thing went for nuthin. + +"When Jone come out, he looked like he'd been drawn through a pump- +log, an' he says to me, tired-like, + +"'Has there been a frost?' + +"'Yes,' says I, 'two of 'em.' + +"'All right, then,' says he. 'I've had enough of bridal-trips, +with their dry falls, their lunatic asylums, and their jury-boxes. +Let's go home and settle down. We needn't be afraid, now that +there's been a frost.'" + +"Oh, why will you live in such a dreadful place?" cried Euphemia. +"You ought to go somewhere where you needn't be afraid of chills." + +"That's jus' what I thought, ma'am," returned Pomona. "But Jone +an' me got a disease-map of this country an' we looked all over it +careful, an' wherever there wasn't chills there was somethin' that +seemed a good deal wuss to us. An' says Jone, 'If I'm to have +anything the matter with me, give me somethin' I'm used to. It +don't do for a man o' my time o' life to go changin' his +diseases.'" + +"So home we went. An' there we is now. An' as this is the end of +the bridal-trip story, I'll go an' take a look at the cow an' the +chickens an' the horse, if you don't mind." + +Which we didn't,--and we gladly went with her over the estate. + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +IN WHICH WE TAKE A VACATION AND LOOK FOR DAVID DUTTON. + + +It was about noon of a very fair July day, in the next summer, when +Euphemia and myself arrived at the little town where we were to +take the stage up into the mountains. We were off for a two weeks' +vacation and our minds were a good deal easier than when we went +away before, and left Pomona at the helm. We had enlarged the +boundaries of Rudder Grange, having purchased the house, with +enough adjoining land to make quite a respectable farm. Of course +I could not attend to the manifold duties on such a place, and my +wife seldom had a happier thought than when she proposed that we +should invite Pomona and her husband to come and live with us. +Pomona was delighted, and Jonas was quite willing to run our farm. +So arrangements were made, and the young couple were established in +apartments in our back building, and went to work as if taking care +of us and our possessions was the ultimate object of their lives. +Jonas was such a steady fellow that we feared no trouble from tree- +man or lightning rodder during this absence. + +Our destination was a country tavern on the stage-road, not far +from the point where the road crosses the ridge of the mountain- +range, and about sixteen miles from the town. We had heard of this +tavern from a friend of ours, who had spent a summer there. The +surrounding country was lovely, and the house was kept by a farmer, +who was a good soul, and tried to make his guests happy. These +were generally passing farmers and wagoners, or stage-passengers, +stopping for a meal, but occasionally a person from the cities, +like our friend, came to spend a few weeks in the mountains. + +So hither we came, for an out-of-the-world spot like this was just +what we wanted. When I took our places at the stage-office, I +inquired for David Dutton, the farmer tavern-keeper before +mentioned, but the agent did not know of him. + +"However," said he, "the driver knows everybody on the road, and +he'll set you down at the house." + +So, off we started, having paid for our tickets on the basis that +we were to ride about sixteen miles. We had seats on top, and the +trip, although slow,--for the road wound uphill steadily,--was a +delightful one. Our way lay, for the greater part of the time, +through the woods, but now and then we came to a farm, and a turn +in the road often gave us lovely views of the foot-hills and the +valleys behind us. + +But the driver did not know where Dutton's tavern was. This we +found out after we had started. Some persons might have thought it +wiser to settle this matter before starting, but I am not at all +sure that it would have been so. We were going to this tavern, and +did not wish to go anywhere else. If people did not know where it +was, it would be well for us to go and look for it. We knew the +road that it was on, and the locality in which it was to be found. + +Still, it was somewhat strange that a stage-driver, passing along +the road every week-day,--one day one way, and the next the other +way,--should not know a public-house like Dutton's. + +"If I remember rightly," I said, "the stage used to stop there for +the passengers to take supper." + +"Well, then, it aint on this side o' the ridge," said the driver; +"we stop for supper, about a quarter of a mile on the other side, +at Pete Lowry's. Perhaps Dutton used to keep that place. Was it +called the 'Ridge House'?" + +I did not remember the name of the house, but I knew very well that +it was not on the other side of the ridge. + +"Then," said the driver, "I'm sure I don't know where it is. But +I've only been on the road about a year, and your man may 'a' moved +away afore I come. But there aint no tavern this side the ridge, +arter ye leave Delhi, and, that's nowhere's nigh the ridge." + +There were a couple of farmers who were sitting by the driver, and +who had listened with considerable interest to this conversation. +Presently, one of them turned around to me and said: + +"Is it Dave Dutton ye're askin' about?" + +"Yes," I replied, "that's his name." + +"Well, I think he's dead," said he. + +At this, I began to feel uneasy, and I could see that my wife +shared my trouble. + +Then the other farmer spoke up. + +"I don't believe he's dead, Hiram," said he to his companion "I +heered of him this spring. He's got a sheep-farm on the other side +o' the mountain, and he's a livin' there. That's what I heered, at +any rate. But he don't live on this road any more," he continued, +turning to us. "He used to keep tavern on this road, and the +stages did used to stop fur supper--or else dinner, I don't jist +ree-collect which. But he don't keep tavern on this road no more." + +"Of course not," said his companion, "if he's a livin' over the +mountain. But I b'lieve he's dead." + +I asked the other farmer if he knew how long it had been since +Dutton had left this part of the country. + +"I don't know fur certain," he said, "but I know he was keeping +tavern here two year' ago, this fall, fur I came along here, +myself, and stopped there to git supper--or dinner, I don't jist +ree-collect which." + +It had been three years since our friend had boarded at Dutton's +house. There was no doubt that the man was not living at his old +place now. My wife and I now agreed that it was very foolish in us +to come so far without making more particular inquiries. But we +had had an idea that a man who had a place like Dutton's tavern +would live there always. + +"What are ye goin' to do?" asked the driver, very much interested, +for it was not every day that he had passengers who had lost their +destination. "Ye might go on to Lowry's. He takes boarders +sometimes." + +But Lowry's did not attract us. An ordinary country-tavern, where +stage-passengers took supper, was not what we came so far to find. + +"Do you know where this house o' Dutton's is?" said the driver, to +the man who had once taken either dinner or supper there. + +"Oh yes! I'd know the house well enough, if I saw it. It's the +fust house this side o' Lowry's." + +"With a big pole in front of it?" asked the driver. + +"Yes, there was a sign-pole in front of it." + +"An a long porch?" + +"Yes." + +"Oh! well!" said the driver, settling himself in his seat. "I know +all about that house. That's a empty house. I didn't think you +meant that house. There's nobody lives there. An' yit, now I come +to remember, I have seen people about, too. I tell ye what ye +better do. Since ye're so set on staying on this side the ridge, +ye better let me put ye down at Dan Carson's place. That's jist +about quarter of a mile from where Dutton used to live. Dan's wife +can tell ye all about the Duttons, an' about everybody else, too, +in this part o' the country, and if there aint nobody livin' at the +old tavern, ye can stay all night at Carson's, and I'll stop an' +take you back, to-morrow, when I come along." + +We agreed to this plan, for there was nothing better to be done, +and, late in the afternoon, we were set down with our small trunk-- +for we were traveling under light weight--at Dan Carson's door. +The stage was rather behind time, and the driver whipped up and +left us to settle our own affairs. He called back, however, that +he would keep a good lookout for us to-morrow. + +Mrs. Carson soon made her appearance, and, very naturally, was +somewhat surprised to see visitors with their baggage standing on +her little porch. She was a plain, coarsely dressed woman, with an +apron full of chips and kindling wood, and a fine mind for detail, +as we soon discovered. + +"Jist so," said she, putting down the chips, and inviting us to +seats on a bench. "Dave Dutton's folks is all moved away. Dave +has a good farm on the other side o' the mountain, an' it never did +pay him to keep that tavern, 'specially as he didn't sell liquor. +When he went away, his son Al come there to live with his wife, an' +the old man left a good deal o' furniter and things fur him, but +Al's wife aint satisfied here, and, though they've been here, off +an' on, the house is shet up most o' the time. It's fur sale an' +to rent, both, ef anybody wants it. I'm sorry about you, too, fur +it was a nice tavern, when Dave kept it." + +We admitted that we were also very sorry, and the kind-hearted +woman showed a great deal of sympathy. + +"You might stay here, but we haint got no fit room where you two +could sleep." + +At this, Euphemia and I looked very blank. "But you could go up to +the house and stay, jist as well as not," Mrs. Carson continued. +"There's plenty o' things there, an' I keep the key. For the +matter o' that, ye might take the house for as long as ye want to +stay; Dave 'd be glad enough to rent it; and, if the lady knows how +to keep house, it wouldn't be no trouble at all, jist for you two. +We could let ye have all the victuals ye'd want, cheap, and there's +plenty o' wood there, cut, and everything handy." + +We looked at each other. We agreed. Here was a chance for a rare +good time. It might be better, perhaps, than anything we had +expected. + +The bargain was struck. Mrs. Carson, who seemed vested with all +the necessary powers of attorney, appeared to be perfectly +satisfied with our trustworthiness, and when I paid on the spot the +small sum she thought proper for two weeks' rent, she evidently +considered she had done a very good thing for Dave Dutton and +herself. + +"I'll jist put some bread, an' eggs, an' coffee, an' pork, an' +things in a basket, an' I'll have 'em took up fur ye, with yer +trunk, an' I'll go with ye an' take some milk. Here, Danny!" she +cried, and directly her husband, a long, thin, sun-burnt, sandy- +headed man, appeared, and to him she told, in a few words, our +story, and ordered him to hitch up the cart and be ready to take +our trunk and the basket up to Dutton's old house. + +When all was ready, we walked up the hill, followed by Danny and +the cart. We found the house a large, low, old-fashioned farm- +house, standing near the road with a long piazza in front, and a +magnificent view of mountain-tops in the rear. Within, the lower +rooms were large and low, with quite a good deal of furniture in +them. There was no earthly reason why we should not be perfectly +jolly and comfortable here. The more we saw, the more delighted we +were at the odd experience we were about to have. Mrs. Carson +busied herself in getting things in order for our supper and +general accommodation. She made Danny carry our trunk to a bedroom +in the second story, and then set him to work building a fire in a +great fire-place, with a crane for the kettle. + +When she had done all she could, it was nearly dark, and after +lighting a couple of candles, she left us, to go home and get +supper for her own family. + +As she and Danny were about to depart in the cart, she ran back to +ask us if we would like to borrow a dog. + +"There aint nuthin to be afeard of," she said; "for nobody hardly +ever takes the trouble to lock the doors in these parts, but bein' +city folks, I thought ye might feel better if ye had a dog." + +We made haste to tell her that we were not city folks, but declined +the dog. Indeed, Euphemia remarked that she would be much more +afraid of a strange dog than of robbers. + +After supper, which we enjoyed as much as any meal we ever ate in +our lives, we each took a candle, and after arranging our bedroom +for the night, we explored the old house. There were lots of +curious things everywhere,--things that were apparently so "old +timey," as my wife remarked, that David Dutton did not care to take +them with him to his new farm, and so left them for his son, who +probably cared for them even less than his father did. There was a +garret extending over the whole house, and filled with old +spinning-wheels, and strings of onions, and all sorts of antiquated +bric-a-brac, which was so fascinating to me that I could scarcely +tear myself away from it; but Euphemia, who was dreadfully afraid +that I would set the whole place on fire, at length prevailed on me +to come down. + +We slept soundly that night, in what was probably the best bedroom +of the house, and awoke with a feeling that we were about to enter +on a period of some uncommon kind of jollity, which we found to be +true when we went down to get breakfast. I made the fire, Euphemia +made the coffee, and Mrs. Carson came with cream and some fresh +eggs. The good woman was in high spirits. She was evidently +pleased at the idea of having neighbors, temporary though they +were, and it had probably been a long time since she had had such a +chance of selling milk, eggs and sundries. It was almost the same +as opening a country store. We bought groceries and everything of +her. + +We had a glorious time that day. We were just starting out for a +mountain stroll when our stage-driver came along on his down trip. + +"Hello!" he called out. "Want to go back this morning?" + +"Not a bit of it," I cried. "We wont go back for a couple of +weeks. We've settled here for the present." + +The man smiled. He didn't seem to understand it exactly, but he +was evidently glad to see us so well satisfied. If he had had time +to stop and have the matter explained to him, he would probably +have been better satisfied; but as it was, he waved his whip to us +and drove on. He was a good fellow. + +We strolled all day, having locked up the house and taken our lunch +with us; and when we came back, it seemed really like coming home. +Mrs. Carson with whom we had left the key, had brought the milk and +was making the fire. This woman was too kind. We determined to +try and repay her in some way. After a splendid supper we went to +bed happy. + +The next day was a repetition of this one, but the day after it +rained. So we determined to enjoy the old tavern, and we rummaged +about everywhere. I visited the garret again, and we went to the +old barn, with its mows half full of hay, and had rare times +climbing about there. We were delighted that it happened to rain. +In a wood-shed, near the house, I saw a big square board with +letters on it. I examined the board, and found it was a sign,--a +hanging sign,--and on it was painted in letters that were yet quite +plain: + + + "FARMERS' + AND + MECHANICS' + HOTEL." + + +I called to Euphemia and told her that I had found the old tavern +sign. She came to look at it, and I pulled it out. + +"Soldiers and sailors!" she exclaimed; "that's funny." + +I looked over on her side of the sign, and, sure enough, there was +the inscription: + + + "SOLDIERS + AND + SAILORS' + HOUSE." + + +"They must have bought this comprehensive sign in some town," I +said. "Such a name would never have been chosen for a country +tavern like this. But I wish they hadn't taken it down. The house +would look more like what it ought to be with its sign hanging +before it." + +"Well, then," said Euphemia, "let's put it up." I agreed instantly +to this proposition, and we went to look for a ladder. We found +one in the wagon-house, and carried it out to the sign-post in the +front of the house. It was raining, gently, during these +performances, but we had on our old clothes, and were so much +interested in our work that we did not care for a little rain. I +carried the sign to the post, and then, at the imminent risk of +breaking my neck, I hung it on its appropriate hooks on the +transverse beam of the sign-post. Now our tavern was really what +it pretended to be. We gazed on the sign with admiration and +content. + +"Do you think we had better keep it up all the time?" I asked of my +wife. + +"Certainly," said she. "It's a part of the house. The place isn't +complete without it." + +"But suppose some one should come along and want to be +entertained?" + +"But no one will. And if people do come, I'll take care of the +soldiers and sailors, if you will attend to the farmers and +mechanics." + +I consented to this, and we went in-doors to prepare dinner. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +OUR TAVERN. + + +The next day was clear again, and we rambled in the woods until the +sun was nearly down, and so were late about supper. We were just +taking our seats at the table when we heard a footstep on the front +porch. Instantly the same thought came into each of our minds. + +"I do believe," said Euphemia, "that's somebody who has mistaken +this for a tavern. I wonder whether it's a soldier or a farmer or +a sailor; but you had better go and see." + +I went to see, prompted to move quickly by the new-comer pounding +his cane on the bare floor of the hall. I found him standing just +inside of the front door. He was a small man, with long hair and +beard, and dressed in a suit of clothes of a remarkable color,-- +something of the hue of faded snuff. He had a big stick, and +carried a large flat valise in one hand. + +He bowed to me very politely. + +"Can I stop here to-night?" he asked, taking off his hat, as my +wife put her head out of the kitchen-door. + +"Why,--no, sir," I said. "This is not a tavern." + +"Not a tavern!" he exclaimed. "I don't understand that. You have +a sign out." + +"That is true," I said; "but that is only for fun, so to speak. We +are here temporarily, and we put up that sign just to please +ourselves." + +"That is pretty poor fun for me," said the man. "I am very tired, +and more hungry than tired. Couldn't you let me have a little +supper at any rate?" + +Euphemia glanced at me. I nodded. + +"You are welcome to some supper," she said, "Come in! We eat in +the kitchen because it is more convenient, and because it is so +much more cheerful than the dining-room. There is a pump out +there, and here is a towel, if you would like to wash your hands." + +As the man went out the back door I complimented my wife. She was +really an admirable hostess. + +The individual in faded snuff-color was certainly hungry, and he +seemed to enjoy his supper. During the meal he gave us some +account of himself. He was an artist and had traveled, mostly on +foot it would appear, over a great part of the country. He had in +his valise some very pretty little colored sketches of scenes in +Mexico and California, which he showed us after supper. Why he +carried these pictures--which were done on stiff paper--about with +him I do not know. He said he did not care to sell them, as he +might use them for studies for larger pictures some day. His +valise, which he opened wide on the table, seemed to be filled with +papers, drawings, and matters of that kind. I suppose he preferred +to wear his clothes, instead of carrying them about in his valise. + +After sitting for about half an hour after supper, he rose, with an +uncertain sort of smile, and said he supposed he must be moving +on,--asking, at the same time, how far it was to the tavern over +the ridge. + +"Just wait one moment, if you please," said Euphemia. And she +beckoned me out of the room. + +"Don't you think," said she, "that we could keep him all night? +There's no moon, and it would be a fearful dark walk, I know, to +the other side of the mountain. There is a room upstairs that I +can fix for him in ten minutes, and I know he's honest." + +"How do you know it?" I asked. + +"Well, because he wears such curious-colored clothes. No criminal +would ever wear such clothes. He could never pass unnoticed +anywhere; and being probably the only person in the world who +dressed that way, he could always be detected." + +"You are doubtless correct," I replied. "Let us keep him." + +When we told the good man that he could stay all night, he was +extremely obliged to us, and went to bed quite early. After we had +fastened the house and had gone to our room, my wife said to me, + +"Where is your pistol?" + +I produced it. + +"Well," said she, "I think you ought to have it where you can get +at it." + +"Why so?" I asked. "You generally want me to keep it out of sight +and reach." + +"Yes; but when there is a strange man in the house we ought to take +extra precautions." + +"But this man you say is honest," I replied. "If he committed a +crime he could not escape,--his appearance is so peculiar." + +"But that wouldn't do us any good, if we were both murdered," said +Euphemia, pulling a chair up to my side of the bed, and laying the +pistol carefully thereon, with the muzzle toward the bed. + +We were not murdered, and we had a very pleasant breakfast with the +artist, who told us more anecdotes of his life in Mexico and other +places. When, after breakfast, he shut up his valise, preparatory +to starting away, we felt really sorry. When he was ready to go, +he asked for his bill. + +"Oh! There is no bill," I exclaimed. "We have no idea of charging +you anything. We don't really keep a hotel, as I told you." + +"If I had known that," said he, looking very grave, "I would not +have stayed. There is no reason why you should give me food and +lodgings, and I would not, and did not, ask it. I am able to pay +for such things, and I wish to do so." + +We argued with him for some time, speaking of the habits of country +people and so on, but he would not be convinced. He had asked for +accommodation expecting to pay for it, and would not be content +until he had done so. + +"Well," said Euphemia, "we are not keeping this house for profit, +and you can't force us to make anything out of you. If you will be +satisfied to pay us just what it cost us to entertain you, I +suppose we shall have to let you do that. Take a seat for a +minute, and I will make out your bill." + +So the artist and I sat down and talked of various matters, while +my wife got out her traveling stationery-box, and sat down to the +dining-table to make out the bill. After a long, long time, as it +appeared to me, I said: + +"My dear, if the amount of that bill is at all proportioned to the +length of time it takes to make it out, I think our friend here +will wish he had never said anything about it." + +"It's nearly done," said she, without raising her head, and, in +about ten or fifteen minutes more, she rose and presented the bill +to our guest. As I noticed that he seemed somewhat surprised at +it, I asked him to let me look over it with him. The bill, of +which I have a copy, read as follows: + + +July 12th, 187- + +ARTIST, + +To the S. and S. Hotel and F. and M. House. + +To 1/3 one supper, July 11th, which supper consisted of: + + 1/14 lb. coffee, at 35 cts. 2 cts. + + " " sugar, " 14 " 1 " + + 1/6 qt. milk, " 6 " 1 " + + 1/2 loaf bread " 6 " 3 " + + 1/8 lb. butter " 25 " 3 1/8 " + + 1/2 " bacon " 25 " 12 1/2 " + + 1/16 pk. potatoes at 60 cts. per bush 15/16 " + + 1/2 pt. hominy at 6 cts 3 " + -------- + 27 1/16 + + 1/3 of total 09 1/48 cts. + +To 1/3 one breakfast, July 12th (same as +above, with exception of eggs instead of +bacon, and with hominy omitted), + -------- + 24 1/6 + + 1/3 total 08 1/48 " + +To rent of one room and furniture, for one +night, in furnished house of fifteen rooms +at $6.00 per week for whole house 05 3/8 " + ------------ + Amount due 22 17/24 cts. + + +The worthy artist burst out laughing when he read this bill, and so +did I. + +"You needn't laugh," said Euphemia, reddening a little. "That is +exactly what your entertainment cost, and we do not intend to take +a cent more. We get things here in such small quantities that I +can tell quite easily what a meal costs us, and I have calculated +that bill very carefully." + +"So I should think, madam," said the artist, "but it is not quite +right. You have charged nothing for your trouble and services." + +"No," said my wife, "for I took no additional trouble to get your +meals. What I did, I should have done if you had not come. To be +sure I did spend a few minutes preparing your room. I will charge +you seven twenty-fourths of a cent for that, thus making your bill +twenty-three cents--even money." + +"I cannot gainsay reasoning like yours, madam," he said, and he +took a quarter from a very fat old pocket-book, and handed it to +her. She gravely gave him two cents change, and then taking the +bill, receipted it, and handed it back to him. + +We were sorry to part with our guest, for he was evidently a good +fellow. I walked with him a little way up the road, and got him to +let me copy his bill in my memorandum-book. The original, he said, +he would always keep. + +A day or two after the artist's departure, we were standing on the +front piazza. We had had a late breakfast--consequent upon a long +tramp the day before--and had come out to see what sort of a day it +was likely to be. We had hardly made up our minds on the subject +when the morning stage came up at full speed and stopped at our +gate. + +"Hello!" cried the driver. He was not our driver. He was a tall +man in high boots, and had a great reputation as a manager of +horses--so Danny Carson told me afterward. There were two drivers +on the line, and each of them made one trip a day, going up one day +in the afternoon, and down the next day in the morning. + +I went out to see what this driver wanted. + +"Can't you give my passengers breakfast?" he asked. + +"Why, no!" I exclaimed, looking at the stage loaded inside and out. +"This isn't a tavern. We couldn't get breakfast for a stage-load +of people." + +"What have you got a sign up fur, then?" roared the driver, getting +red in the face. + +"That's so," cried two or three men from the top of the stage. "If +it aint a tavern, what's that sign doin' there?" + +I saw I must do something. I stepped up close to the stage and +looked in and up. + +"Are there any sailors in this stage?" I said. There was no +response. "Any soldiers? Any farmers or mechanics?" + +At the latter question I trembled, but fortunately no one answered. + +"Then," said I, "you have no right to ask to be accommodated; for, +as you may see from the sign, our house is only for soldiers, +sailors, farmers, and mechanics." + +"And besides," cried Euphemia from the piazza, "we haven't anything +to give you for breakfast." + +The people in and on the stage grumbled a good deal at this, and +looked as if they were both disappointed and hungry, while the +driver ripped out an oath, which, had he thrown it across a creek, +would soon have made a good-sized millpond. + +He gathered up his reins and turned a sinister look on me. + +"I'll be even with you, yit," he cried as he dashed off. + +In the afternoon Mrs. Carson came up and told us that the stage had +stopped there, and that she had managed to give the passengers some +coffee, bread and butter and ham and eggs, though they had had to +wait their turns for cups and plates. It appeared that the driver +had quarreled with the Lowry people that morning because the +breakfast was behindhand and he was kept waiting. So he told his +passengers that there was another tavern, a few miles down the +road, and that he would take them there to breakfast. + +"He's an awful ugly man, that he is," said Mrs. Carson, "an' he'd +better 'a' stayed at Lowry's, fur he had to wait a good sight +longer, after all, as it turned out. But he's dreadful mad at you, +an' says he'll bring ye farmers, an' soldiers, and sailors, an' +mechanics, if that's what ye want. I 'spect he'll do his best to +git a load of them particular people an' drop 'em at yer door. I'd +take down that sign, ef I was you. Not that me an' Danny minds, +fur we're glad to git a stage to feed, an' ef you've any single man +that wants lodgin' we've fixed up a room and kin keep him +overnight." + +Notwithstanding this warning, Euphemia and I decided not to take in +our sign. We were not to be frightened by a stage-driver. The +next day our own driver passed us on the road as he was going down. + +"So ye're pertickler about the people ye take in, are ye?" said he, +smiling. "That's all right, but ye made Bill awful mad." + +It was quite late on a Monday afternoon that Bill stopped at our +house again. He did not call out this time. He simply drew up, +and a man with a big black valise clambered down from the top of +the stage. Then Bill shouted to me as I walked down to the gate, +looking rather angry I suppose: + +"I was agoin' to git ye a whole stage-load, to stay all night, but +that one'll do ye, I reckon. Ha, ha!" And off he went, probably +fearing that I would throw his passenger up on the top of the stage +again. + +The new-comer entered the gate. He was a dark man, with black hair +and black whiskers and mustache, and black eyes. He wore clothes +that had been black, but which were now toned down by a good deal +of dust, and, as I have said, he carried a black valise. + +"Why did you stop here?" said I, rather inhospitably. "Don't you +know that we do not accommodate--" + +"Yes, I know," he said, walking up on the piazza and setting down +his valise, "that you only take soldiers, sailors, farmers, and +mechanics at this house. I have been told all about it, and if I +had not thoroughly understood the matter I should not have thought +of such a thing as stopping here. If you will sit down for a few +moments I will explain." Saying this, he took a seat on a bench by +the door, but Euphemia and I continued to stand. + +"I am," he continued, "a soldier, a sailor, a farmer, and a +mechanic. Do not doubt my word; I will prove it to you in two +minutes. When but seventeen years of age, circumstances compelled +me to take charge of a farm in New Hampshire, and I kept up that +farm until I was twenty-five. During this time I built several +barns, wagon-houses, and edifices of the sort on my place, and, +becoming expert in this branch of mechanical art, I was much sought +after by the neighboring farmers, who employed me to do similar +work for them. In time I found this new business so profitable +that I gave up farming altogether. But certain unfortunate +speculations threw me on my back, and finally, having gone from bad +to worse, I found myself in Boston, where, in sheer desperation, I +went on board a coasting vessel as landsman. I remained on this +vessel for nearly a year, but it did not suit me. I was often +sick, and did not like the work. I left the vessel at one of the +Southern ports, and it was not long after she sailed that, finding +myself utterly without means, I enlisted as a soldier. I remained +in the army for some years, and was finally honorably discharged. +So you see that what I said was true. I belong to each and all of +these businesses and professions. And now that I have satisfied +you on this point, let me show you a book for which I have the +agency in this country." He stooped down, opened his valise, and +took out a good-sized volume. "This book," said he, "is the 'Flora +and Fauna of Carthage County;' it is written by one of the first +scientific men of the country, and gives you a description, with an +authentic wood-cut, of each of the plants and animals of the +county--indigenous or naturalized. Owing to peculiar advantages +enjoyed by our firm, we are enabled to put this book at the very +low price of three dollars and seventy-five cents. It is sold by +subscription only, and should be on the center-table in every +parlor in this county. If you will glance over this book, sir, you +will find it as interesting as a novel, and as useful as an +encyclopaedia--" + +"I don't want the book," I said, "and I don't care to look at it." + +"But if you were to look at it you would want it, I'm sure." + +"That's a good reason for not looking at it, then," I answered. +"If you came to get us to subscribe for that book we need not take +up any more of your time, for we shall not subscribe." + +"Oh, I did not come for that alone," he said. "I shall stay here +to-night and start out in the morning to work up the neighborhood. +If you would like this book--and I'm sure you have only to look at +it to do that--you can deduct the amount of my bill from the +subscription price, and--" + +"What did you say you charged for this book?" asked Euphemia, +stepping forward and picking up the volume. + +"Three seventy-five is the subscription price, ma'am, but that book +is not for sale. That is merely a sample. If you put your name +down on my list you will be served with your book in two weeks. As +I told your husband, it will come very cheap to you, because you +can deduct what you charge me for supper, lodging, and breakfast." + +"Indeed!" said my wife, and then she remarked that she must go in +the house and get supper. + +"When will supper be ready?" the man asked, as she passed him. + +At first she did not answer him, but then she called back: + +"In about half an hour." + +"Good," said the man; "but I wish it was ready now. And now, sir, +if you would just glance over this book, while we are waiting for +supper--" + +I cut him very short and went out into the road. I walked up and +down in front of the house, in a bad humor. I could not bear to +think of my wife getting supper for this fellow, who was striding +about on the piazza, as if he was very hungry and very impatient. +Just as I returned to the house, the bell rang from within. + +"Joyful sound!" said the man, and in he marched. I followed close +behind him. On one end of the table, in the kitchen, supper was +set for one person, and, as the man entered, Euphemia motioned him +to the table. The supper looked like a remarkably good one. A cup +of coffee smoked by the side of the plate; there was ham and eggs +and a small omelette; there were fried potatoes, some fresh +radishes, a plate of hot biscuit, and some preserves. The man's +eyes sparkled. + +"I am sorry," said he, "that I am to eat alone, for I hoped to have +your good company; but, if this plan suits you, it suits me," and +he drew up a chair. + +"Stop!" said Euphemia, advancing between him and the table. "You +are not to eat that. This is a sample supper. If you order a +supper like it, one will be served to you in two weeks." + +At this I burst into a roar of laughter; my wife stood pale and +determined, and the man drew back, looking first at one of us, and +then at the other. + +"Am I to understand--?" he said. + +"Yes," I interrupted, "you are. There is nothing more to be said +on this subject. You may go now. You came here to annoy us, +knowing that we did not entertain travelers, and now you see what +you have made by it," and I opened the door. + +The man evidently thought that a reply was not necessary, and he +walked out without a word. Taking up his valise, which he had put +in the hall, he asked if there was any public-house near by. + +"No," I said; "but there is a farm-house a short distance down the +road, where they will be glad to have you." And down the road he +went to Mrs. Carson's. I am sorry to say that he sold her a "Flora +and Fauna" before he went to bed that night. + +We were much amused at the termination of this affair, and I +became, if possible, a still greater admirer of Euphemia's talents +for management. But we both agreed that it would not do to keep up +the sign any longer. We could not tell when the irate driver might +not pounce down upon us with a customer. + +"But I hate to take it down," said Euphemia; "it looks so much like +a surrender." + +"Do not trouble yourself," said I. "I have an idea." + +The next morning I went down to Danny Carson's little shop,--he was +a wheelwright as well as a farmer,--and I got from him two pots of +paint--one black and one white--and some brushes. I took down our +sign, and painted out the old lettering, and, instead of it, I +painted, in bold and somewhat regular characters, new names for our +tavern. + +On one side of the sign I painted: + + + "SOAP-MAKER'S + AND + BOOK-BINDER'S + HOTEL." + + +And on the other side: + + + "UPHOLSTERERS' + AND + DENTISTS' + HOUSE." + + +"Now then," I said, "I don't believe any of those people will be +traveling along the road while we are here, or, at any rate, they +won't want to stop." + +We admired this sign very much, and sat on the piazza, that +afternoon, to see how it would strike Bill, as he passed by. It +seemed to strike him pretty hard, for he gazed with all his eyes at +one side of it, as he approached, and then, as he passed it, he +actually pulled up to read the other side. + +"All right!" he called out, as he drove off. "All right! All +right!" + +Euphemia didn't like the way he said "all right." It seemed to +her, she said, as if he intended to do something which would be all +right for him, but not at all so for us. I saw she was nervous +about it, for that evening she began to ask me questions about the +traveling propensities of soap-makers, upholsterers, and dentists. + +"Do not think anything more about that, my dear," I said. "I will +take the sign down in the morning. We are here to enjoy ourselves, +and not to be worried." + +"And yet," said she, "it would worry me to think that that driver +frightened us into taking down the sign. I tell you what I wish +you would do. Paint out those names, and let me make a sign. Then +I promise you I will not be worried." + +The next day, therefore, I took down the sign and painted out my +inscriptions. It was a good deal of trouble, for my letters were +fresh, but it was a rainy day, and I had plenty of time, and +succeeded tolerably well. Then I gave Euphemia the black-paint pot +and the freedom of the sign. + +I went down to the creek to try a little fishing in wet weather, +and when I returned the new sign was done. On one side it read: + + + FLIES' + AND + WASPS' + HOTEL. + + +On the other: + + + HUNDRED-LEGGERS' + AND + RED-ANTS' + HOUSE. + + +"You see," said euphemia, "if any individuals mentioned thereon +apply for accommodation, we can say we are full." + +This sign hung triumphantly for several days, when one morning, +just as we had finished breakfast, we were surprised to hear the +stage stop at the door, and before we could go out to see who had +arrived, into the room came our own stage-driver, as we used to +call him. He had actually left his team to come and see us. + +"I just thought I'd stop an' tell ye," said he, "that ef ye don't +look out, Bill'll get ye inter trouble. He's bound to git the best +o' ye, an' I heared this mornin', at Lowry's, that he's agoin' to +bring the county clerk up here to-morrow, to see about yer license +fur keepin' a hotel. He says ye keep changin' yer signs, but that +don't differ to him, for he kin prove ye've kept travelers +overnight, an' ef ye haven't got no license he'll make the county +clerk come down on ye heavy, I'm sure o' that, fur I know Bill. +An' so, I thought I'd stop an' tell ye." + +I thanked him, and admitted that this was a rather serious view of +the case. Euphemia pondered a moment. Then said she: + +"I don't see why we should stay here any longer. It's going to +rain again, and our vacation is up to-morrow, anyway. Could you +wait a little while, while we pack up?" she said to the driver. + +"Oh yes!" he replied. "I kin wait, as well as not. I've only got +one passenger, an' he's on top, a-holdin' the horses. He aint in +any hurry, I know, an' I'm ahead o' time." + +In less than twenty minutes we had packed our trunk, locked up the +house, and were in the stage, and, as we drove away, we cast a last +admiring look at Euphemia's sign, slowly swinging in the wind. I +would much like to know if it is swinging there yet. I feel +certain there has been no lack of custom. + +We stopped at Mrs. Carson's, paid her what we owed her, and engaged +her to go up to the tavern and put things in order. She was very +sorry we were going, but hoped we would come back again some other +summer. We said that it was quite possible that we might do so; +but that, next time, we did not think we would try to have a tavern +of our own. + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +THE BABY AT RUDDER GRANGE. + + +For some reason, not altogether understood by me, there seemed to +be a continued series of new developments at our home. I had +supposed, when the events spoken of in the last chapter had settled +down to their proper places in our little history, that our life +would flow on in an even, commonplace way, with few or no incidents +worthy of being recorded. But this did not prove to be the case. +After a time, the uniformity and quiet of our existence was +considerably disturbed. + +This disturbance was caused by a baby, not a rude, imperious baby, +but a child who was generally of a quiet and orderly turn of mind. +But it disarranged all our plans; all our habits; all the ordinary +disposition of things. + +It was in the summer-time, during my vacation, that it began to +exert its full influence upon us. A more unfortunate season could +not have been selected. At first, I may say that it did not exert +its full influence upon me. I was away, during the day, and, in +the evening, its influence was not exerted, to any great extent, +upon anybody. As I have said, its habits were exceedingly orderly. +But, during my vacation, the things came to pass which have made +this chapter necessary. + +I did not intend taking a trip. As in a former vacation, I +proposed staying at home and enjoying those delights of the country +which my business in town did not allow me to enjoy in the working +weeks and months of the year. I had no intention of camping out, +or of doing anything of that kind, but many were the trips, rides, +and excursions I had planned. + +I found, however, that if I enjoyed myself in this wise, I must do +it, for the most part, alone. It was not that Euphemia could not +go with me--there was really nothing to prevent--it was simply that +she had lost, for the time, her interest in everything except that +baby. + +She wanted me to be happy, to amuse myself, to take exercise, to do +whatever I thought was pleasant, but she, herself, was so much +engrossed with the child, that she was often ignorant of what I +intended to do, or had done. She thought she was listening to what +I said to her, but, in reality, she was occupied, mind and body, +with the baby, or listening for some sound which should indicate +that she ought to go and be occupied with it. + +I would often say to her: "Why can't you let Pomona attend to it? +You surely need not give up your whole time and your whole mind to +the child." + +But she would always answer that Pomona had a great many things to +do, and that she couldn't, at all times, attend to the baby. +Suppose, for instance, that she should be at the barn. + +I once suggested that a nurse should be procured, but at this she +laughed. + +"There is very little to do," she said, "and I really like to do +it." + +"Yes," said I, "but you spend so much of your time in thinking how +glad you will be to do that little, when it is to be done, that you +can't give me any attention, at all." + +"Now you have no cause to say that," she exclaimed. "You know very +well--, there!" and away she ran. It had just begun to cry! + +Naturally, I was getting tired of this. I could never begin a +sentence and feel sure that I would be allowed to finish it. +Nothing was important enough to delay attention to an infantile +whimper. + +Jonas, too, was in a state of unrest. He was obliged to wear his +good clothes, a great part of the time, for he was continually +going on errands to the village, and these errands were so +important that they took precedence of everything else. It gave me +a melancholy sort of pleasure, sometimes, to do Jonas's work when +he was thus sent away. + +I asked him, one day, how he liked it all? + +"Well," said he, reflectively, "I can't say as I understand it, +exactly. It does seem queer to me that such a little thing should +take up pretty nigh all the time of three people. I suppose, after +a while," this he said with a grave smile, "that you may be wanting +to turn in and help." I did not make any answer to this, for Jonas +was, at that moment, summoned to the house, but it gave me an idea. +In fact, it gave me two ideas. + +The first was that Jonas's remark was not entirely respectful. He +was my hired man, but he was a very respectable man, and an +American man, and therefore might sometimes be expected to say +things which a foreigner, not known to be respectable, would not +think of saying, if he wished to keep his place. The fact that +Jonas had always been very careful to treat me with much civility, +caused this remark to make more impression on me. I felt that he +had, in a measure, reason for it. + +The other idea was one which grew and developed in my mind until I +afterward formed a plan upon it. I determined, however, before I +carried out my plan, to again try to reason with Euphemia. + +"If it was our own baby," I said, "or even the child of one of us, +by a former marriage, it would be a different thing; but to give +yourself up so entirely to Pomona's baby, seems, to me, +unreasonable. Indeed, I never heard of any case exactly like it. +It is reversing all the usages of society for the mistress to take +care of the servant's baby." + +"The usages of society are not worth much, sometimes," said +Euphemia, "and you must remember that Pomona is a very different +kind of a person from an ordinary servant. She is much more like a +member of the family--I can't exactly explain what kind of a +member, but I understand it myself. She has very much improved +since she has been married, and you know, yourself, how quiet and-- +and, nice she is, and as for the baby, it's just as good and pretty +as any baby, and it may grow up to be better than any of us. Some +of our presidents have sprung from lowly parents." + +"But this one is a girl," I said. + +"Well then," replied Euphemia, "she may be a president's wife." + +"Another thing," I remarked, "I don't believe Jonas and Pomona like +your keeping their baby so much to yourself." + +"Nonsense!" said Euphemia, "a girl in Pomona's position couldn't +help being glad to have a lady take an interest in her baby, and +help bring it up. And as for Jonas, he would be a cruel man if he +wasn't pleased and grateful to have his wife relieved of so much +trouble. Pomona! is that you? You can bring it here, now, if you +want to get at your clear-starching." + +I don't believe that Pomona hankered after clear-starching, but she +brought the baby and I went away. I could not see any hope ahead. +Of course, in time, it would grow up, but then it couldn't grow up +during my vacation. + +Then it was that I determined to carry out my plan. + +I went to the stable and harnessed the horse to the little +carriage. Jonas was not there, and I had fallen out of the habit +of calling him. I drove slowly through the yard and out of the +gate. No one called to me or asked where I was going. How +different this was from the old times! Then, some one would not +have failed to know where I was going, and, in all probability, she +would have gone with me. But now I drove away, quietly and +undisturbed. + +About three miles from our house was a settlement known as New +Dublin. It was a cluster of poor and doleful houses, inhabited +entirely by Irish people, whose dirt and poverty seemed to make +them very contented and happy. The men were generally away, at +their work, during the day, but there was never any difficulty in +finding some one at home, no matter at what house one called. I +was acquainted with one of the matrons of this locality, a Mrs. +Duffy, who had occasionally undertaken some odd jobs at our house, +and to her I made a visit. + +She was glad to see me, and wiped off a chair for me. + +"Mrs. Duffy," said I, "I want to rent a baby." + +At first, the good woman could not understand me, but when I made +plain to her that I wished for a short time, to obtain the +exclusive use and control of a baby, for which I was willing to pay +a liberal rental, she burst into long and violent laughter. It +seemed to her like a person coming into the country to purchase +weeds. Weeds and children were so abundant in New Dublin. But she +gradually began to see that I was in earnest, and as she knew I was +a trusty person, and somewhat noted for the care I took of my live +stock, she was perfectly willing to accommodate me, but feared she +had nothing on hand of the age I desired. + +"Me childther are all agoin' about," she said. "Ye kin see a poile +uv 'em out yon, in the road, an' there's more uv 'em on the fince. +But ye nade have no fear about gittin' wan. There's sthacks of 'em +in the place. I'll jist run over to Mrs. Hogan's, wid ye. She's +got sixteen or siventeen, mostly small, for Hogan brought four or +five wid him when he married her, an' she'll be glad to rint wan uv +'em." So, throwing her apron over her head, she accompanied me to +Mrs. Hogan's. + +That lady was washing, but she cheerfully stopped her work while +Mrs. Duffy took her to one side and explained my errand. Mrs. +Hogan did not appear to be able to understand why I wanted a baby- +especially for so limited a period,--but probably concluded that if +I would take good care of it and would pay well for it, the matter +was my own affair, for she soon came and said, that if I wanted a +baby, I'd come to the right place. Then she began to consider what +one she would let me have. I insisted on a young one--there was +already a little baby at our house, and the folks there would know +how to manage it. + +"Oh, ye want it fer coompany for the ither one, is that it?" said +Mrs. Hogan, a new light breaking in upon her. "An' that's a good +plan, sure. It must be dridful lownly in a house wid ownly wan +baby. Now there's one--Polly--would she do?" + +"Why, she can run," I said. "I don't want one that can run." + +"Oh, dear!" said Mrs. Hogan, with a sigh, "they all begin to run, +very airly. Now Polly isn't owld, at all, at all." + +"I can see that," said I, "but I want one that you can put in a +cradle--one that will have to stay there, when you put it in." + +It was plain that Mrs. Hogan's present stock did not contain +exactly what I wanted, and directly Mrs. Duffy exclaimed! "There's +Mary McCann--an' roight across the way!" + +Mrs. Hogan said "Yis, sure," and we all went over to a little +house, opposite. + +"Now, thin," said Mrs. Duffy, entering the house, and proudly +drawing a small coverlid from a little box-bed in a corner, "what +do you think of that?" + +"Why, there are two of them," I exclaimed. + +"To be sure," said Mrs. Duffy. "They're tweens. There's always +two uv em, when they're tweens. An' they're young enough." + +"Yes," said I, doubtfully, "but I couldn't take both. Do you think +their mother would rent one of them?" + +The women shook their heads. "Ye see, sir," said Mrs. Hogan, "Mary +McCann isn't here, bein' gone out to a wash, but she ownly has four +or foive childther, an' she aint much used to 'em yit, an' I kin +spake fer her that she'd niver siparate a pair o' tweens. When she +gits a dozen hersilf, and marries a widow jintleman wid a lot uv +his own, she'll be glad enough to be lettin' ye have yer pick, to +take wan uv 'em fer coompany to yer own baby, at foive dollars a +week. Moind that." + +I visited several houses after this, still in company with Mrs. +Hogan and Mrs. Duffy, and finally secured a youngish infant, who, +having been left motherless, had become what Mrs. Duffy called a +"bottle-baby," and was in charge of a neighboring aunt. It seemed +strange that this child, so eminently adapted to purposes of +rental, was not offered to me, at first, but I suppose the Irish +ladies, who had the matter in charge, wanted to benefit themselves, +or some of their near friends, before giving the general public of +New Dublin a chance. + +The child suited me very well, and I agreed to take it for as many +days as I might happen to want it, but to pay by the week, in +advance. It was a boy, with a suggestion of orange-red bloom all +over its head, and what looked, to me, like freckles on its cheeks; +while its little nose turned up, even more than those of babies +generally turn--above a very long upper lip. His eyes were blue +and twinkling, and he had the very mouth "fer a leetle poipe," as +Mrs. Hogan admiringly remarked. + +He was hastily prepared for his trip, and when I had arranged the +necessary business matters with his aunt, and had assured her that +she could come to see him whenever she liked, I got into the +carriage, and having spread the lap-robe over my knees, the baby, +carefully wrapped in a little shawl, was laid in my lap. Then his +bottle, freshly filled, for he might need a drink on the way, was +tucked between the cushions on the seat beside me, and taking the +lines in my left hand, while I steadied my charge with the other, I +prepared to drive away. + +"What's his name?" I asked. + +"It's Pat," said his aunt, "afther his dad, who's away in the +moines." + +"But ye kin call him onything ye bike," Mrs. Duffy remarked, "fer +he don't ansther to his name yit." + +"Pat will do very well," I said, as I bade the good women farewell, +and carefully guided the horse through the swarms of youngsters who +had gathered around the carriage. + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +THE OTHER BABY AT RUDDER GRANGE. + + +I drove slowly home, and little Pat lay very quiet, looking up +steadily at me with his twinkling blue eyes. For a time, +everything went very well, but happening to look up, I saw in the +distance a carriage approaching. It was an open barouche, and I +knew it belonged to a family of our acquaintance, in the village, +and that it usually contained ladies. + +Quick as thought, I rolled up Pat in his shawl and stuffed him +under the seat. Then rearranging the lap-robe over my knees, I +drove on, trembling a little, it is true. + +As I supposed, the carriage contained ladies, and I knew them all. +The coachman instinctively drew up, as we approached. We always +stopped and spoke, on such occasions. + +They asked me after my wife, apparently surprised to see me alone, +and made a number of pleasant observations, to all of which I +replied with as unconcerned and easy an air as I could assume. The +ladies were in excellent spirits, but in spite of this, there +seemed to be an air of repression about them, which I thought of +when I drove on, but could not account for, for little Pat never +moved or whimpered, during the whole of the interview. + +But when I took him again in my lap, and happened to turn, as I +arranged the robe, I saw his bottle sticking up boldly by my side +from between the cushions. Then I did not wonder at the +repression. + +When I reached home, I drove directly to the barn. Fortunately, +Jonas was there. When I called him and handed little Pat to him I +never saw a man more utterly amazed. He stood, and held the child +without a word. But when I explained the whole affair to him, he +comprehended it perfectly, and was delighted. I think he was just +as anxious for my plan to work as I was myself, although he did not +say so. + +I was about to take the child into the house, when Jonas remarked +that it was barefooted. + +"That won't do," I said. "It certainly had socks on, when I got +it. I saw them." + +"Here they are," said Jonas, fishing them out from the shawl, "he's +kicked them off." + +"Well, we must put them on," I said, "it won't do to take him in, +that way. You hold him." + +So Jonas sat down on the feed-box, and carefully taking little Pat, +he held him horizontally, firmly pressed between his hands and +knees, with his feet stuck out toward me, while I knelt down before +him and tried to put on the little socks. But the socks were knit +or worked very loosely, and there seemed to be a good many small +holes in them, so that Pat's funny little toes, which he kept +curling up and uncurling, were continually making their appearance +in unexpected places through the sock. But, after a great deal of +trouble, I got them both on, with the heels in about the right +places. + +"Now they ought to be tied on," I said, "Where are his garters?" + +"I don't believe babies have garters," said Jonas, doubtfully, "but +I could rig him up a pair." + +"No," said I; "we wont take the time for that. I'll hold his legs +apart, as I carry him in. It's rubbing his feet together that gets +them off." + +As I passed the kitchen window, I saw Pomona at work. She looked +at me, dropped something, and I heard a crash. I don't know how +much that crash cost me. Jonas rushed in to tell Pomona about it, +and in a moment I heard a scream of laughter. At this, Euphemia +appeared at an upper window, with her hand raised and saying, +severely: "Hush-h!" But the moment she saw me, she disappeared +from the window and came down-stairs on the run. She met me, just +as I entered the dining-room. + +"What IN the world!" she breathlessly exclaimed. + +"This," said I, taking Pat into a better position in my arms, "is +my baby." + +"Your--baby!" said Euphemia. "Where did you get it? what are you +going to do with it?" + +"I got it in New Dublin," I replied, "and I want it to amuse and +occupy me while I am at home. I haven't anything else to do, +except things that take me away from you." + +"Oh!" said Euphemia. + +At this moment, little Pat gave his first whimper. Perhaps he felt +the searching glance that fell upon him from the lady in the middle +of the room. + +I immediately began to walk up and down the floor with him, and to +sing to him. I did not know any infant music, but I felt sure that +a soothing tune was the great requisite, and that the words were of +small importance. So I started on an old Methodist tune, which I +remembered very well, and which was used with the hymn containing +the lines: + + + "Weak and wounded, sick and sore," + + +and I sang, as soothingly as I could: + + + "Lit-tle Pat-sy, Wat-sy, Sat-sy, + Does he feel a lit-ty bad? + Me will send and get his bot-tle + He sha'n't have to cry-wy-wy." + + +"What an idiot!" said Euphemia, laughing in spite of her vexation. + + + "No, we aint no id-i-otses + What we want's a bot-ty mik." + + +So I sang as I walked to the kitchen door, and sent Jonas to the +barn for the bottle. + +Pomona was in spasms of laughter in the kitchen, and Euphemia was +trying her best not to laugh at all. + +"Who's going to take care of it, I'd like to know?" she said, as +soon as she could get herself into a state of severe inquiry. + + + "Some-times me, and some-times Jonas," + + +I sang, still walking up and down the room with a long, slow step, +swinging the baby from side to side, very much as if it were grass- +seed in a sieve, and I were sowing it over the carpet. + +When the bottle came, I took it, and began to feed little Pat. +Perhaps the presence of a critical and interested audience +embarrassed us, for Jonas and Pomona were at the door, with +streaming eyes, while Euphemia stood with her handkerchief to the +lower part of her face, or it may have been that I did not +understand the management of bottles, but, at any rate, I could not +make the thing work, and the disappointed little Pat began to cry, +just as the whole of our audience burst into a wild roar of +laughter. + +"Here! Give me that child!" cried Euphemia, forcibly taking Pat +and the bottle from me. "You'll make it swallow the whole affair, +and I'm sure its mouth's big enough." + +"You really don't think," she said, when we were alone, and little +Pat, with his upturned blue eyes serenely surveying the features of +the good lady who knew how to feed him, was placidly pulling away +at his india-rubber tube, "that I will consent to your keeping such +a creature as this in the house? Why, he's a regular little Paddy! +If you kept him he'd grow up into a hod-carrier." + +"Good!" said I. "I never thought of that. What a novel thing it +would be to witness the gradual growth of a hod-carrier! I'll make +him a little hod, now, to begin with. He couldn't have a more +suitable toy." + +"I was talking in earnest," she said. "Take your baby, and please +carry him home as quick as you can, for I am certainly not going to +take care of him." + +"Of course not," said I. "Now that I see how it's done, I'm going +to do it myself. Jonas will mix his feed and I will give it to +him. He looks sleepy now. Shall I take him upstairs and lay him +on our bed?" + +"No, indeed," cried Euphemia. "You can put him on a quilt on the +floor, until after luncheon, and then you must take him home." + +I laid the young Milesian on the folded quilt which Euphemia +prepared for him, where he turned up his little pug nose to the +ceiling and went contentedly to sleep. + +That afternoon I nailed four legs on a small packing-box and made a +bedstead for him. This, with a pillow in the bottom of it, was +very comfortable, and instead of taking him home, I borrowed, in +the evening, some baby night-clothes from Pomona, and set about +preparing Pat for the night. + +This Euphemia would not allow, but silently taking him from me, she +put him to bed. + +"To-morrow," she said, "you must positively take him away. I wont +stand it. And in our room, too." + +"I didn't talk in that way about the baby you adopted," I said. + +To this she made no answer, but went away to attend, as usual, to +Pomona's baby, while its mother washed the dishes. + +That night little Pat woke up, several times, and made things +unpleasant by his wails. On the first two occasions, I got up and +walked him about, singing impromptu lines to the tune of "weak and +wounded," but the third time, Euphemia herself arose, and declaring +that that doleful tune was a great deal worse than the baby's +crying, silenced him herself, and arranging his couch more +comfortably, he troubled us no more. + +In the morning, when I beheld the little pad of orange fur in the +box, my heart almost misgave me, but as the day wore on, my courage +rose again, and I gave myself up, almost entirely, to my new +charge, composing a vast deal of blank verse, while walking him up +and down the house. + +Euphemia scolded and scolded, and said she would put on her hat and +go for the mother. But I told her the mother was dead, and that +seemed to be an obstacle. She took a good deal of care of the +child, for she said she would not see an innocent creature +neglected, even if it was an incipient hod-carrier, but she did not +relax in the least in her attention to Pomona's baby. + +The next day was about the same, in regard to infantile incident, +but, on the day after, I began to tire of my new charge, and Pat, +on his side, seemed to be tired of me, for he turned from me when I +went to take him up, while he would hold out his hands to Euphemia, +and grin delightedly when she took him. + +That morning I drove to the village and spent an hour or two there. +On my return I found Euphemia sitting in our room, with little Pat +on her lap. I was astonished at the change in the young rascal. +He was dressed, from head to foot, in a suit of clothes belonging +to Pomona's baby; the glowing fuzz on his head was brushed and made +as smooth as possible, while his little muslin sleeves were tied up +with blue ribbon. + +I stood speechless at the sight. + +"Don't he look nice?" said Euphemia, standing him up on her knees. +"It shows what good clothes will do. I'm glad I helped Pomona make +up so many. He's getting ever so fond of me, ze itty Patsy, watsy! +See how strong he is! He can almost stand on his legs! Look how +he laughs! He's just as cunning as he can be. And oh! I was going +to speak about that box. I wouldn't have him sleep in that old +packing-box. There are little wicker cradles at the store--I saw +them last week--they don't cost much, and you could bring one up in +the carriage. There's the other baby, crying, and I don't know +where Pomona is. Just you mind him a minute, please!" and out she +ran. + +I looked out of the window. The horse still stood harnessed to the +carriage, as I had left him. I saw Pat's old shawl lying in a +corner. I seized it, and rolling him in it, new clothes and all, I +hurried down-stairs, climbed into the carriage, hastily disposed +Pat in my lap, and turned the horse. The demeanor of the youngster +was very different from what it was when I first took him in my lap +to drive away with him. There was no confiding twinkle in his eye, +no contented munching of his little fists. He gazed up at me with +wild alarm, and as I drove out of the gate, he burst forth into +such a yell that Lord Edward came bounding around the house to see +what was the matter. Euphemia suddenly appeared at an upper window +and called out to me, but I did not hear what she said. I whipped +up the horse and we sped along to New Dublin. Pat soon stopped +crying, but he looked at me with a tear-stained and reproachful +visage. + +The good women of the settlement were surprised to see little Pat +return so soon. + +"An' wasn't he good?" said Mrs. Hogan as she took him from my +hands. + +"Oh, yes!" I said. "He was as good as he could be. But I have no +further need of him." + +I might have been called upon to explain this statement, had not +the whole party of women, who stood around burst into wild +expressions of delight at Pat's beautiful clothes. + +"Oh! jist look at 'em!" cried Mrs. Duffy. "An' see thim leetle +pittycoots, thrimmed wid lace! Oh, an' it was good in ye, sir, to +give him all thim, an' pay the foive dollars, too." + +"An' I'm glad he's back," said the fostering aunt, "for I was a +coomin' over to till ye that I've been hearin' from owle Pat, his +dad, an' he's a coomin' back from the moines, and I don't know what +he'd a' said if he'd found his leetle Pat was rinted. But if ye +iver want to borry him, for a whoile, after owle Pat's gone back, +ye kin have him, rint-free; an' it's much obloiged I am to ye, sir, +fur dressin' him so foine." + +I made no encouraging remarks as to future transactions in this +line, and drove slowly home. + +Euphemia met me at the door. She had Pomona's baby in her arms. +We walked together into the parlor. + +"And so you have given up the little fellow that you were going to +do so much for?" she said. + +"Yes, I have given him up," I answered. + +"It must have been a dreadful trial to you," she continued. + +"Oh, dreadful!" I replied. + +"I suppose you thought he would take up so much of your time and +thoughts, that we couldn't be to each other what we used to be, +didn't you?" she said. + +"Not exactly," I replied. "I only thought that things promised to +be twice as bad as they were before." + +She made no answer to this, but going to the back door of the +parlor she opened it and called Pomona. When that young woman +appeared, Euphemia stepped toward her and said: "Here, Pomona, take +your baby." + +They were simple words, but they were spoken in such a way that +they meant a good deal. Pomona knew what they meant. Her eyes +sparkled, and as she went out, I saw her hug her child to her +breast, and cover it with kisses, and then, through the window, I +could see her running to the barn and Jonas. + +"Now, then," said Euphemia, closing the door and coming toward me, +with one of her old smiles, and not a trace of preoccupation about +her, "I suppose you expect me to devote myself to you." + +I did expect it, and I was not mistaken. + + +Since these events, a third baby has come to Rudder Grange. It is +not Pomona's, nor was it brought from New Dublin. It is named +after a little one, who died very young, before this story was +begun, and the strangest thing about it is that never, for a +moment, does it seem to come between Euphemia and myself. + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext Rudder Grange, by Frank R. Stockton + diff --git a/old/rgrng10.zip b/old/rgrng10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3eb5eb0 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/rgrng10.zip |