IN A 
 DIKE 
 SHANTY 
 
 MARIA 
 
 LOUISE 
 
 POOL 
 
 I^RBBBB 
 
 f^^m 
 
 'jT/li 
 
 Hfl

 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 UNIT. OF CALIF. LIBRARY. MW
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 By 
 Maria Louise Pool 
 
 Author of " Friendship and Folly," etc. 
 
 Boston 
 L. C. Page and Company 
 
 (Incorporated) 
 1898
 
 Copyright, 1896 
 BY STONE AND KIMBALL 
 
 JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
 
 TO 
 
 CAROLINE M. BRANSON, 
 
 MY PARTNER AND FRIEND IN THE DIKE LAND, 
 THE DIKE DAYS, AND ALL DAYS, 
 
 I DEDICATE 
 THIS RECORD OF A HAPPY SUMMER. 
 
 21121.80
 
 Contents 
 
 I. 
 
 A BAFFLING BlT OF PROPERTY Page J 
 
 II. 
 
 TRYING TO GET THERE 
 
 18 
 
 III. 
 
 WE GET THERE 
 
 28 
 
 IV. 
 
 ORLANDO AND OZIAS 
 
 50 
 
 V. 
 
 MOWING THE DIKE 
 
 59 
 
 VI. 
 
 AT MAR BAKER'S 
 
 7i 
 
 VII. 
 
 AN ORDER FOR BUMONGE 
 
 84 
 
 VIII. 
 
 IT JELLS 
 
 94 
 
 IX. 
 
 A LETTER AND A NERVE ATTACK 
 
 105 
 
 X. 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF JOEL 
 
 122 
 
 XI. 
 
 HELPING MRS. BURNS WATCH 
 
 135 
 
 XII. 
 
 STOWING HAY WITH OZIAS 
 
 I 5 2 
 
 XIII. 
 
 THE REBELLION OF JULY'S YOUNG 
 
 
 
 MAN 
 
 I6 7 
 
 XIV. 
 
 A PIECE OF Music 
 
 I 79 
 
 XV. 
 
 A COOT STEW 
 
 191 
 
 XVI. 
 
 AN AFTER DINNER EPISODE 
 
 209 
 
 XVII. 
 
 POOR RODGE 
 
 219
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 I 
 
 A BAFFLING BIT OF PROPERTY 
 
 WE have come into possession of ninety -five 
 acres, " more or less," of dike land, 
 commonly mentioned simply as "dike." We 
 did not buy it, and no one was so malicious as 
 to leave it to us by will. We have taken it 
 for debt. Now that we have it people seem to 
 blame us as well as pity us ; and yet we had 
 to take this or nothing. A person living within 
 sight of our shanty told us yesterday that the 
 general opinion in the outlying community was 
 that no one but a cursed fool would have taken 
 that kind of property for debt ; and that, as for 
 its being that or nothing, it might better by a 
 7
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 " darned sight be nothin'." But we, in our 
 ignorance, had an idea that any kind of property 
 was better than no kind of property. It seems 
 we were mistaken. It is too late, now, how- 
 ever, for any regrets. We have gone on to the 
 land in the company of two witnesses, and have 
 " hereby taken possession," etc. and have the 
 legal papers to show for it ; also we have begun 
 to pay taxes ; and taxes, every one assures us, 
 " is the only thing the land '11 ever amount to ; " 
 every man we meet is advising, and condoling 
 with us. Some of them take the fact solemnly ; 
 others begin to laugh when they see us, and 
 they ask what are the dividends from the dike. 
 All this has begun to raise in me a spirit of 
 combativeness which may end in my adoring 
 this new acquisition, which lies in the town of 
 Marshfield, on the seacoast of Massachusetts. It 
 is, in fact, land reclaimed from the sea by a dike 
 built to prevent the tide from coming in across 
 the stretch of flat lying there. There is a great 
 deal of flat in this town, and some of it is now 
 protected in this way. 
 
 If we could afford to look at our new real 
 estate merely in the light of its picturesqueness we 
 8
 
 A Baffling Bit of Property 
 
 should be fortunate mortals. If you drive over 
 Marshfield hills in early spring when the faint 
 hue of life is coming redly to the tree twigs, 
 and in a sort of green grayness to the great salt 
 meadows, you will feel your heart drawn in a 
 strange way to the very solitude. You may see 
 a dog coursing along over the dead grass, or a 
 bird flying above it. You will not be likely 
 to see a human being. You will hear, just 
 beyond the sand hills, the rush of the ocean as 
 the tide rises. When you are down on the flats 
 you cannot see the ocean. But, though it is not 
 visible, you feel intimately near it, and it con- 
 trols you in a blind, mysterious way. Now 
 that this ninety-five acre tract is ours, we are 
 going to think only of its scenic and atmospheric 
 possibilities. 
 
 One man, who seemed to have more of a spirit 
 of fairness within him, told us it was so rich 
 the land he meant that 'twould n't need no 
 manure for years. 'Twas unaccountable how 
 rich it was. "But then," he added, reflec- 
 tively, "it don't make no odds, fur 's I know, 
 if 't is rich. You can't do nothin' with it. If 
 you lived over to the Brant, now, and could 
 9
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 work it somehow. But not livin' to the Brant, 
 and bein' women " here he paused. 
 
 We said it was possible to overcome the first 
 objection, and live at the Brant, but how could 
 we help being women ? 
 
 He looked sadly at us and shook his head. 
 He said that there bein' dikes, he s' posed it 
 follered that somebody must own 'em, but he 
 did think it was agin natur for 'em to be 
 owned by women. 
 
 This same man informed us that there was a 
 good crop of hay there every year, but it cost a 
 thunderin' sight to git it ; still 
 
 Here he paused, and I began to suspect he 
 was paving the way by this talk to the making 
 of a low offer for " standing grass " on the 
 dike. And so it turned out, for he held on to 
 our buggy shaft until he had delivered himself 
 of a bid for the grass, qualifying his bid by the 
 repetition of the remark that " it would cost 
 about as much as the grass was wuth to git it." 
 
 Time was when we would have closed im- 
 mediately with this offer and congratulated our- 
 selves that we were rid of that, bother, for one 
 year at least. Now we answered we would 
 10
 
 A Baffling Bit of Property 
 
 think of it, and let him know ; and we were 
 revived in spirit at sight of his crest-fallen face 
 as he heard us. 
 
 "Depend upon it," said my friend as we 
 drove away, "that grass is worth getting. 
 What if we should get it ourselves ? " 
 
 The idea was too startling to be embraced 
 directly, but it remained in our minds, slowly 
 leavening, in the weeks that followed. We 
 have talked over in secret the possibility of our 
 getting in that crop and thus knowing positively 
 the amount of it, and having some idea of 
 what this estate is. But thus far we have been 
 too timid to come to a decision. It is barely 
 summer yet, and we have time in which to 
 reach a resolve. Still we must make up our 
 minds in season to sell before it is too late. 
 Considering that " it costs as much 's it 's wuth " 
 to git that grass it is surprising that so many 
 farmers in the vicinity have made inquiries of 
 us. They are unanimous in opinion as to the 
 fearful expense of getting that grass. They will 
 be bankrupt by just getting it, therefore we, of 
 course, cannot think of charging much for the 
 grass as it stands. 
 
 il
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 For a month past my friend and I have talked 
 and dreamed of nothing but standing grass. Be- 
 fore the green blades were hardly visible we 
 have had them grown and cut and dried. We 
 have sold the crop ; and we have made it ; we 
 have done it all dozens of times. As I walk 
 about among my friends and converse on differ- 
 ent subjects, I hardly know what to say, for my 
 heart is afar, not in the Highlands by any means, 
 but in land so low it has to be protected from 
 the ravages of the sea. When they tell me 
 things concerning subjects in which I used to 
 be interested, I am alarmed at the indifference 
 I feel. I tell myself that these things have no 
 bearing on grass or dike lands, consequently 
 they are nothing to me. Sometimes I fancy 
 my acquaintances look at me in ill-veiled sur- 
 prise and wonder, but I cannot say to them that 
 I am thinking of the dike. If I did say that 
 they would have a still worse look on their faces. 
 Society is not as attractive to me as formerly, for 
 when I am in the midst of laughter and conver- 
 sation I cannot think clearly on my favorite 
 subject. And somebody must think clearly on 
 it. My friend and partner takes this far more 
 
 12
 
 A Baffling Bit of Property 
 
 lightly than I do. When I remonstrate with 
 her on account of her frivolity she says that one 
 monomaniac is enough, and she informed me 
 that, only the day before, when our minister 
 was calling upon us and had expressed his sorrow 
 for the death of Matthew Arnold, I asked him 
 if he thought Mr. Arnold had ever owned dike 
 lands, and if such had been the case, whether 
 such ownership would have made any difference 
 in his poetry. 
 
 Now I do not believe I ever made any such 
 remark. Should I not remember it if I had 
 done so ? Though she asserts that I said that, 
 and that the minister grew pale with apprehen- 
 sion as he heard, I think my friend has imagined 
 this. But I will acknowledge that I was, 
 mentally, in Marshfield during that call, and 
 that, while the gentleman was talking, I made 
 an accurate estimate of how much hay there 
 ought to be to an acre. 
 
 There is another drawback to this new 
 property of ours, which I have hesitated to 
 mention. 
 
 You cannot get to it; at least, you almost can- 
 not. The way to it, though there are few 
 13
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 turns, is yet as balking and bewildering as if you 
 were essaying to traverse a labyrinth without the 
 guiding thread. 
 
 It is all easy enough until you get within a 
 few miles, then you begin to be baffled. 
 
 We have been down four times this spring. 
 It is fifteen miles away from our home, and the 
 first three quarters of the distance we tell our- 
 selves that we shall have no trouble this time. 
 As we near ths spot and the air begins to grow 
 salt, we begin to be conscious of a little uncer- 
 tainty. We hate to inquire the way for two 
 reasons. The first is that when we do make 
 inquiries, before any reply is given, we are asked 
 if we are the two women that own some of the 
 dike down here. Then truth compels us to 
 say yes, and we are gazed at as curiosities that 
 are not often seen and which must be made the 
 most of while visible. On the repeating of our 
 question some directions are given which mostly 
 depend on whether certain bars are down, or 
 gates open somewhere. As we are not yet 
 familiar with the country hereabouts, we can- 
 not keep these directions clearly in mind, and 
 soon have to beg again for information, and 
 H
 
 A Baffling Bit of Property 
 
 again acknowledge that we are the women who 
 own ninety-five acres of dike. 
 
 It is very singular that each time we have 
 driven down to the shore we have somehow 
 come within sight of our land and driven around 
 here and there, but for a long time could not 
 find any way to get to it, though there it lay, 
 vast, flat, and bewitching before us, and giving 
 the impression that we could drive right over 
 to it. But how ? Whenever we made any 
 nearer approach we had but to come back and 
 look. Half a dozen narrow cart tracks wound 
 toward it, but we could not get to a single one 
 of them. It was maddening. There was the 
 flat and there was the big barn on it, and the 
 small shanty where the haymakers lived when 
 they came down to make hay and store it. All 
 these belonged to us, and we were shut from 
 them. 
 
 The last time of our visit, which was three 
 days ago, we were standing by our horse's head 
 ready to weep or swear with vexation that we 
 could not learn the way to the dike, and con- 
 templating the making a gap in the wall in front 
 of us, when a man came along riding on top of 
 15
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 a load of dripping kelp. Seeing our forlorn 
 condition he pulled up his horse and looked 
 intently at us. We returned his gaze, anxious 
 at first regarding the future health of a man who 
 could sit on dampness like that. We were 
 presently relieved to see that he had a rubber 
 blanket spread over the place on the wet kelp 
 where he was sitting. 
 
 "Up a stump, ain't ye?" he asked sympa- 
 thetically, at last. 
 
 " Yes, I think it is a stump we are up," said 
 my friend. 
 
 "Can't I help ye any?" 
 
 "No one," said she, "seems able to make 
 us know how to get to that flat there. This 
 is the fourth time we 've been here, and we 
 don't know any more than we did at first." 
 
 "I declare, you're in a kind of a fix, ain't 
 ye ? " 
 
 As the man said this he clambered down from 
 his load and came toward us, a long flapping 
 piece of kelp attached to his over-all leg, and 
 dripping brine as he walked. 
 
 At first, as he approached, he tried to occupy 
 himself by a pretended attempt to remove this 
 16
 
 A Baffling Bit of Property 
 
 ocean vegetable, but it twisted and clung like 
 a serpent. He said some folks did n't like the 
 smell er kelp, but such folks was mostly them as 
 wasn't used to it. For his part he liked the 
 smell of everything that was good for the land. 
 He did not appear to realize what a broad asser- 
 tion he was making, or where it might lead 
 him. At last he held the slippery, pulpy stuff 
 by the round place which I will unbotanically 
 call the handle. He now stood near us, and 
 we must have made an interesting group, the 
 feminine part gazing off at the flats, the mas- 
 culine part gazing with keenest curiosity at the 
 feminine part.
 
 II 
 
 TRYING TO GET THERE 
 
 " T DO declare," he exclaimed after awhile, 
 
 * " you must be them women that owns 
 some er that dike." 
 
 Again we acknowledged our identity, and 
 waited further developments, for we knew very 
 well it would avail us nothing to try to hurry 
 this stranger so that we might gain the sooner 
 any knowledge of how to reach our promised land. 
 
 When we had answered him in the affirma- 
 tive, his face brightened a good deal. He ex- 
 plained this brightening by remarking that he 
 had heard consid'ble about us, and he had been 
 curious to see us ever sence we had took posses- 
 sion. Wall, now, did we expect to make a 
 good thing out of it ? We said we hardly knew 
 what we did expect, but our principal wish just 
 now was to learn how to get there. 
 
 He took no notice of this hint for him to give 
 us directions. He was reflectively drawing his 
 18
 
 Trying to Get There 
 
 long sea-weed through his fingers, with his 
 eyes fixed on us. He told us it was the richest 
 land, he s' posed, there was anywhere in the 
 State, and he didn't care where the next piece 
 was. He knew the man that owned next to 
 us, and he had put out strawberries, and the 
 size of them berries was beyond what he ex- 
 pected anybody to believe that had not seen um. 
 But he had seen um, and seein* was believin', 
 even about the dike. The dike did n't need 
 no manure, and would n't need none for years 
 to come. 
 
 "Took it for debt, didn't you?" he in- 
 quired with sudden directness. 
 
 Yes, we took it for debt. 
 
 " Ninety-five acres, they say ? " We nodded, 
 and he said he had guessed it must be that part 
 which used to belong to the old Jo Tilden prop- 
 erty. He then repeated his assertion that it 
 would n't need no manure for one five years, 
 he was sure of that. 
 
 My friend said gravely that if there was one 
 thing for which she felt thankful, it was for the 
 unanimity of the opinion about manure. 
 
 The man looked at her solemnly for a 
 '9
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 moment after she had thus remarked, then he 
 laughed, and a very merry twinkle came into 
 his eyes as he did so. 
 
 "P'raps folks have been givin' you advice," 
 he said. 
 
 "No," I replied, "folks have mostly con- 
 fined themselves to saying anybody was a fool 
 to own dike lands, and to telling us there was a 
 good deal of grass there, but it would cost more 
 than it was worth to get it, and how much 
 would we take for it standing ? We are waiting 
 to hear you say these same words. When you 
 have said them, we hope you ' 11 be ready to 
 tell us how to get there." 
 
 Again the man laughed, this time more heartily 
 than before, and when he could speak, 
 
 "I swow ! You've got it 'bout right," he 
 said. "I was jest a-goin' to tell you that that 
 grass would cost full as much as 't was wuth, 
 but I won't say so, seein' as you've heard it 
 before. Mebbe you 're thinkin' of gittin' it 
 yourselves ? " 
 
 Ungovernable curiosity again took possession 
 of him as he eyed us intently. 
 
 My friend explained to him that we did not 
 20
 
 Trying to Get There 
 
 know what the future held in store for us. It 
 might be possible that we should get that grass 
 ourselves. Then she begged once more for 
 directions. He roused himself and said he 
 s'posed he was a-henderin' us. Then he put 
 his whole mind to the task before him. He 
 said he had ben livin' not three mile from Cut 
 River for mor 'n five year, and he had only jest 
 learned how to git round. He informed us that 
 we had come too fur to begin with. We come 
 through Hanover, didn't we? Yes, wall, one 
 thing we'd better bear in mind, and that was, 
 if we wanted to git on to that old Jo Tilden dike, 
 which was now our dike, we must always turn 
 into a gate there was about twenty rod from the 
 Webster place. Did we remember that gate ? 
 
 A brilliant flash of memory came to both of 
 us. That gate ! Of course, we knew now that 
 we had passed through such a gate every time, 
 after ignorant and prolonged groping for it. 
 
 Our informant went on to say that if we came 
 from the Brant, why, that was different. Then 
 it would save three miles if we left our team at 
 the Brant and came across the Cut in a boat. 
 
 At this point we begged him not to confuse 
 
 21
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 us by telling us now anything about coming over 
 in a boat. Let that be for such time as we 
 might be at the Brant. It seemed probable that 
 we should, in the near future, be obliged to re- 
 move our residence to the Brant, in order that 
 we might be near the dike, but at present 
 
 "Jes' so," he interrupted, "I understand. 
 I don't wonder you feel so. I own some dike 
 myself, and that 's why I moved down to 
 Ma'shfield five year ago. 'Taint no use in 
 owning dike 'less you live in Ma'shfield, your- 
 self. You '11 find it so. When a man owns 
 that kind er prop'ty he kinder wants to be nigh 
 it, a-watchin' of it, and a-experimentin' on it. 
 That 's the way 'tis with a man, and I don't 
 know why it should n't be the same with a 
 woman." 
 
 It was with a thrill of something like terror 
 that I heard these last words. Yes, I said to 
 myself, it was the same, or worse even, when 
 a woman was the possessor. I felt that the spell 
 of the dike was already working on me. How 
 penetrating, persuasive, and powerful would that 
 spell prove ? Only the future could answer that 
 question. 
 
 22
 
 Trying to Get There 
 
 We were all three leaning comfortably on the 
 tumble-down wall now. The horses had gone 
 cropping the young grass by the roadside. The 
 air was warmed by the sunshine of early sum- 
 mer, and the perfume of blossoms was every- 
 where. There was something quaintly interesting 
 too in our companion, who was so saturated 
 with the salt odor of wet kelp, that to be with 
 him was almost like taking a sea bath. He was 
 in no hurry to go. He was evidently one of 
 those men who "love to talk better than they 
 love their victuals," which is loving to talk very 
 well, indeed. Also, every minute he was slak- 
 ing more and more his curiosity concerning us. 
 
 He seemed autobiographically inclined. He 
 said it was in the early 611 when he first came 
 here. His wife's father had died and left her 
 some dike in his will. He had always had a 
 kind of a spite against this darter on account of 
 her choosin' him, the speaker, as a husband. 
 He, the speaker, guessed it was along of this spite 
 that the old man left some dike to her. Any 
 way, there 'twas, and it had got to be seen to. 
 
 I felt that this was precisely our case : there it 
 was, and it had got to be seen to. 
 23
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 " As I was sayin', it was fall when I come 
 down. I drove through Hanover, just as you 
 did, and I kep' inquirin' jest as I s'pose you did, 
 and everybody seemed to d'rect me as plain as 
 day ; and they all kinder pitied me, jest as they 
 do you, I s'pose, 'cause I 'd got some dike. My 
 wife she was with me. By 'n' by we come to a 
 nice face wall, and there was peach trees growin' 
 above, and bendin' down so we could git some 
 peaches. There was a lot of 'em, and the 
 owner was there, and he told us to help our- 
 selves, as they was rottin' ; and we did. They 
 was good. Then we drove on. Pooty soon I 
 asked the way agin, and the man took great pains 
 to tell us, and we went on a couple of miles 
 and turned a sharp corner to the left eggsactly 
 as he had said, and come out opposite a face wall 
 with a peach orchard atop. We eat more 
 peaches, same variety as before, only the owner 
 wa* n't there to this orchard. I said to my wife 
 that I didn't know before 'twas such a country 
 for peaches, and she said she did n't either. 
 Then we went on, and I stopped next time at a 
 store, and had the man come out and p'int. He 
 said we wa* n't a mile from the dike, and we 
 24
 
 Trying to Get There 
 
 could n't miss our way if we tried. So we 
 went on a good while longer than the other 
 time, and took every turn as d'rected and, 
 thunder and lightning ! where do ye think we 
 come out to ? " 
 
 " Another peach orchard," I said. 
 
 " And with a nice face wall, and the same 
 variety er fruit. We eat some more. Then I 
 said it seemed to me so many face walls with 
 peaches was suspicious ; and my wife said she 
 s' posed I knew 'twas the same wall and the 
 same orchard. She said she 'd known it every 
 time, and then she began to cry, and to ask if 
 she should ever see her home agin. And I 
 guess I began to swear ; and I cussed the will 
 that had left dike to Marcia. Jest then a man 
 come along, driving fast in an open buggy, and 
 I jumped out and I hailed him, and he stopped, 
 and I asked if he knew any road that 'd take us 
 out er Ma'shfield, and he laughed and said he 
 was goin' up to Hanover Four Corners, and if 
 we 'd foller him he thought he could git us 
 out. 
 
 " And I jest tackled right on to that man, and 
 I never drawed a long breath till we were at 
 25
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 the Four Corners. We lived a dozen miles 
 away and we made straight for home, and we 
 never seen the dike that trip at all. That was 
 my first 'tempt to git here. But I had ter keep 
 tryin' of course. My wife, after that time, was 
 afraid ter have me go without her, and she was 
 afraid ter go with me herself. You see it made 
 it kinder hard for us, for we couldn't 'ford to 
 hire a guide 's they do in them travels you read 
 of in books. But there 'd oughter be a guide. 
 He 'd make good wages, I vum ! I 've often 
 had an idee, when I 've ben a ridin' round, 
 tryin' to git onter Marcia's dike, that the old 
 man that left it to her must be a-laughin' in his 
 grave." 
 
 Here he paused a moment in his easy gar- 
 rulity and reflectively chewed at the kelp handle. 
 When he spoke again it was to assert unexpect- 
 edly that " gals was the queerest things in 
 God's creation. Now my wife's niece, she's 
 er livin' with us. She likes the dike. Yes, 
 she absolootly likes it. She comes down, 
 without no errand, and walks on it. She says 
 there's er charm to it. She says there's an 
 'indescribable charm.' But then, you can't 
 26
 
 Trying to Get There 
 
 account for gals. This one 's been teaching that 
 school over to the East. Last term her health 
 give out, 'n' she 's ben helpin' my wife sence. 
 The change done her good. If you should make 
 any stop here she'll come 'n' see ye. She's 
 kinder Southern by birth, but there ' s a good deal 
 of Yankee to her, I tell her. You '11 like her ; 
 that is, you will if she happens to let ye; 'n' I 
 guess she will." 
 
 Although at another time we might have 
 been more interested in this girl who was kinder 
 Southern by birth, just now we felt that we 
 could not indulge this person in talking about his 
 wife's niece. We recalled him to the subject of 
 the dike by expressing our sympathy for his wife 
 regarding her legacy. He returned with zeal to 
 that topic. He grew loquacious again. 
 
 When you meet with one who has endured 
 the same pangs which are now afflicting you, how 
 you hate to part with him. He is like an old 
 friend.
 
 Ill 
 
 WE GET THERE 
 
 F FELT like clinging to this man whose wife 
 -* had been the heiress of " some dike,'' 
 and who had just told us of his experience, 
 while his load of kelp and our buggy waited. 
 He had been obliged to move to Ma'shfield. 
 He may have had a pleasant home about which 
 fond reminiscences clustered, but the spell of the 
 fiend was laid upon him, and he left that home. 
 
 " Do you think," I said timidly, when he 
 paused and again chewed the kelp, "do you 
 really think that we also shall be compelled to 
 live near ? " 
 
 "Can't/ say, positively, in course," he 
 answered ; "but I prophesy you '11 do jest that 
 thing eggsactly. And if you do, and when 
 you do, you take my advice now ; you come to 
 the Brant. The Brant 's the place for women. 
 IguessI'llbegoin'." 
 
 28
 
 We Get There 
 
 He turned abruptly away, trailing his kelp 
 over his shoulder, and climbed up on to his 
 moist load. He took the lines and smiled with 
 pity and sympathy as he cautioned us to be sure 
 'n' go right back to that gate by the Webster 
 place. I wanted to rush after him wildly and 
 beg him never to leave us until we were on the 
 Jo Tilden dike. But I stood still in silence as 
 becomes a woman. 
 
 The man's horse strained and pulled, and 
 finally started. The man turned toward us, and 
 said with great impressiveness, 
 
 "Mind, I tell ye, the Brant's the place for 
 women. And when ye move down, don't 
 forgit that I 've got a pesky nice little house to 
 the Brant that I'll sell reasonable." 
 
 The reins were slapped violently, and the 
 odorous pile moved out of sight. 
 
 We had resumed our places in the buggy and 
 were preparing to turn round, when our friend 
 suddenly appeared at the front wheel and said, 
 
 " I meant ter have told ye that if you do git 
 in that grass yerselves, I c'n do it for ye 's rea- 
 sonable, 'n' more so, 'n most anybody. My 
 name's Peake; live over on t'other road ; any- 
 29
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 body '11 tell ye where Rodge Peake lives. If 
 my wife ain't able to call on ye, her niece will. 
 We '11 be neighborly, anyway. It 's about all 
 we c'n do. There 's a good deal to contend 
 with on this coast. But I don't want to dis- 
 courage ye." 
 
 Then he was gone again. It was dreadful 
 for us to be left to suspect that he had not been 
 disinterested when he had said that the Brant 
 was the place for women. 
 
 " I have resolved upon one thing," said my 
 friend, as we successfully drove through the right 
 gate, and were actually on our unimpeded way 
 to our land, '* and that is, that if we are such 
 thralls of the dike that we have to move down 
 here, I shall not go to the Brant. There is 
 where I shall go." 
 
 She pointed to the shanty which was now 
 perfectly visible in all its desolation, standing on 
 the unutterable flatness of the flats. I did not 
 know that anything could be so level as was the 
 stretch before us. It was so uniform that it 
 made my head swim. It unrolled in an un- 
 varying extent that was suggestive of entire 
 vacuity. It made one frantic. And there was 
 3
 
 We Get There 
 
 the barn, blacker, more dismal than the shanty. 
 It was a very large barn ; it told plainly that 
 there was a good deal of grass on the dike. 
 
 The flats were a divine green now ; I could 
 not deny that ; nor that it was a sweet wind that 
 gently came from the ocean ; nor that the wild 
 sea birds flying about were precisely the proper 
 birds to be sailing above such a landscape. Yes, 
 it was a solemn and mysterious place down 
 here. 
 
 I felt it more and more as the- horse trotted 
 noiselessly over the path toward the stable. The 
 little settlement at Brant Rock was in partial 
 view. Between it and us flowed, without a 
 ripple, the narrow Cut River. The cliffs of 
 white sand shone out there in the morning sun 
 with a glitter that in my present mood was 
 almost mocking. The level was now melan- 
 choly, the future outlook depressing. 
 
 The very subtlety of the beauty on every hand 
 was only another reason for sadness to an unquiet 
 soul. 
 
 "It is a good spot for a suicide," I said. 
 "I never was in a place so far off"." 
 
 " You are hungry," was the cheerful response. 
 .31
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 " You want your tea. It is not the soul which 
 is gloomy. It is the stomach which is empty, 
 two states of being often confounded with 
 each other. This is a good place in which to live 
 with a conscience that is clear. If you do not 
 consent to come down I shall think it is because 
 you are haunted by the memory of an undis- 
 covered crime." 
 
 We had carefully brought the keys to the 
 padlocks which fastened the barn and the shanty. 
 We had never visited either building. We now 
 found that our house key was quite superfluous. 
 The staple had been pulled out and the door 
 now swung partially open. Whether this con- 
 dition of things was due to the free and easy 
 manners of strolling gunners we could not tell, 
 and it made little difference. 
 
 It was not a well-furnished residence. In 
 fact the furniture consisted of a stove, so seamed 
 and rent that it trembled as we walked near it ; 
 a very large frying-pan, still showing unmistak- 
 ably that the last thing cooked in it was fat salt 
 pork, and a pack of extremely greasy playing 
 cards placed in a careless manner on the ledge of 
 the only window in the place. This was the 
 32
 
 We Get There 
 
 furniture, unless bunks can come under that 
 head. At the end of one room there were 
 three bunks built one above the other. A 
 ragged bed quilt was in the lower bunk. 
 
 I took up the cards. They were so dirty I 
 could not tell the queen of hearts from the 
 knave. 
 
 I advanced to the bunks. 
 
 Did something move in the thickest mass of 
 that quilt? After a pause I went nearer. My 
 friend was examining the frying-pan. Certainly 
 the ragged cover moved. The next moment a 
 languid, wizened Yorkshire terrier came slowly 
 into view from among the folds. For a York- 
 shire terrier to be languid speaks volumes as to 
 what it must have endured. This creature sat 
 up feebly on its haunches and looked at me from 
 behind its hair. And I looked at him. In a 
 moment its very small tail wagged a very little ; 
 I joyfully knew that I was approved. Still he 
 did not get down. Perhaps he was too weak. 
 He was such a scraggly, emaciated terrier that 
 my heart ached over him. 
 
 " Do you think it was he who took off the 
 staple and the padlock?" suddenly asked my 
 3 33
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 friend over my shoulder. She had left the 
 frying-pan and was gazing with me. 
 
 The dog looked at her and wagged again. 
 
 "Oh, the angel!" she cried; and then to 
 me, " Surely you cannot refuse to live in a 
 house where you have found such a precious 
 little thing as this ? It must be a sign of good 
 luck to find a darling terrier already under your 
 own roof. I would rather have him than a 
 horseshoe." 
 
 He whined in a fine, small way now, which 
 made us remember our lunch-basket. It was 
 brought, and the dog kindly accepted all the 
 cold chicken it contained. Then he revived 
 wonderfully, and jumped off the quilt, thus 
 showing still more plainly how thin he was. 
 He was very grateful. He licked our hands 
 and was extremely attentive ; but he was only 
 a diminutive hairy package of bones, and he 
 could not frisk much. 
 
 "I suppose," said my companion, reflectively, 
 "that he either owns dike lands or has friends 
 who own such property. That is what has so 
 reduced him." 
 
 It is astonishing how long we discussed the 
 
 34
 
 We Get There. 
 
 
 
 dog, he lying out on his side and keeping his 
 shining eyes on us as we talked. We thought 
 he would be such company while we were 
 getting in the hay. 
 
 Yes, without actually giving my consent, I 
 yet knew that I should come down here and 
 see about that grass. When a human being 
 hates to do a thing and is at the same time 
 absorbingly curious to know how it would seem 
 to 'do it, be assured, that thing will be done. 
 There was no other way to lay the demon that 
 possessed me. And we should live in this 
 shanty. I looked about me. It might even be 
 that we should play "Old Sledge" with that 
 pack of cards. We might also come to saying 
 "I vum," when we felt somewhat emphatic. 
 And that frying-pan, should we use that dur- 
 ing the days, while we came to think salt pork 
 was good food? And in the nights should we 
 sleep in those bunks ? 
 
 My friend followed my glance, and hastened 
 to say that she had always heard that there was 
 nothing in the world so health-giving as to 
 sleep in a bunk. 
 
 "And think, then," she went on, " what it 
 35
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 
 
 must be to sleep in a bunk in a shanty on a dike. 
 Nothing can be more stimulating. I know that 
 we are both perfectly well, but we shall be 
 laying up a store of " 
 
 Fortunately this speech was interrupted by a 
 sharp bark and a growl from the terrier, who 
 was looking ferociously toward the open door. 
 
 "How Y ye?" said a voice. The voice 
 was so thin and so shrill, and came from such 
 a height, that we were greatly confused for a 
 moment. 
 
 "Carn't ye make yer pup shet up?" it 
 asked queruously, as the terrier went off into a 
 spasm of sharp barks. 
 
 The speaker was in figure something like an 
 animated rake handle. He had a head that 
 somehow instantly suggested a white onion. It 
 was not much larger ; it had very little hair, no 
 hat, and no expression whatever, save a kind of 
 parboiled look. 
 
 "Who are you?" I asked, perhaps too 
 brusquely. The answer was immediate and 
 startling. 
 
 " I ? Oh, I 'm Mar Baker's idjit." 
 
 We did not know what response to make to 
 36
 
 We Get There 
 
 this. Mar Baker's idjit looked us over with 
 entire calmness, and for an embarrassing length 
 of time, before he told us " he seen a buggy 'n' 
 the shanty open, 'n' thought he'd call. He 
 guessed we was them women that owned some 
 dike, wa'n't we ? Wall, what he wanted mostly 
 ter say was that if we got the grass in ourselves 
 he wanted the job er rakin' after. He could 
 rake after like er house a-fire, and when we 
 paid him he could go to the Brant 'n' have ice- 
 cream. He never had 'nough ice-cream yet. 
 Did we like it ? And did we think 't was colic-y ? 
 Mar Baker thought 'twas colic-y." 
 
 Without the least warning this person then 
 left us, and we watched his enormous length 
 moving along over the flat in the sunshine, the 
 smooth head lopped on one side. The terrier 
 looked also, shaken with a final series of barks. 
 Then he lay down to rest. 
 
 While the dog rested we also reposed as well 
 as we could on two chairs which, in their 
 present state, were not calculated to invite idle- 
 ness, for one of them had only three legs and 
 required artful balancing against the wall. The 
 other had lost the top of the back, so that the 
 37
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 spokes had opportunity to thrust themselves under 
 adjacent shoulder-blades, opportunity of which 
 they availed themselves, with the remorselessness 
 characteristic of inanimate things. 
 
 We sat thus, pretending to rest, and convers- 
 ing upon the possibility of a general rehabilitation 
 of the shanty, and wondering if the person we 
 had just seen were a specimen of the neighbors. 
 
 Our words were desultory and spoken lazily. 
 We had ridden far and were getting sleepy. I 
 was leaning my head drowsily against the wall, 
 and wishing the bunks looked cleaner, when I 
 became aware that the small guardian who had 
 partaken of lunch with us was on his feet 
 bristling and growling. He gave one short 
 bark, then wagged his tail as if deprecating his 
 mistake. 
 
 Immediately there came within my line of 
 vision, through the open door, the figure of a girl. 
 
 She was leading our horse, and when she 
 was near enough to speak she turned and saw 
 me. 
 
 "I was afraid you would lose your horse," 
 she said, smiling a little. "I know it is yours 
 for Mar Baker's son told me. It had wandered 
 38
 
 We Get There 
 
 almost to the main road, cropping grass. You 
 must have forgotten to hitch it." 
 
 Yes, we had forgotten. Besides, the man 
 who owned it had averred that, if the beast had 
 a virtue, it was that it would stand without 
 hitching. What he had said was "that critter 
 '11 stand er hundred years 'thout bein' nigh er 
 pos' nor nothin'." 
 
 The terrier left the shanty and investigated 
 more closely, growling provisionally. His ulti- 
 mate decision, however, was favorable. As my 
 friend and I stepped out upon the rank, thick 
 grass and had a nearer view of the newcomer, 
 we felt that we shared the dog's approval. 
 
 The stranger's hand still rested on the bridle. 
 She was tall and dark, how dark it was impos- 
 sible to determine accurately, for her broad hat 
 was pulled far over her forehead, thus making a 
 deep shade on her face. 
 
 She was not dressed with that almost painful 
 accuracy which is usually perceivable in the attire 
 of the ordinary country Yankee girl, who will 
 sacrifice grace for the sake of a strict right angle 
 any time. I think such a genuine Yankee would 
 have said that the person before us was not tidy. 
 39
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 To me she seemed better than tidy, she seemed 
 attractive. I did not care if the blue silk neck- 
 tie about the sailor collar was not quite straight, 
 or if there happened to be a rent in the dress 
 skirt which she was holding up with the dis- 
 engaged hand, or if she wore one glove while 
 the other was partially protruding from her 
 pocket. A true daughter of the place would 
 not have worn one glove now, but would have 
 had the pair rolled up in a round ball in her 
 pocket below her handkerchief. 
 
 This girl spoke grammatically, but with a 
 kind of drawl, and with an occasional elision of 
 a letter, but not the elision common in these 
 parts. There was also a certain indolence in 
 her speech which made it unreasonably delicious. 
 The voice had a kind of fulness, something that 
 seemed ripe, as a fine fruit may be ripe. But 
 she was too young to have such tones, which, in 
 all justice, should not belong to any woman in 
 her twenties, and this woman could only be 
 on the uttermost verge of her first score of 
 years. 
 
 " I reckon I might tie him here," she said, 
 indicating a stake which was driven in the 
 40
 
 We Get There 
 
 ground a few feet away, and which probably had 
 been put there for this very purpose. 
 
 She pronounced "here" almost with a long 
 sound of "i " in it. 
 
 She struck us more and more as being decidedly 
 " worth while." 
 
 She proceeded immediately to unbuckle one 
 rein, draw it out and twist it round the stake, 
 finishing with a horse-knot. This operation was 
 contradictory to her appearance and voice, and 
 went far to show that, if not a Yankee, she was, 
 as they say, " faculized " as one. To be facul- 
 ized is to possess "faculty," and faculty is the 
 attribute dearest to the New England heart ; it 
 is the attribute which enables one always to land 
 on one's feet ; which is the entire opposite of 
 "shiPlessness." I suppose it is owing to being 
 faculized that so many New England people can 
 get a living, nay, a comfortable living, off a piece 
 of land which consists apparently of nothing but 
 rocks and huckleberry bushes. It is the secret 
 of homely thrift. 
 
 When the girl dropped the end of the knotted 
 line from her hand she looked toward us and 
 smiled again. Not the alert and acute smile 
 41
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 which we expect on the face of an intelligent 
 girl born and bred here, but an expression having 
 a certain slumberousness, and a something which 
 made it the appropriate expression to accompany 
 her voice. 
 
 We had not spoken yet, and we now hastened 
 to thank her. We explained that the horse had 
 been warranted to stand. Then we acknowl- 
 edged that we had been so interested in the 
 dike that we had completely forgotten our 
 steed. 
 
 The girl leaned against the animal as she 
 absently drew out the glove from her pocket and 
 began straightening the fingers. She appeared 
 to be interested in us and not willing to go 
 immediately. 
 
 "Perhaps you don't know how to harness 
 and unharness ? No. I thought you did not 
 from the way you looked at me when I tied 
 that knot. I know how. It makes a woman 
 quite independent. I 've learned since I came to 
 Uncle Rodge's. Would you like to have me 
 take out your horse and put him in the barn 
 there, so that he may have his dinner ? I hope 
 I am not officious ? " 
 
 42
 
 We Get There 
 
 We eagerly said that she was not officious, 
 and explained that, if we had thought anything 
 about the animal's dinner we had thought to 
 stop at a stable somewhere, though it did seem 
 as if the man had put oats in the buggy. We 
 looked. Yes, there were the oats and the halter 
 under the seat. 
 
 The girl unfastened the rein and jumped into 
 the carriage. As she pulled up the horse's head 
 from its instant search for grass she leaned toward 
 us and said interrogatively. 
 
 " I reckon you are the ladies who own some 
 dike here ? " 
 
 Perhaps she saw by our faces that we had 
 been expecting that question, for she began to 
 laugh and we joined with her. 
 
 " I know you are," she said in her slow way, 
 " and every person you have met since you 
 came to Marshfield has asked you if you are. 
 You are famous. Women don't own dike 
 much down here. We are all watching to see 
 what you will do with it. We are just living 
 now to see if you will get in your grass your- 
 selves. Do, please, get it in yourselves ! " 
 
 She slapped the horse's back with the reins 
 43
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 and the animal started at the slowest kind of a 
 walk toward the barn. As the buggy wheeled 
 round, the dark face was put out, and its owner 
 laughed noiselessly as she said, 
 
 ' ' For all our sakes, please get it in your- 
 selves ! " 
 
 If we had seen our new acquaintance abroad 
 we could have classified her directly as an 
 American ; seeing her here we must try to place 
 her still more definitely. She could not be a 
 Northerner, for if she were there would hardly 
 have been that peculiar ease in her friendly 
 cordiality. On the other hand if she were not 
 a Yankee would she ever have thought of learn- 
 ing how to harness ? 
 
 As we stood looking at the receding back of 
 the buggy it occurred to us that this must be Mr. 
 Peake's wife's niece, she of whom he had said 
 "that she was kinder Southern by birth, but 
 there was a good deal of Yankee to her." 
 We thought it made an enchanting combina- 
 tion, this being kinder Southern and yet with a 
 flavor of New England. 
 
 The horse and buggy had been out of sight in 
 the barn a few moments when the girl appeared. 
 44
 
 We Get There 
 
 She waved her hand at us, and then strolled 
 leisurely across the flat toward the road. 
 
 After she was gone it came to our minds that 
 we should not know how to put the harness on 
 the horse, and it might be many hours before 
 a man would come within call. There were 
 glimpses of houses here and there at a distance 
 on the higher lands. 
 
 Doubtless there was more than one man resid- 
 ing near who would be more than willing to har- 
 ness for the sake of seeing how them women 
 looked. But how should we let him know 
 when he was wanted? This question assumed 
 very large proportions as the sun began to go 
 toward the West and nobody was visible over 
 the whole stretch of the flats. Not even a 
 solitary horseman wound his way along that far- 
 off high-road at the edge of the dike lands. 
 
 We had lunched ; we had rested ; we had 
 examined the shanty so that we knew accurately 
 how thorough must be the house cleaning that 
 would make it fit for our habitation. 
 
 We had become happily intimate with the 
 terrier, who responded ardently to our advances. 
 
 Now the time had come when we could no 
 45
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 longer disguise from ourselves that our way home 
 was long and complicated, and that our horse 
 must be prepared for his journey. 
 
 We went to the barn feeling that forlorn des- 
 peration natural to the woman who has a horse 
 to be harnessed and no man to do it for 
 her. 
 
 There was the horse placidly blinking in his 
 stall That complication of straps and buckles 
 known as a harness hung on a peg against the 
 wall. Have you ever tried this kind of work 
 without knowing in the least how to do it ? 
 Did you ever swing the saddle on and carefully 
 try to adjust the crupper round the horse's neck? 
 
 There was one thing we knew, or rather 
 there were two things : we knew the saddle 
 when we saw it, and we knew it was worn in 
 the middle of the animal's back. But not until 
 after laborious experiment did we demonstrate 
 that the crupper did not go about the throat. 
 Here may be a good place to state that a per- 
 son should never try this experiment with a 
 crupper and a horse unless the latter is warranted 
 to be perfectly gentle under all circumstances. 
 No right-minded man or woman could blame a 
 . 46
 
 We Get There 
 
 beast for resenting the attempt to put about his 
 neck the leather meant for his tail. Besides, the 
 strap will not go round. A woman, however 
 womanly in her inefficiency she may be, can 
 only try to make it go round. 
 
 We tried until we were crimson with our 
 exertions. Then my friend- remembered another 
 thing about a harnessed horse : it always had a 
 bit in its mouth. This recollection of hers shed 
 a great light upon us. Knowing that the saddle 
 went on the back and the bit in the mouth, we 
 went to work afresh with such zest that in half 
 an hour we drove across the flat with a tremulous 
 feeling of triumph. We were triumphant be- 
 cause the horse was in the shafts and was pulling 
 the buggy. We were tremulous because the 
 whole turnout had such an odd look. 
 
 We knew that the first man we met would 
 stop us. It would not be necessary for us to 
 stop him. 
 
 We had driven through the gate near the 
 Webster place and perhaps a mile beyond when 
 we saw a farm-cart coming with a man sitting 
 slouched forward on the seat. As soon as he 
 was near enough his deliberate gaze began to 
 47
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 sweep over us. Just before he came opposite he 
 pulled on his horse and grinned. 
 
 "I guess you harnessed yerselves, didn't 
 ye? " he asked. 
 
 He put one hand on his horse's hip to steady 
 himself as he stepped out of the cart. 
 
 " It was the horse we tried to harness,' ' said 
 my fellow-sufferer with more meekness than is 
 usual with her. 
 
 " Wall, wall," he said, and began to un- 
 buckle and pull straps as it seemed to us all over 
 the harness. 
 
 When he had finished he stepped back and 
 surveyed us exhaustively. 
 
 He said he guessed we were all right now. 
 He told us it was thunderin' lucky he met us 
 'fore we come to no hills. He added that he 
 would n't advise no women to drive down no 
 Ma'shfield hills with the britchin' hitched up 
 on to the saddle instid of into the hooks on the 
 shafts where britchin' belonged. 
 
 At our request he explained, so that even we 
 
 comprehended, that those long loops of leather 
 
 were to be hooked on to the thills to keep the 
 
 carriage " from runnin' on to the hoss." We 
 
 48
 
 We Get There 
 
 learned that " no hoss could be expected to 
 stan' it to hev a carriage runnin' on to it. It 
 was too much to ask of a hoss." 
 
 As we listened to him we realized for the 
 first time that carriages are subject to a kind of 
 demoniac temptation to run into horses. 
 
 We thanked this man. Then we went on, 
 one of us driving and the other holding the 
 terrier. 
 
 49
 
 IV 
 
 ORLANDO AND OZIAS 
 
 " ' 'yiAS jest as lives do it 's not. In fact, I 
 LJ think he 'd ruther." We had been 
 living in our shanty more than a week when 
 this remark was addressed to us. 
 
 The voice that gave us this assurance was 
 high and thin, and precisely like that of Ozias 
 Baker, commonly known as " Mar Baker's 
 idjit." Indeed, if I had not seen the speaker, 
 I should have thought it was 'Zias himself. 
 But it was his mother, a woman almost as 
 phenomenally short in stature as he was tall. 
 At nine o'clock this morning I had looked across 
 the flat toward the west and had seen two figures 
 approaching side by side. One was like the 
 shadow a person casts at noon, and that was 
 Mar Baker ; the other was like the shadow he 
 casts just before sunset, and that was 'Zias. 
 
 I did not reprove the terrier for going into a 
 convulsion of barking at sight of these two 
 5
 
 Orlando and Ozias 
 
 forms gradually lessening the distance between 
 them and the shanty. 
 
 I did not state at the proper time for the 
 statement that when we had found the terrier 
 nearly starved in the bunk he had worn a collar, 
 a fine chain silver collar. We were so pleased 
 with him and he was so pleased with us that 
 for some time we scrupulously refrained from 
 examining the plate, difficult as it was to abstain, 
 lest we should find the dog's address and be 
 compelled by honor to write to his former 
 friends. Already we had learnt that, if you are 
 going to spend any time in a shanty on dike 
 lands, the sweetest companion possible is a wide- 
 awake, knowing, watchful, affectionate York- 
 shire. With him we were not only resigned, 
 but contented. How cheerful he was ! He 
 seemed really to radiate cheerfulness. A dozen 
 times a day he told us that the jolliest life in the 
 world was to be on a dike and to get in your 
 own standing grass. His brown eyes shone 
 so through his hair that you could not be gloomy 
 when you met his glance, which was every 
 time you looked at him. 
 
 It is superfluous for any one to tell me how 
 51
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 cowardly and dishonorable it was not to look 
 immediately on his collar, and make every 
 attempt to restore him to his owner. We knew 
 how wicked we were. Whenever we hugged 
 him and whenever he touched our hands with 
 his tiny red tongue we said to ourselves, "Oh, 
 how they must long for him ! " 
 
 We felt remorse ; but remorse, as Owen 
 Meredith and others have assured us, is not pen- 
 itence. We did not turn from the evil we were 
 doing ; we kept on in it, suffering, and yet happy. 
 
 Besides, to add to our guilt, this creature was 
 valuable pecuniarily. He was thoroughbred, 
 and showed his breeding in looks and behavior. 
 But we would have gladly paid all he was 
 worth to own him. Could we not at any 
 time mortgage a slice of dike ? or we could pay 
 in dike itself, only, unfortunately for us, dike has 
 not yet become a legal tender. 
 
 But when, at the end of two weeks, we 
 courageously read the inscription on the collar 
 plate we felt greatly relieved, although the duty 
 of advertising still remained. There were but 
 two words on the collar, and they were these : 
 " Orlando Inamorato." 
 
 52
 
 Orlando and Ozias 
 
 Of course this was the name of the dog. It 
 was a large name and he was a small dog, but 
 when we tried it on him we saw that it fitted 
 him perfectly. It was pathetic to see his dem- 
 onstrations of joy when we addressed him as 
 Orlando. He leaped and frisked and whined, 
 and showered caresses on us. Before this we 
 had mostly called him such things as "Dearie," 
 and "Duck," and other words suitable for two 
 women to have thought of unaided by a mascu- 
 line mind. Strange to say it had never occurred 
 to us that his real name was probably Orlando 
 Inamorato. Hitherto also we had supposed 
 that Furioso was usually the surname of Orlando, 
 but we were thankful it was not so in this case, 
 for any womanly woman must much prefer 
 Inamorato. This suggests love, and conjures 
 radiant visions of Angelica before she made her 
 lover furious. 
 
 We each embraced Orlando so that he nearly 
 died ; but even when he was almost smothered 
 he would give us quick licks with his scarlet 
 tongue and lovely glances from his eyes. 
 
 Yes, I thought to myself, his last name is cer- 
 tainly correct. We promised the terrier that 
 53
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 we would love him so that he should never miss 
 his other friends ; we would be to him more 
 than any people ever were to a dog before. 
 
 In the midst of this my friend propounded 
 the question as to whether, by any possibility, 
 that name could be the name of the owner too. 
 And she said we must advertise. She would 
 not wait a day longer, for every day but forged 
 more strongly the chains which bound her to 
 this dearest, darlingest creature that ever lived. 
 And if the advertisement should be answered, 
 and we be torn asunder ! but we could not 
 bear this thought. However, we were re- 
 solved that we would not go on in this sin 
 any longer. 
 
 Jointly we composed an advertisement then 
 and there. We would send it to one Boston 
 paper. One was enough ; one would ease our 
 consciences. 
 
 The notice, when finished, read like a per- 
 sonal, but that was no matter. We liked it ; 
 it was a trifle mysterious also, as personals 
 usually are, and we liked it for that. This is 
 the way it read : 
 
 "To the old friends of Orlando Inamorato. 
 54
 
 Orlando and Ozias 
 
 He is well ; he is happy ; he is beloved. If 
 former friends wish to communicate, address ." 
 
 We gloated over this. We showed the paper 
 to Orlando, and he barked approval. He as- 
 sured us that we might have added to "he is 
 beloved" the assertion "he also loves." We 
 thought of rewriting and adding this, but as I 
 took my pen to do so, Orlando rushed to the 
 door, glanced over the flat to the west, and began 
 to bark convulsively as though a platoon of 
 robbers were coming toward us ; and I did not 
 blame him, as I have stated, for what he saw 
 was Mar Baker and her son Ozias. 
 
 They lived in the first house on the road that 
 skirted the dike. The house was not much 
 larger than our shanty, but it was clapboarded, 
 and painted in vivid greens, with white trim- 
 mings and blinds. This had been done by 
 Ozias. His mother said she had told him if 
 he 'd put his mind to it and paint it, he might 
 choose the colors. So he had put his mind to 
 it, and each day his mind appeared to vary 
 as to the shade, and more or less coloring 
 was put in the paint pot every morning. As 
 he only painted an hour or two in the fore- 
 55
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 noon, there was great variety of tints, each tint 
 showing a day's application. 
 
 Mar Baker said she s' posed the wood'd be 
 jest as well kept, and for her part she 'd got past 
 caring. 'Zias was jest as the Lord made him, 
 and if she could live in that house, she guessed 
 her neighbors could bear to see it. 
 
 Mar Baker had been a widow for thirty years 
 now. 'Zias was her only child, and the father 
 had died three months before the birth of this 
 son. She was as keen looking in her way as 
 the terrier was in his, and in alertness reminded 
 me of him. 
 
 I used to look at her and wonder how she 
 learned to bear it, when, years ago, she had 
 hoped this child would be a comfort to her, and 
 when each day told her more emphatically than 
 the day before had done that he was " different." 
 And he grew more and more different as time 
 went on ; instead of growing brighter he grew 
 less bright. He was not an idiot, but that's 
 what everybody called him, and he certainly 
 had very little mind. He required to be con- 
 trolled and directed constantly. He had a per- 
 fectly smooth face, and his voice was an exact 
 56
 
 Orlando and Ozias 
 
 reproduction of his mother's voice. He had 
 called his mother "mar" for so many years 
 that everybody called her Mar Baker now, even 
 "to her face." 
 
 "I tell you, Mar Baker 's had a tough time," 
 said a store-keeper at " The Cut ' ' to me. *' You 
 know her husband, 'Zias, was killed by a stone 
 fallin' on him. He was a stone mason. He 
 was brought home dead to her. I d' know 's 
 she 's ever cried a drop for him. My wife don't 
 think she has, 'n' I don't think so neither. 
 I ' ve heerd tell that cryin' 's 'nough sight better 'n 
 not cryin' when you 're in trouble. Lizzie 
 Marks, that 's what she used ter be, was kinder 
 pooty, for them as likes these small women, 'n' 
 'Zias was awfully in love with her. They was 
 marrit jest two years. How she gits a livin' I d' 
 know, for she never would take help any way 
 'less she worked and paid for it. She said she 
 knew what her husband's 'pinions of paupers 
 was, and she wa'n't goin' to be a pauper. Oh, 
 yes, she '11 do any kind er work, and glad to." 
 
 This was what I had heard about Mar Baker, 
 and now she stood at our door. She had just 
 told us that 'Zias would jest as lives take our 
 57
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 letters to the post-office and bring ours from 
 there. She said there was nobody more faithful 
 than he was about some kinds of arrants, and 
 letters was what he was sure on. He 'd carried 
 them for neighbors for years and never met with 
 no accident. 
 
 He grinned eagerly while his mother said 
 this. We sent him off with our personal about 
 Orlando, while his mother sat down on the 
 door-step and fanned herself with her apron.
 
 V 
 
 MOWING THE DIKE 
 
 MAR BAKER fanned herself for some time 
 with so much vigor and so much mus- 
 cular action that I grew warm just looking at 
 her. She was sitting in the door-way, and 
 Orlando had planted himself on his diminutive 
 haunches a few feet from her and was panting 
 and watching her narrowly. Occasionally she 
 dropped a corner of her apron, which she was 
 using as a fan, and extended her hand toward 
 the terrier, remarking "good doggie" as she 
 did so, in that way people who do not like dogs 
 assume when in their presence and in the pres- 
 ence also of the canine's friends. When she 
 called him good doggie Orlando would stop 
 panting for a flash of time, as if he could thus 
 better examine a person who addressed him in 
 such a silly manner. 
 
 "I seen this dog a ha'ntin' round on the 
 dike a good while 'fore you come," said Mar 
 59
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 Baker. " I should er give him some old victuals, 
 only all our scraps go to the hens. I 've always 
 thought he might b'long to a carry-all of fine 
 folks as come ridin' by a week or so 'fore you 
 brought your things down. I can't tell why I 
 took that notion, but I did take it, and 'Zias 
 thought the same. But then there's a good 
 many high-flyers travellin' about to see the 
 Webster place and so on." 
 
 We listened to her with fear in our hearts. 
 What if some high-flyers in a carry-all should 
 come out on to the dike and claim our terrier ? 
 But there was comfort in the conviction, which 
 came immediately after this fear, that whoever 
 tried to get to the dike would wish he had not 
 made the attempt, and it would be an exasperat- 
 ing failure. Orlando was safe to remain with 
 us as long as we did not go off the dike. It 
 might be we should always live on this flat. 
 Reasons for such a residence seemed to thicken 
 around us. 
 
 " When do ye calkilate to strike on the grass ? " 
 inquired Mar Baker. 
 
 We told her we expected Mr. Peake to come 
 with men and a mowing-machine to-morrow. 
 60
 
 Mowing the Dike 
 
 She turned quickly toward us. 
 
 "You don't mean Rodge Peake's goin' to 
 git yer grass for ye ? " 
 
 Yes, we meant that. Was anything the matter 
 with Rodge Peake that he shouldn't do this for 
 us? 
 
 Mar Baker's nipped-in mouth closed with a 
 snap, and she positively refused to say anything 
 more than that she always made it a rule never 
 to talk about her neighbors. 
 
 Having said this she went on in a general 
 way to tell about the whole family of Peakes. 
 Whenever she made a positive assertion she 
 would immediately qualify it to such a degree 
 that it amounted to nothing, and we began to 
 grow confused. She said she s' posed the Peakes 
 knew what they was about when they had that 
 niece er Miss Peake's come there to live. She 'd 
 nothin' agin the gal for her part. In fact she 
 was one er them kinder gals that made er warm 
 spot in yer heart when she looked at ye 'n' 
 spoke to ye, 'n' ye didn't know why. 'N' 
 though her father was er Southerner 'n' she was 
 born down there, she was faculized. She could 
 do most things she set out ter do. Mar Baker 
 6l
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 guessed it was the Yankee blood in her that made 
 her smart. When she got upon the subject of 
 " Miss Peake's niece" she stopped qualifying. 
 
 We asked why the Peakes shouldn't have 
 the girl there. Our guest fanned more vigorously 
 than ever and looked mysterious. At last she 
 answered that she was n' t thinkin' of the Peakes 
 when she said that ; she was thinkin' of the gal. 
 
 These words but added to the uncertainty in 
 our minds. Was it going to hurt the girl to 
 stay there ? 
 
 Mrs. Baker again nipped in her mouth and 
 looked across the flat. Then she brought her 
 eyes back to us and opened her mouth to say 
 that there was young Peake. He'd ben nigh 
 bein' turned outer college, they said, 'n' he 
 might be home any minute. Here she began 
 to qualify again. " But 7 ain't nothin' agin 
 young Peake. I d' know 's he 'smuch ter blame 
 considerin' who his father is. But I ain't er 
 sayin' his father ain't good 'nough. 
 
 "I s'pose Leife'll be to home any day 
 now." 
 
 "Who is Leife?" 
 
 "I thought ye knew. He's Peake's son, 
 62
 
 Mowing the Dike 
 
 Eliphalet. He never 's called nothin' but Leife. 
 I will say he 's er young man as loves his 
 mother. He *n* his father set their eyes by 
 Miss Peake. Leife could n't think no more of 
 her if she was his own mother. You know 
 he 's Mr. Peake's first wife's son." 
 
 Here the speaker sighed heavily and was 
 silent. We kept silence also, feeling that this 
 woman was thinking of her own past, and how 
 all its promises of love and happiness had failed. 
 
 When she spoke again it was to utter unex- 
 plained condolences because we had engaged 
 Mr. Peake to get in our hay. 
 
 She ended by asserting again that she always 
 made it a rule never to talk about her neighbors. 
 
 Very soon after making this statement she 
 went home, leaving us a prey to vague and mor- 
 bid apprehensions. What would Rodge Peake 
 do to our grass? What, in the nature of things, 
 could he do to it ? These questions presented 
 themselves, mingled with random inquiries 
 about Leife and the Southern niece', in all kinds 
 of grotesque forms in our dreams through the 
 night. 
 
 In the hours when we tossed on our bunks 
 63
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 we felt, more than ever before, what a dreadful 
 thing it is to be at once women and the owners 
 of standing grass. 
 
 But at five o'clock we were cheered by hear- 
 ing a great deal of loud talk to horses, and a 
 jumble of men's voices mixed with Orlando's 
 incessant barking. 
 
 Rodge Peake had come with three other men, 
 two horses, and a mowing machine. He greeted 
 us with great heartiness, said he was going to run 
 the machine that day, and the other men would 
 spread and turn when they " wa'n't mowin ' 
 round the aidges." My friend expressed a dis- 
 belief in any " aidges " to that dike ; she averred 
 it was one continuous sweep, like any other 
 infinite extent. 
 
 Mr. Peake was very brisk and very jolly. He 
 said he guessed we should find there was a good 
 deal more aidge to the dike than we seemed to 
 think now 'fore we got through with it. 
 
 Then he turned and called to one of the men 
 who were taking scythes, rakes, and forks from 
 the cart. 
 
 " Leife," he said, "come here 'n' be intro- 
 duced to these ladies that own this dike." 
 64
 
 Mowing the Dike 
 
 The youngest man in the group came for- 
 ward and took off his hat, standing easily before 
 us, as his father, with great pride, informed us 
 that this was his only son, in fact, all the chick 
 or child he had. 
 
 The only son bowed but did not attempt to 
 make any remark. He was rather good looking, 
 closely knit, with square shoulders ; what might 
 be called a " flat-backed young fellow," with 
 muscles well trained. 
 
 He did not appear to share the general eager- 
 ness to see us. Probably he had other subjects 
 to occupy his mind. Whether rightly or not, 
 we had interpreted Mrs. Baker's words as mean- 
 ing that " Leife " was dissipated in some way. 
 Perhaps he was ; but his brown face did not bear 
 the usual marks made by dissipation. He was 
 very wide between the eyes and square about the 
 jaws. He wore no beard and his face suggested 
 the word "massive." His faults, whatever they 
 were, did not come from weakness of will. 
 His face was a great contrast to that of his 
 father, whose chin was so far from squareness 
 that it almost had a childish look. 
 
 The whir of the machine had been going on 
 5 65
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 for an hour before we remembered that we had 
 promised Mar Baker's son that he should rake 
 after. It was an engagement that must not be 
 broken. We could not be the cause that should 
 prevent Ozias from earning some money that he 
 might buy ice-cream therewith, even at the risk 
 of colic to the buyer. 
 
 I rushed out of the shanty, followed tumultu- 
 ously by Orlando. I signalled to Mr. Peake, 
 who sat enthroned on his machine. He saw 
 me, and down went the brake, if that is the 
 name of it. The horses stopped. 
 
 "Wall?" he said, evidently expecting nothing 
 better from women than that they should stop 
 him in the middle of his work every moment or 
 two. 
 
 I told him we had engaged Ozias to rake 
 after, and that I would go after him on the 
 instant. 
 
 Rodge Peake' s face contracted into a frown. 
 
 " Oh thunder ! " he said, evidently having 
 begun to say something else, but out of respect 
 to me changing his exclamation. I was grate- 
 ful for his forbearance, and I proceeded to explain 
 that I knew he had taken the work and was to 
 66
 
 Mowing the Dike 
 
 hire the men, but that I pitied ' Zias, and I don't 
 know how much further I should have extended 
 my remarks had not Mr. Peake cried out with 
 still more irritation, " Of course I know all 'bout 
 that ! But what I want to know is, be ye pre- 
 pared to have this dike o' yourn strowed round 
 with toes, and p'raps feet 'n' legs; 'n' Id' 
 know but heads 'n' shoulders ? " 
 
 As he asked this gory question I looked at him 
 in silence. It did not seem necessary that I 
 should tell him in words that it was sufficient to 
 have a dike, without having it "strowed " in that 
 way. 
 
 " 'Cause," he went on, " likely 's not that 's 
 the way it '11 be if you have ' Zias to rake after. 
 I had him on my dike the fust summer I got in 
 hay there. I did n't know any better then. I 
 never suffered s' much in my life 's I did tryin' 
 ter keep that critter away from the knives. As 
 't was, the best I could do I couldn't help his 
 gettin' the tips er two toes on his right foot 
 clipped off smoother 'n time. Didn't 'mount 
 ter much, but they bled, 'n' somebody run for 
 Mar Baker, 'n' she looked at me 's if I'd done 
 it a purpose. He was barefooted, 'n' by 
 67
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 George ! how the knives clicked along onter his 
 foot ! What I wanter know is, who's goin' to 
 be responsible for Mar Baker's idjit's feet if he 
 comes on to this job ? ' ' 
 
 I did not feel as if I could be responsible. 
 Before I could say this, however, Mr. Peake 
 resumed in a still more explanatory manner : 
 
 " You see ' Zias, he is bewitched to git close 
 ter the machine. He won't keep away from it. 
 If yer business is to rake after, you ain't no busi- 
 ness skulkin' 'round these knives. He 's weaker- 
 minded, I do believe, 'bout a mowin' machine 
 than he is about another created thing on God's 
 earth. Now, you c'n do jest as you think best, 
 only you must understand that I ain't responsi- 
 ble. I will say, if I know he 's on the dike, 
 even to t'other end of it, my backbone begins 
 ter creep 'n' creep, if I'm on this machine. 
 G 'lang ! Git up ! " These last words were 
 spoken to his horses in token that this interview 
 was at an end. But I pressed still nearer. Mr. 
 Peake tried to look resigned as he let his horses 
 stand still. 
 
 " I hate to disappoint such a creature as he 
 is," I said. " I suppose there is no objection 
 68
 
 Mowing the Dike 
 
 to his coming on the field when you are not 
 mowing ? ' ' 
 
 " Jes's you say," answered Mr. Peake ; and 
 this time the horses started up and the machine 
 began to click. I was left standing in the midst 
 of the fallen grass, which sent up its fresh fragrance 
 to me. But I could not be soothed. It seemed 
 peculiarly appropriate that, at that moment, from 
 out in the direction where I heard the waves 
 rolling, I should also hear a loon laugh. 
 
 I began wading in the tall, uncut grass toward 
 the road. I had it in mind that I would see 
 Mar Baker, though I did not know what I 
 should say to her. Of only one thing I was 
 sure ; I must not be the means of depriving 
 ' Zias of his ice-cream at the Brant ; and I was 
 well convinced that he would not be allowed to 
 receive that dainty through any eleemosynary 
 channel. 
 
 When I clambered at last over the wall that 
 separated the dike from the road, I had come to 
 no decision other than the vague one that I 
 would be guided by circumstances. 
 
 The door of the little green house was open. 
 There was nothing between me and its occupants 
 69
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 but a screen of mosquito netting tacked on some 
 laths, which had been put together with a pain- 
 ful and only partly successful imitation of a 
 screen-frame. As I came close to the door I 
 heard the voices of mother and son ; and, though 
 hearing them together, I could not distinguish 
 one from the other ; the words enlightened 
 me. 
 
 70
 
 VI 
 
 AT MAR BAKER'S 
 
 OOMEBODY was whimpering and snuffling 
 O like a child who is getting ready to have a 
 good cry. I stood on the door-step. For a 
 wonder Orlando stood by in perfect quietness ; 
 his ears were pricked up, and he was looking at 
 me as if asking if I thought that person would 
 really cry, after all. 
 
 I glanced through the netting. I saw 'Zias 
 standing at a table before a pan of peas. He 
 was almost covered by a long calico " tire." His 
 face was snarled and twisted, and his under lip 
 was hanging loose and trembling. He was 
 shelling peas in a slow, perfunctory fashion. 
 
 Before I knocked I looked at the mother. I 
 had never before seen on any face such an ex- 
 pression of determined endurance. It was set 
 and hard, but set and hard only that the owner 
 might keep her grip on her sanity and her duty. 
 71
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 If she softened in one degree she dared not meet 
 the result. In that moment I knew it was the look 
 which her face wore when she was at home ; 
 the look which had grown with thirty years of 
 the life she had lived since her husband, who had 
 been " awfully in love with her," had been 
 brought to her dead. And there was her only 
 child, standing with towering, imbecile head, 
 opposite her, and only keeping at his task be- 
 cause she watched him. She was kneading 
 dough on a " cake-board " laid on the table. 
 
 "'Zias," she said, "if you 're goin' to cry 
 'bout it, I d' know what I shall do ! If I could 
 rake after with ye, 't would be different, but ye 
 know I must do that washin' 'n' ironin'." 
 
 Then I knocked, and Orlando barked. 
 
 'Zias immediately stopped whimpering, in his 
 eagerness to know who had come. Mar Baker 
 took her hands from the dough, spatted them 
 violently together to shake off the flour, and 
 came toward the door ; she was followed by 
 her son, who had absently seized a handful of 
 shelled peas as he started, and who as absently 
 dropped them on the floor when he saw me. 
 
 "It's so hard ter git this screen open and 
 72
 
 At Mar Baker's 
 
 shet," said Mrs. Baker after she had greeted me, 
 " that I sh'll have ter ask ye to go round to the 
 back door." 
 
 When I reached the back door she was there, 
 with the head of Ozias rising high behind her. 
 She was holding the door open a few inches and 
 saying that, if I had n't no objections, she guessed 
 she'd let the dog stay outside. She always was 
 kinder 'fraid er mad dogs somehow. I indig- 
 nantly assured her that Orlando was not mad, 
 but that he could stay outside. She now put 
 back the door just far enough for me to squeeze 
 in, which I did hurriedly, lest Orlando might 
 come too. He did make the attempt, and at 
 the same time ' Zias flung a handful of pea-pods 
 at him. 
 
 When I was safely in the bit of a room, Mar 
 Baker said she had noticed that folks always did 
 say their own dogs wa'n't mad, but she never 
 seen one yet but what was jest as liable as could 
 be to run mad any minute. For her part she 
 liked dogs, but she liked 'em in their places, and 
 would n't I set down ? 
 
 I sat down, and she resumed her bread mould- 
 ing. 'Zias, taking advantage of the presence of 
 73
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 a visitor, did not go on with his work, but stood 
 up, his head just grazing the ceiling, his arms 
 a-kimbo, looking at me. Before I could think 
 how to begin my errand he broke out : 
 
 " I say now, mar, I guess she 's come ter git 
 me ter rake after. You '11 let rne go, won't yer ? " 
 
 The small woman bent her head lower over 
 her dough. I said I did come about the haying, 
 but that there was n' t any need to rake after 
 until they began to cock up the hay at night, and 
 also when they put it on the cart for the barn. 
 
 "But I oughter be on the dike so to be 
 ready ; mar ! mar ! " With this cry the tall 
 being again began to make signs of crying. 
 
 Scarcely knowing what J did, I rose and 
 walked to the window. I looked out on the 
 wide flats in silence. In summer and winter 
 Mar Baker had the flats to look at from her 
 house. In summer the hue was deep green, with, 
 toward the ocean, the diamond-like sparkle of 
 the steep, sliding cliffs of white sand. In winter 
 there was rarely much snow, and the great, 
 desolate stretches were dark and sullen under the 
 sharp sunlight ; and within, no live creature 
 but her boy. This was what she knew of life ; 
 74
 
 At Mar Baker's 
 
 this and the never-ceasing struggle not to be a 
 pauper, for she remembered " what her husband 
 used to think of paupers." 
 
 As I stood there I felt a slight touch on my 
 arm. Looking hastily round and down, I saw 
 Mrs. Baker close to me. 
 
 She glanced out and said aloud, "Shouldn't 
 wonder if you got a shower on yer grass 'fore 
 night ; " then in a hasty whisper, " 'T ain't safe 
 for him ; say you don't want him." 
 
 As she went back to the table 'Zias came for- 
 ward. His small nature was capable of being 
 suspicious. 
 
 " Mar, what ye whisp'rin' about? " he asked 
 whiningly . 
 
 " Don't be silly, 'Zias ; I ain't a whisp'rin'," 
 answered his mother, promptly. 
 
 He turned to me, and began to laugh a little 
 as he asked how much I would give him an hour 
 for rakin' after ; and he added immediately that 
 he guessed he liked lemon ice-cream 'bout 's 
 well 's any. 
 
 " I came over to say I thought I would put 
 you on some other job," I made answer, won- 
 dering what on earth the other job would be. 
 75
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 The mother glanced gratefully at me, but the 
 vapid face of the son clouded over. 
 
 "I'd ruther rake after," he said, " 'specially 
 if there's a merchine somewheres round." 
 
 "'Zias!" said Mrs. Baker severely, and the 
 long form shrank back and seemed to double up. 
 
 I was trying frantically to think of what other 
 work I could find for ' Zias, but the more I tried 
 the blanker my mind was. I went toward the 
 door. I paused and said I would let 'Zias 
 know by to-morrow ; that he should have a 
 chance to earn his ice-cream. Mrs. Baker 
 looked up at me. To her face there came an 
 indescribable expression that for the first time 
 made it possible for me to believe that she " had 
 ben pooty once." 
 
 What she said was, "I'm sure I'm very 
 much obleeged to ye." 
 
 As I turned to go the door was opened from 
 the outside, and there entered the girl who was 
 said to be " Rodge Peake's wife's niece." It 
 was rather strange that I had not yet heard her 
 name mentioned by any one. She seemed to 
 me decidedly worthy to be designated more 
 accurately. I knew her, for she was the one 
 76
 
 At Mar Baker's 
 
 who had done us the doubtful favor of unhar- 
 nessing. She knew me also, for her warm 
 smile had recognition in it. 
 
 Mrs. Baker, with the liking for " making 
 introductions ' ' so characteristic of most country 
 people, hastened to mention our names. 
 
 She called the girl Miss Vance, and Miss 
 Vance offered her hand. 
 
 Orlando seized the moment of this ceremony 
 to rush in past our ankles and begin to make 
 havoc with the pan of pea-pods which Ozias 
 had thoughtlessly set on the floor. While I 
 was rescuing the pea-pods and chastising the 
 wicked Yorkshire, I heard Miss Vance's lan- 
 guid voice telling Mrs. Baker that there was no 
 need for her to hurry about that washing after all, 
 any day this week would do. The girl said she 
 thought she would come and tell her, so that Mrs. 
 Baker might take up other work if she wished. 
 
 I rose to an upright position with Orlando 
 in my arms in time to see the expression of keen 
 liking and of gratitude on the little widow's face 
 as she looked at the tall girl. 
 
 "The land's sake!" exclaimed Mar Baker, 
 '* I'm glad you told me, for now I c'n finish 
 77
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 that slop work 'fore I wash. It was kind of ye, 
 Miss Vance." 
 
 Miss Vance laughed softly. She had seated 
 herself and was leaning far back in her chair 
 with her feet pushed out in front. She glanced 
 at me. 
 
 " If Mrs. Baker compliments me, don't 
 believe her," she said; "I'm too lazy to be 
 good. Now to-day, for instance, I'm so lazy 
 that I told aunt I could not stay in the house. 
 I want to be out in the hot sun. Some people 
 are afraid of it. I love it hot hot. I am 
 going up on the hills to pick green huckleberries 
 to make a pie. Aunt has not much appetite, 
 you know, at least Mrs. Baker knows," 
 turning to that person who was now knead- 
 ing dough ferociously in her haste. " She 
 thought a green-huckleberry pie would be nice. 
 Perhaps 'Zias would like to go with me and 
 pick some for you. I sha'n't hurry. We 
 shall be gone a good while. I have a lunch 
 with me. We will sit up there in the melting 
 sunshine, and smell the sweet fern and look at 
 the sea. Are you ready, ' Zias ?" 
 
 'Zias was in a tremor of excitement. He 
 78
 
 At Mar Baker's 
 
 tried in vain to unfasten his tire in the back. 
 I, being near, stood on tiptoe and did this for 
 him just as he began to cry, " Mar ! Mar ! " 
 
 He took his hat from a peg. He said he 
 was ready, and what was Miss Vance er waitin' 
 for? 
 
 Miss Vance did not wait. She rose from her 
 chair, told Mrs. Baker that she need not worry 
 if she did not see 'Zias till sundown, and then 
 the two walked off, 'Zias having taken from 
 another peg in the bit of an entry a two-quart 
 " rind " in which to put his berries. 
 
 I looked at Mrs. Baker, who was, now tossing a 
 portion of dough back and forth in her hands 
 preparatory to putting it in one of the buttered 
 tins in readiness on the stove hearth. 
 
 Although her face was not a speaking one 
 and although she was silent, I yet felt keenly 
 her own emotion of relief and thankfulness that 
 her son would be safely out of the way for 
 several hours. 
 
 Again I started to go, and this time nothing 
 hindered my departure. 
 
 As I opened the door Orlando rushed outside 
 and began to bark vociferously. I instantly 
 79
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 feared that somebody was claiming him, and 
 that he was resenting the fact. Naturally our 
 continual fear was that his owner would come, 
 and that we could not prove the claim false. 
 
 As I put my foot on the doorstep, Mrs. 
 Baker said she guessed he was running mad, and 
 she kept carefully on her side of the door, thrust- 
 ing her head out of a small aperture in the most 
 cautious manner. 
 
 By this time my acquaintance with Orlando 
 had taught me that, though he always barked 
 when there was real occasion, he also always 
 barked when there was no occasion at all, beyond 
 that provided by his own fertile imagination. 
 
 He was now standing at the roadside in front 
 of the house, his small body quivering with his 
 protective and belligerent efforts, as he gazed per- 
 sistently in one direction. I looked in the same 
 direction and saw a beautiful horse saddled, a 
 beautiful young man dismounted and tightening 
 the girths. The young man had a hooked riding- 
 stick under his arm ; he had on corduroy leg- 
 gings, russet foot- covering, a velvet coat, a jockey 
 cap, and immense long yellow buckskin gaunt- 
 lets. I was so dazzled as I looked at him that 
 80
 
 At Mar Baker's 
 
 I wanted to shade my eyes from his effulgence. 
 I have neglected to state that he also wore a 
 long yellow moustache, and a divine little tuft 
 of beard on his chin, trimmed down to a point 
 that gave the last degree of bewitchment to his 
 appearance. 
 
 As I stood, bereft of any power of motion, 
 given over wholly to admiration, this young 
 man finished adjusting the strap, turned and saw 
 me. He led his horse nearer, Orlando sud- 
 denly sitting down on his haunches and growling 
 dangerously. 
 
 The stranger took off his cap. 
 
 "I beg pawdon," said he, "but can you 
 direct me to what they call the dike ? " 
 
 " That 's what they call the dike," I said, 
 pointing. 
 
 " Thanks so much," returned the un- 
 known, and swung himself into the saddle. 
 
 " But you can't ride on to it from here," 
 I went on, conscious of a great deal of uncouth- 
 ness in myself. "You must go back to the 
 Webster place and inquire for the gate." 
 Then, impelled by curiosity, I asked him if he 
 had bought any dike. 
 
 6 81
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 "Bought any?" he repeated. "No; why 
 should I buy dike ? " 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know," I returned, " but 
 there 's a good deal for sale." 
 
 " Ah ! Is it possible ? I hope your dog 
 won't frighten my horse. It 's the Jo Tilden 
 dike I want." 
 
 Orlando had made a dive at the horse's heels. 
 
 "I hope your horse won't kick my dog," I 
 answered. Then I told him that he must go 
 back to that gate, unless he wanted to go to the 
 Brant and come across the cut in a boat. 
 
 He thanked me again. He pulled up his 
 gloves. He said he was awfully sorry to have 
 given me so much trouble ; then he cantered 
 away along the white road, the dust flying about 
 him. 
 
 Up at my left, in a field (hat rose gradually 
 toward the old pastures where horse briers grew 
 and thickets of sumach, and where the stunted 
 savins and pitch pines all bent to the west be- 
 cause of the east wind, I saw two figures, one 
 tall and almost swaying over from its slender 
 height ; the other that of a girl wearing a broad 
 hat, and who swung a tin pail as she walked. 
 82
 
 At Mar Baker's 
 
 They were not very far away ; and, as I looked, 
 the girl turned, I imagined to see if the ocean 
 were yet visible. She saw me, and called to ask 
 if I would go with them, at the same time fling- 
 ing up the pail toward me. Her voice was 
 lusciously sweet as it came down the warm air. 
 
 The young man cantering in the dust heard 
 it and looked. He lifted his cap with great 
 deference and a touch of gay defiance. 
 
 Miss Vance plainly had not seen him until 
 he made his salutation. She gave no response to 
 it, and continued her journey after my shouted 
 refusal of her invitation. 
 
 As fast as I could, I climbed back over the 
 wall, the loose mossy stones moving dangerously 
 as I climbed. I went swishing through the 
 grass, forgetting to try to think of something for 
 Mar Baker's idjit to do, remembering only what 
 a magnificent young man was on his way to Jo 
 Tilden's dike, and that Jo Tilden's dike was our 
 dike. 
 
 When I told my friend, she dropped her novel 
 and cried out, " It 's the dog ! ' ' 
 
 " But he and Orlando did not know each 
 other," I asserted. 
 
 83
 
 VII 
 
 AN ORDER FOR BUMONGE 
 
 " ~\ T THEN a young man with a head the 
 VV size of a cocoanut, and a forehead 
 the width and breadth of my two fingers comes 
 down to Ma'shfield 'cause he wanted to fish 'n' 
 hunt where Daniel Webster used to, it don't 
 seem like the 'ternal fitness of things, somehow. 
 But I guess he won't amount to much with his 
 gun and rod, or anything else, at present." 
 
 The speaker was leaning forward from the 
 seat of an old buggy which was drawn by a 
 horse that, the instant it was allowed to stop, 
 seemed to droop into weak curves in all its limbs 
 as it waited. 
 
 The woman in the buggy had driven across 
 the dike up to our shanty as being the nearest 
 house at which to ask for a roll of cotton batting 
 that could aid in setting a broken arm. It 
 seemed that the effulgent young man in riding- 
 84
 
 An Order for Bumonge 
 
 dress had come to bitter grief after he had entered 
 the gate leading to the dike. He had been 
 thrown from the saddle, and this woman told us 
 he was in an awful way as to his insides, besides 
 having no end of broken bones. " He was taken 
 right into Mrs. Grant's, and there he 'd have to 
 stay one while," the speaker guessed. She'd 
 been calling to Mrs. Grant's when it happened, 
 and "she'd driven right off'n' got the doctor, 
 'n' now she was sent for cotton battin', and she 
 s'posed she mustn't stop a minute." But the 
 temptation to give us more details of the accident 
 was so strong that she allowed her horse to 
 remain drooped while she said " she never seen 
 nothin' go off 'm a horse as he did, 'n' she 
 didn't believe them leggin's or them yeller gloves 
 would ever be fit to wear again. The feller was 
 goin' to try to hire a shanty for self and friend 
 to come down and camp out in, 'n' fish, and so 
 forth. He told somebody up to the Cut that he 
 guessed the reminiscences of Daniel Webster 'd 
 make it interestin' here, though he did n't take it 
 there was much round besides reminiscences. I 
 don't know," she went on, "who told him to 
 come to the Jo Tilden dike ; it was a joke, I 
 85
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 reckon. Id' know what Mrs. Grant's goin* 
 to do. He can't be moved for nobody knows 
 how long. I 'm goin' to stop up to see if I 
 c'n git July Burns to come and nuss him, for 
 Mrs. Grant can't no ways do it with her 
 lameness. 
 
 "*N } there's that Miss Vance to Rodge 
 Peake's ; p'raps she could spell July 'bout the case 
 if" it come to that. That Virginy Vance ain't got 
 much vim you might think from her 'pearance, 
 but she had a Yankee mother, 'n' that kinder 
 saves her, you know. She c'n kinder 'complish 
 things, somehow. But she 's mighty diff'runt 
 from us folks outlandish, I guess. But I can't 
 stop. 
 
 "That young man's right in Mrs. Grant's 
 parlor. So you ain't got no cotton battin' ? I 
 did n't really expect you had, but I thought I'd 
 make sure. G' lang ! ' ' 
 
 She pulled convulsively at the reins, and the 
 horse, after two or three efforts, started off in a 
 walk, the buggy reeling and wobbling after him. 
 
 I felt pretty sure that the occupant of that 
 buggy would stop faithfully at all the houses in 
 the pursuit of batting, and thus she would be 
 86
 
 An Order for Bumonge 
 
 the first to tell the news of the catastrophe 
 through the hamlet. 
 
 The next day, as we sat on the shady side 
 of the shanty, watching Rodge Peake riding 
 his mowing machine, and noticing the absence 
 of Leife, we saw a woman in a sun-bonnet 
 coming toward us. Having subdued the demon- 
 strations of the terrier, we had leisure to observe 
 that this person bore in her hand a small paper 
 bag and a tin quart measure, and that she was 
 very portly of form and deliberate of movement. 
 I offered her the chair in which I had been 
 sitting, and she sank down in it, keeping the tin 
 carefully upright. I saw now that the tin con- 
 tained milk, and I waited to know why she had 
 brought milk to us. She was in no hurry to 
 speak, and only nodded assent when I brilliantly 
 remarked that it was a warm day. Finally she 
 said she " told 'um over to Mrs. Grant's that she 
 must have a mouthful er fresh air, and she guessed 
 she'd do their arrant for 'um. She told 'um 
 also that, as their hands were 'bout as full's 
 they could be, she presumed likely the two 
 women in the shanty, who couldn't have 
 nothin', skurcely, to do, would be willin' to 
 87
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 help so fur as to make a mess of bumonge for 
 'urn. The doctor had ordered bumonge, so 's 
 to build up the tissues, he said, and there 'd got 
 to be some made by somebody. She had brought 
 the moss," extending the paper bag, which I 
 took, "and the milk," holding out the measure, 
 which I also took. Standing thus helplessly 
 before her, I said, timidly, that I had never 
 made any bumonge in my life, and I might 
 spoil the materials. Still I was willing to try to 
 aid in building up that young man's tissues. 
 
 The woman looked at me with a slow scorn 
 growing in her broad, stolid face. 
 
 " Never made no bumonge ! " she repeated. 
 Then she looked 'round her as if in search of 
 some one who could share her amazement. 
 "Never made none ! I declare ! Hm-m-m," 
 going off into an inarticulate sound, which we 
 learned later was characteristic of her, and seem- 
 ing to fall into a kind of meditation from which 
 she roused to say that " there wa'n't nothin' 
 'bout bumonge that a child couldn't understand. 
 It was jest to put the moss into some cold milk, 
 'n' bring the milk slowly to a bile, then strain 
 off into cups. All there was to it was not to
 
 An Order for Bumonge 
 
 let the milk scorch, which milk was bound 
 to do if it anyways got a chance. Continooal 
 stirring was what it needed, though some folks 
 nowadays had a double biler. Had we got a 
 doublebiler ? ' ' My friend said that we had 
 not thought a dike shanty was an appropriate 
 place for such a luxury, and so had not brought 
 the article she mentioned. Our visitor had 
 begun to meditate again, and so did not appear 
 to hear this remark. She was not in any hurry, 
 but sat with her big figure and fat face somewhat 
 thrown forward in her chair. She presented a 
 curious appearance, caused by having a very 
 small head, and still, in some unaccountable way, 
 a large, pendulous kind of a face. Who was 
 she ? Was she the woman who had been meant 
 when the messenger in the buggy had spoken of 
 July Burns, as the person who would have to 
 come and " nuss that young man ' ' ? July was 
 pronounced like the month of like orthography, 
 and not as a corruption of Julia. I hardly dared 
 to ask who it was who had thus put us to 
 making blanc-mange. It would seem to one 
 who casually thought on this subject in all its 
 bearings, that the nurse would be the one who
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 should concoct dainties for her charge. But 
 that may not be the way things are done on or 
 near a dike. 
 
 The reverie of our caller was apparently so 
 profound that we did not wish to disturb it, and 
 so waited until such time as she should rouse 
 herself. This rousing occurred after about half 
 an hour, when she put a hand on each side of 
 her chair, and so, as if raised by a species of 
 leverage, she rose to her feet. Standing thus 
 she advised us to make the bumonge before night, 
 as the milk came from Dan Grant's cow, and 
 that cow's milk would sometimes bonny-clabber 
 in twelve hours. "And," she added, "I may 
 not feel like comin' after it, 'n' you 'd better, 
 one of you, run over with it yourselves." 
 
 When she had left us we lost no time in 
 conversing about this stranger. We could only 
 begin immediately to make a fire and other 
 preparations, that we might cook, for it seemed 
 to us that we could almost see the milk of Dan 
 Grant's cow begin to " bonny-clabber " as we 
 looked at it. The moments when we " took 
 turns " in standing over the hot stove and in 
 stirring the milk lest it scorch were very wearing, 
 90
 
 An Order for Bumonge 
 
 perspiring moments. We felt as if we were 
 grossly imposed upon, and yet we should doubt- 
 less have been considered brutes if we had 
 refused to do this. 
 
 At that critical moment when the milk is at 
 once the nearest to scorching and to being suffi- 
 ciently cooked, Orlando barked outside, and I 
 heard the voice of one of the haymakers. It 
 was my turn at the stove, and my friend went 
 out to come back just as I had swung the kettle 
 off the fire. I thus had leisure to listen to her 
 as she said that the man had told her that Rodge 
 Peake had stopped mowing ; that he had not 
 taken his horses from the machine, and they 
 were dragging the machine anywhere in the 
 grass. They, the men, did n't know what to 
 do, so they had come to us. 
 
 " Where was Mr. Peake ? " 
 
 " Oh, he fell off the machine, 'n' they 
 guessed he was asleep out there on the dike 
 somewhere." 
 
 " Fell off? Did he have a fit ? " 
 
 The man smiled broadly and arranged the 
 short birch stick which fastened his one suspender 
 in front. 
 
 91
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 " Guess 't ain't much of a fit. Leastways, I 
 guess it 's the kind of a fit that folks has 
 after they 've be'n swillin' whiskey into their- 
 selves." 
 
 My heart fell. 
 
 " Has he been swillin' whiskey ?" I inquired. 
 
 " Yes ; always does when he 's hayin'. Now, 
 ye see, we are in kind of a fix, ain't we ? " 
 
 I recalled what Mar Baker had hinted when 
 she knew who was to get in our grass. Why 
 had n't she spoken plainly ? 
 
 One of the other men must immediately get 
 on the machine and begin to mow. So we 
 said. Then we learned that Rodge Peake, before 
 he had fallen from the machine, had run it on 
 to something not meant for it and broken it. 
 At last one of the most intelligent of the men 
 gave us his sacred promise that he would do his 
 best to get the machine mended the next day. 
 Meanwhile he would go home, and would stop 
 and let Peake' s wife know 'bout things. 
 
 "She'll come and git him," he added. 
 "He'll be sure to be drunk three or four 
 days." 
 
 We began to think we knew why Rodge 
 92
 
 An Order for Bumonge 
 
 Peake's wife's father had not approved of his 
 daughter's choice. 
 
 It was not in a pleasant frame of mind that 
 my friend and Orlando and I started forth at 
 sunset to go to Mrs. Grant's to deliver the 
 bumonge. 
 
 93
 
 VIII 
 
 IT JELLS 
 
 AS we left the shanty in the early dusk to go 
 to Mrs. Grant's " up on the aidge of the 
 dike," we each bore two cups of b lane-mange, 
 arranged on respective plates. Orlando, how- 
 ever, was not thus burdened. He only had 
 with him his ever present sense of his own 
 importance, and his unlimited capacity for pro- 
 tective barking ; thus equipped he naturally felt 
 that he was ready to go anywhere, and he 
 cantered on ahead with the utmost satisfaction. 
 I ought to have mentioned that when July 
 Burns had brought the milk and the moss 
 together with her order, and had given us 
 directions for the concoction, she had neglected 
 to tell us the quantity of moss required for the 
 given amount of milk. Our one great fear when 
 we came to consult our judgment in the matter 
 was that we should not use enough moss to 
 94
 
 It Jells 
 
 sufficiently thicken the milk, and we kept put- 
 ting in one spray after another as the milk was 
 heating. My friend remarked several times that 
 we should never be forgiven if the stuff should n't 
 " set " in the cups so as to turn out like jelly. 
 " Whatever happens," she said, " this bumonge 
 must jell." 
 
 I had to go up to Mar Baker's and borrow a 
 strainer, and as a gravy strainer was all that she 
 had, it was with the utmost difficulty that we 
 poked the warm mixture with a teaspoon through 
 the strainer in very small quantities at a time. 
 In our anxiety a good many drops went on the 
 floor in a very coagulated state, and were instantly 
 gathered up by Orlando, who developed a strong 
 liking for this kind of food. We were directly 
 relieved of our fear lest this product should not 
 jell, for before it was half pushed through the 
 strainer it was nearly as stiff as cheese, or rather 
 like the white of a hard-boiled egg, and by the 
 time it was in the cups was so solid it would 
 require a knife and some muscular power to attack 
 it. My fellow-laborer thought there was too 
 much moss, and I thought there was not enough 
 milk ; we were both of the opinion that it would 
 95
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 be a capital diet with which to build up the 
 tissues of the young man lying disabled at Mrs. 
 Grant's. The blanc-mange had a good look to 
 it and it tasted well, and these two important 
 requisites decided us to take it to Mrs. Grant's, as 
 we had been told. 
 
 The Grants lived in an old house, set so near 
 the road that carriages must occasionally run over 
 its flat front "door stone." It had not a tree 
 near it, and from its south " end window " there 
 must be an extensive view of the dike. To 
 those who loved the flat, and I now could easily 
 imagine the place awakening an ardent and 
 peculiar love, such a view must be a constant 
 delight, filling the soul with vague, large dreams. 
 But to those to whom these wide expanses, with 
 the ocean thundering beyond, suggested only a 
 monotonous gloom, the old Grant house would 
 be a melancholy place of residence. Each wild 
 bird that flew toward water or toward land 
 would suggest a spirit escaping. 
 
 The house was too low for even its chambers 
 
 to command a glimpse of the sea. It was low 
 
 in structure and low-toned in every way ; beloved 
 
 of chimney swallows apparently, for, as we ap- 
 
 96
 
 It Jells 
 
 preached, several of those birds were flying in 
 and out of the enormous mouth of the chimney. 
 The cracked and blackened front door had a row 
 of small window panes above it. The door was 
 swung open, and in the entry sat Mr. Grant 
 smoking, his back to the passer-by, and his legs 
 supported on one of the stairs, which began their 
 ascent directly opposite the door and not many 
 feet from it. 
 
 Mr. Grant turned his head when he heard 
 our footsteps, clinched his pipe tightly between 
 his teeth, and called out, " Lyddy ! Lyddy ! 
 Here 's company i " 
 
 We immediately heard a limping sound from 
 one of the back rooms, and an extremely un- 
 kempt looking woman came into the entry, 
 nodded at us, and said, 
 
 " Daniel, I 'd know 's anybody c'n git by you, 
 settin' 's you be." 
 
 Mr. Grant now took his pipe from his mouth, 
 hitched his chair a little to one side, and said, 
 
 " If they can't git by me, Lyddy, you know 
 there ain't a woman in the world but what can 
 git round me." 
 
 He chuckled, and we smiled as we pushed into 
 7 97
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 the kitchen where the woman beckoned us. We 
 bore our plates as circumspectly as we could. 
 
 As she shoved chairs toward us, Mrs. Grant 
 said that July had told her that we were goin' 
 to be so kind as to make some bumonge for that 
 unlucky feller as had broke hisself about all to 
 pieces. We explained that we were asked to 
 make the btanc-mange, but we had never made 
 any before and did n't think we had been very 
 successful. Mrs. Grant pulled her spectacles 
 from her forehead down to her eyes, looked at the 
 contents of the cups, and said it seemed to have 
 jelled. I replied that we feared it had not jelled 
 but petrified, whereupon she smiled and guessed 
 we put in too much moss, but it was a good deal 
 better to have too much than too little. This 
 was said in such a genial way that we both felt 
 in better spirits than we had done since we had 
 been requested to make this article of food. The 
 terrier was also encouraged to put his forepaws, 
 which were quite muddy, up on Mrs. Grant's 
 lap, and to receive a few kind pats, which he took 
 as no more than his due. She told us that this 
 dog had come to her house before our arrival, 
 and she had fed him several times. He seemed 
 98
 
 It Jells 
 
 " awful thin and awful lonesome, and I tell you I 
 pitied him. I 'd have took him in, only our cat 
 won't have a dog 'round. But he looks as if 
 he had found some good friends now." 
 
 Here a door opened the other side of the 
 house, boards creaked, thin partitions wavered, 
 and then July Burns appeared in the open door- 
 way. She greeted us silently, then sat heavily 
 down in a chair near the door, and immediately 
 began to meditate. Mrs. Grant moved her hand 
 slightly toward July and said, just as if she were 
 not present. " That's a way she has. I s'pose 
 she's a restin'. I often wish I could rest 's 
 easy 's that. 'T ain't no use tryin' to rouse her. 
 She '11 rouse herself when she gets ready." This 
 prophecy was fulfilled about ten minutes later 
 when July lifted her broad face, and, glancing at 
 the dishes on the table near us, said she hoped 
 we'd had good luck, but then a child could 
 make bumonge ; there wan't no difHkilty 'bout 
 that. No one made any reply to this, and Mrs. 
 Burns went on to say that her young man, that 
 is what she called her patient, and I thought he 
 would have liked to hear her, had dropped into 
 a doze, and she thought she 'd jest come out 'n' 
 99
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 change the scene a little. She thought nusses 
 was expected too much to stick to the sick-room 
 and git sick theirselves. 
 
 While she was speaking she had put her 
 hands to the sides of her chair, as she had done 
 at our shanty, and had thus risen to her feet. 
 She walked over and looked at the blanc-mange, 
 putting the square end of her fat forefinger on to it. 
 
 " Simps to me," she said, " it 's jest like injy 
 rubber. I d' know whether my young man can 
 eat it or not, or if he does eat it I would n't 
 wonder if it distressed him. Didn't have no 
 luck, did ye?" 
 
 " If it were India rubber we wanted, we had 
 the best of luck," said my friend, somewhat 
 tartly. 
 
 " I did n't know 's anybody could help 
 making bumonge right," said July. 
 
 Here Mrs. Grant interposed by saying good- 
 humoredly that it made all the difference in the 
 world whether a person was used to a thing or 
 not. And then July said she 'd come over to 
 our shanty in a day or two and she 'd show us, 
 for likely 's not there 'd be more needed. As 
 for this mess, why, if her young man could n' t 
 
 IOC5
 
 It Jells 
 
 eat it, she could, as she loved them kind of 
 victuals. 
 
 Before she had finished these remarks we 
 heard a tossing, and some muttered and impa- 
 tient words from the room where we decided 
 that July's patient was lying. She heard also, 
 and before she left us to go to him she said he 
 was jest as fretful 's he could be, and she never 
 yet worried till folks stopped bein' fretful. She 
 told us further that he had said something about 
 sendin' to Boston for one er them trained nusses, 
 'n' she told him if he wanted to fling away his 
 money he might, but that she herself would n't 
 give in to no trained nuss that ever stepped. 
 "'N' I told him that I had n't no objections to 
 havin' help from amongst the neighbors 's I 
 knew on. I thought of gittin' Miss Vance to 
 come over 'n' help me watch with him some- 
 times so 's to give me a chance, 'n' I guess I 
 sh'll send for her to-morrer. Yes, I let him 
 know my idee of trained nusses. 
 
 " He ain't said nothin' more 'bout it sense," 
 she said in conclusion. Then the floor creaked 
 again and the partitions vibrated as she went 
 back to her charge. 
 
 101
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 Even the good-humored Mrs. Grant seemed 
 roused by the mention of trained nurses, a subject 
 upon which her ideas were vague, but emphatic. 
 She said with great force that human nature I 
 think she meant humanity or charity had bid 
 her take in that poor critter when he got throwed 
 and smashed up so, 'n' her house was turned 
 topsy-turvy for him. Human nature had gone 
 so fur, but it could n't be expected to go to the 
 length of havin' a trained nuss under her roof. 
 She was goin' to stop there. If July Burns, 
 who had took care, fust 'n' last, of nigh every- 
 body at the Cut or the Brant, savin' summer 
 visitors, couldn't do for him, with help from 
 the neighbors, if necessary, in course, why, then 
 he need n't be done for under her roof, 'n' she 
 was prepared to tell him so, if it come to that. 
 
 Mr. Grant here spoke from the front entry, 
 where he had continued smoking, 
 
 "Now, Lyddy," he said, "don't cry 'fore 
 you 're hurt. July Burns '11 git that feller up in 
 a week or two." He looked full at us, took 
 his pipe from his mouth, and in a barely audible 
 voice he continued, "Any feller that had the 
 wit of a goose 'd git up off his sick bed plaguy 
 102
 
 It Jells 
 
 quick, so's to git where he couldn't see nor 
 hear that woman. Now, in my opinion, that 's 
 the kind of a nuss to hev, the one that'll git ye 
 up the soonest." 
 
 His wife said remonstrantly, "Daniel!" but 
 Daniel only went on smoking. We rose to ter- 
 minate our call. We said constrainedly that if 
 we could do anything we hoped they would ask 
 us freely for our help. Mr. Grant went out a 
 few yards along the road with us. I thought 
 he had come thus far that he might say some- 
 thing, but he stopped in the same objectless way 
 in which he had started, went back, then told 
 us over his shoulder that he guessed we should 
 have a good hay day to-morrow. 
 
 These words recalled the facts that Mr. Peake's 
 mowing machine was broken, and Mr. Peake 
 himself was drunk. These facts we had for a 
 moment forgotten. It was bright starlight now. 
 There was not a breath of wind, not a sound ; 
 even the ocean was noiseless. As we walked 
 on, two women on horseback came cantering in 
 a cloud of dust from the direction of the Brant. 
 In this cloud of dust we saw the tall form of 
 Ozias coming from the post-office. We were 
 103
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 always anxious when he returned from such an 
 errand lest he might bring an answer to our 
 advertisement about Orlando. This latter indi- 
 vidual was now growling and capering at the 
 heels of the errand boy. The terrier had from 
 the first revealed an I was going to say an 
 unmanly, certainly an undogly dislike toward 
 Ozias. This undisguised animosity may have 
 had something to do with fostering Mrs. Baker's 
 belief that our dog was always running mad. 
 
 The half-witted being had earned two pennies, 
 for he had brought us two letters. His fund 
 toward an ice-cream debauch was slowly grow- 
 ing. But he still bewailed the fact that he was 
 forbidden to earn more money by going on to 
 the dike when the mowing-machine was in 
 operation. In reference to this subject, Mar 
 Baker had said that, though the Lord hadn't 
 given 'Zias as many brains as other folks, he had 
 given him as many arms and legs, and she was 
 going to try to keep 'em from being cut off. 
 
 104
 
 IX 
 
 A LETTER AND A NERVE ATTACK 
 
 E interior of a shanty. A" small kerosene 
 hand-lamp faintly illuminating the cracked 
 stove and the row of bunks at the end of the 
 room. The screen door accidentally left open, 
 and mosquitoes and large moths flying in. A 
 scent of damp newly cut hay mingled with an 
 odor of salt pervading the place. A Yorkshire 
 terrier sitting on the table in the direct glow of 
 the light, and watching with keenest eyes the 
 movements of two women who seem somewhat 
 excited over an open letter which they have 
 evidently just perused. Reader ! This is our 
 shanty, it is our kerosene lamp, our terrier 
 oh ! would he were indeed ours ! our mosqui- 
 toes, our moths, and we are the two women 
 with the letter. It is one of the missives which 
 Ozias brought and we paid him two cents for it. 
 It seems misery enough to have it without the 
 consciousness that we have also paid for it. But 
 105
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 still it might be far worse than it is. With every 
 perusal that we give it, our consciousness that 
 indeed it might be worse, and our relief that 
 it is n't, grow stronger and stronger. It is 
 an answer to our advertisement concerning the 
 dog, which notice appeared some weeks ago, 
 so long ago in fact that we have been able day 
 by day to thrust more and more successfully 
 from us the fear that there would ever be an 
 answer. The envelope is postmarked in Glas- 
 gow, Scotland. The writing is of that tall, 
 slim, ladylike kind wherein each letter is pre- 
 cisely like every other letter, and which one 
 does not read but divines in some unexplainable 
 way. We have divined it, or we think we 
 have, and this it is : 
 
 "Dear, unknown friends of Orlando across 
 the water : Arthur has just happened to see your 
 advertisement in an old Boston paper that we 
 found in our state-room. Arthur is my husband, 
 and we have come on our wedding trip to 
 Scotland where his parents were born. I 've 
 been sick almost every bit of the voyage, and 
 you don't know how lovely 'tis to be on land 
 again. Arthur says I shall love Scotland as he 
 1 06
 
 A Letter and a Nerve Attack 
 
 loves it, and I begin to feel sure I shall, but then 
 I 've been so sick coming over that I should 
 dote on almost anything that didn't reel and 
 pitch and creak. He just looks over my shoul- 
 der and suggests that I say something about 
 Orlando. Of course, he is right. There never 
 was a sweeter dog than that one. My brother 
 gave him to me. He, my brother I mean, was 
 studying something about Italian literature, and 
 he said it was a good joke to give the dog that 
 name. Perhaps you'll understand it. I'm 
 sure I don't. Arthur says there 's no need for 
 me to understand it. We missed him one time 
 when we were visiting the Webster Place. 
 Arthur says I must give you my address, but 
 how can I when we expect to travel for the 
 next six months, and to be abroad for a year or 
 two ? Arthur says there is nothing like seeing 
 other countries to make a man appreciate his 
 own. I know you will be kind to my own 
 dear doggie. Hug him hard for me and kiss 
 his little black nose " here we paused to obey 
 this request, and then, when Orlando had almost 
 knocked the lamp over, we went on. " Arthur 
 thinks from your advertisement that you will be 
 107
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 just as kind as can be to him the dog, I mean. 
 He says that I'd better let you keep him, the 
 dog, you know, until we come back, as you 
 seem to be so attached to him, to Orlando, you 
 understand. Arthur is watching me so as I 
 write that it is quite confusing. Arthur says 
 you '11 be sure to be thankful for the privilege of 
 having him, oh, dear, of having the Yorkshire, 
 I mean. And as for me, I cannot express how 
 grateful lam that Orlando has found sympathetic 
 friends. I have worried awfully about him, and 
 I just cried for joy when Arthur showed me the 
 notice. I mean to write to you again, and I 
 implore that you will occasionally send me a 
 word about the dog, though Arthur says that 
 would be no end of a bore to you. 
 Gratefully yours, 
 
 ROSE EVANS MC.DONALD." 
 
 This was the letter, and it covered four sheets 
 of note paper, so extensive was the chiro- 
 graphy. At first we did not notice that Mrs. 
 McDonald had not, after all, given any address, 
 but on looking closely over the sheet we found 
 no more hieroglyphics, and turned to each other 
 108
 
 A Letter and a Nerve Attack 
 
 with thankful glances. Why did not Arthur 
 have his wife put on an address ? He must 
 have been absent from his bride when she really 
 sealed the note. Yes, indeed, it might have 
 been a good deal worse, even though my friend 
 suggested that Rose Evans McDonald, by the 
 time she returned to her native shores, might be 
 so tired of her Arthur that she would be glad to 
 resume her Orlando. But there were a great 
 many chances in our favor. Mrs. Arthur might 
 choose to settle in Arthur's Scotland, or she 
 might even die. But it was wicked to speculate 
 thus. The present was our own. When the 
 time drew nigh for the return of the McDonalds, 
 we might abscond. As for giving up Orlando, 
 that alternative had grown more and more 
 fearful to think of as the days passed on. 
 
 Our discussion of this subject was cut short by 
 the terrier's leaping from the stand and flying to 
 the open door wherein an unsteady figure pres- 
 ently appeared. This figure was that of Rodge 
 Peake, very much crumpled as to his shirt and 
 over-alls, and very blurred as to his face. He 
 grasped the side of the door, made a movement 
 that was meant to cause us to think he was very 
 109
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 upright indeed, then he asked solicitously concern- 
 ing our health. Before we could reply, he told us 
 earnestly that the Brant was the place for women, 
 and he 'd got a house there that he 'd sell reason- 
 able. Having said this he went down in a heap 
 on the floor, with the dog flying about him. 
 We heard a mutter to the effect that some strong 
 coffee was what he needed, for his nerves some- 
 times played him these tricks. We acted upon 
 this suggestion and began to make a fire as the 
 first step toward coffee. We immediately sus- 
 pected that Mr. Peake had been asleep on the 
 dike somewhere ever since we had been informed 
 that he had been " swillin' whiskey," and that, 
 for some reason, his wife had not chosen to come 
 after him. Mr. Peake drew himself up and 
 leaned in a sitting posture against the wall just 
 within the door. As the aroma of coffee grew 
 strong upon the air our guest began to revive, 
 and when he had drank one cup and held the 
 other in his hand he was almost himself. He 
 had probably slept off the first and deepest effects 
 of his potations. He was now looking rather 
 shamefaced, and this look grew upon him rapidly. 
 He commenced an elaborate explanation of the 
 no
 
 A Letter and a Nerve Attack 
 
 tricks his nerves would at certain periods " cut 
 upon him." He said that folks, to look at him, 
 p'raps, wouldn't say he had a nerve in him, 
 but, in point of fact, he was as chock full of um 
 as a woman, and when he 'd been out in the 
 hot sun, settin' on his merchine like 's he 'd 
 been doin' on our dike, why, then he jest had 
 ter give up 'n' lay down right where he was. 
 He had often found it mighty inconvenient to 
 have this kind of nerves, 'n' when he kinder 
 come to, he hed to hev some coffee to stiddy 
 him. He could feel this coffee a stiddyin' of 
 him now. 
 
 As the fire blazed in the stove the atmosphere 
 in the little room grew unbearable. It was one 
 of the sultriest nights of the summer. The 
 heavy clouds had shut out the sky all day, but 
 no rain had fallen. There was not a breath of 
 wind, and the flat lay there as if under a spell 
 woven by the summer solstice, still, dark, hot, 
 close. There was hardly a murmur from the 
 ocean. The clouds kept coming down nearer 
 and nearer. Off in the north "heat lightning" 
 played along the horizon. But there was no 
 thunder. It was what is called " muggy." 
 II I
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 Mr. Grant, when we had taken our daily allow- 
 ance of milk at sunset, had said it couldn't be 
 no muggier if it tried. 
 
 We were constantly wiping the moisture from 
 our faces, but Mr. Peake did not seem to mind 
 the drops that rolled down his forehead and 
 cheeks. He sat as comfortably as was possible 
 in the door-way, his back propped against one 
 side of the casing. 
 
 He took another sip of coffee and repeated 
 with still more emphatic gratitude his assertion 
 concerning its beneficial effects. As he did so a 
 pathetic, long-drawn-out voice outside said, 
 
 "It's a great pity you couldn't be at home 
 to git stiddied under your own roof, *n' let 
 your own wife make your coffee." 
 
 The dog dashed out and conducted into the 
 shanty a slender, young-looking woman of the 
 washed-out blond type, who went to Mr. Peake 
 and put her hand on his forehead as she looked 
 anxiously at him. Then she glanced at us 
 and said in a whisper that he was just a trifle 
 feverish now. She 'd take him right home 'n' 
 nuss him up. When he had these 'tacks they 
 gen' rally lasted about three days. She knew 
 
 112
 
 A Letter and a Nerve Attack 
 
 how to take care of him. If there was ever a 
 woman that knew about nerve 'tacks she was 
 that woman, for her husband had had um ever 
 sence she married him. She knew he was lia- 
 ble to um when he was on the merchine. She 
 should have been after him sooner only she 'd 
 been spendin' the day jest below the Cut and 
 did n't git the word 'til late. Virginy she 
 had n't come home yet ; 'n' Leife he was to Bos- 
 ton on business. It happened so she was the 
 one to come. 'N' 'twas 'jest as well, for she 
 knew better 'n anybody how to do at such 
 times. 
 
 " Come, Rodge, don't you think we can 
 walk home now? I guess we can git there 
 somehow ? " 
 
 Her minor, drawling tones were very pene- 
 trating. Though she held on to the sound of 
 some letters the effect was very different from 
 the effect when the same thing was done in the 
 full, melodious voice of her niece. Her face 
 was sympathetic and gentle. There was not a 
 hint in her whole aspect to show that she was 
 not sincere, or that she could detect the fumes 
 of whiskey which her husband's breath made 
 8 113
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 very perceptible, even above the odor of coffee 
 in the little room. 
 
 Mr. Peake looked at his wife and then at us 
 with an air of pride. He struggled up to his feet 
 with her help. As they stood together for a 
 moment before starting, that he might be allowed 
 to get his equilibrium as much as possible, it 
 occurred to us that nerve attacks were very 
 antagonistic to celerity in the matter of mowing. 
 We inquired when our grass would probably all 
 be cut. Mr. Peake looked at his wife again, 
 now with inquiry. She explained that her 
 husband wa' n't well for 'bout three days after 
 one of these 'tacks. She thought by Monday 
 he 'd be sure to be 'round. Rodge nodded his 
 head profusely and said that by Monday he 'd 
 be sure to be 'round. We said we wished we 
 could get another man who did not have nerve 
 'tacks. Mrs. Peake did not appear offended at 
 this. She said that dike grass bein' low so it 
 would n't take no hurt if it stood a great deal 
 later than upland. We knew that this was true, 
 fortunately for us, and we knew also that "an- 
 other man " would not probably be forthcoming 
 at this late day. Mrs. Peake thanked us with 
 114
 
 A Letter and a Nerve Attack 
 
 almost tearful earnestness for our kindness to 
 her sick husband. She said nerves was fearful 
 things, and no one who had never had to deal 
 with um knew anything about them. Then 
 they both said good night, Mr. Peake turning 
 back to repeat the farewell with fervor when a 
 few yards away. We stood and watched the 
 two as they walked slowly under the summer 
 heavens. Even in the dusk we could see with 
 what tenderness Mrs. Peake guided her com- 
 panion. Did she know what his trouble was ? 
 She must know. But certainly I had never 
 seen acting so perfect, and I was sure it was kept 
 up in the privacy of their own home. 
 
 The night was so soft and sweet and still 
 that we walked out on the dike. The scent 
 of cedar and sweet fern and clover came out 
 strongly in the dampness. There was not a 
 distinct sound to be heard. The never-ceasing 
 hum of the insects in the grass was like the 
 inarticulate voice of the night itself. How dark 
 it was ! How hot ! 
 
 There was no glimmer of light when we 
 looked above. That heat lightning capriciously 
 glared every few moments.
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 Looking back we saw the light streaming 
 from the door of our small black shanty and 
 revealing the rough interior. 
 
 Without thinking or caring which way we 
 went, we found that we had come near the 
 river, which cuts its way through the marshes 
 here, and makes a thoroughfare used in coming 
 from the Brant village or going to it. 
 
 As we stood listening to the slight noise made 
 by the stream, we presently became aware that 
 there was a boat approaching. The oars were 
 dipped and withdrawn very slowly. A man 
 was speaking, and soon there were distinct words 
 audible. 
 
 " It is lucky for me that you strayed over to 
 the village. If you had gone directly home, I 
 should not have met you, and so could n't have 
 taken you across the cut. And there 's a good 
 mile you will have to walk with me yet." 
 
 The speaker evidently meant what he said, 
 though he might have purposely exaggerated his 
 emphasis. We were at first in doubt as to who 
 he was. But we knew directly whose was the 
 vowel-caressing voice that responded. 
 
 " You have an impressive way with you, 
 116
 
 A Letter and a Nerve Attack 
 
 cousin Leife. It makes conversation very pleas- 
 ant if one believes you," and Miss Vance 
 laughed. 
 
 " If one believes me ! " rather vehemently 
 repeated Leife Peake. " I don't know you very 
 well yet, but I mean to know you. Yes, I 
 mean to understand you, you puzzle of a 
 Northern and Southern girl in one. I 'm going 
 to stay right at home and study Virginia Vance. 
 Tell me, are you intending to make the study a 
 difficult one?" 
 
 "Just as difficult as possible, or you won't care 
 to keep on with it," the girl answered gayly. 
 
 I cannot tell what it was, surely nothing in 
 the words, and we could not see her face, 
 was it something in the mere inflection, or 
 more intricate or occult still, was it some invol- 
 untary revealment from her very presence that 
 made us two outsiders who heard her equally 
 sure that she was drawn toward her companion 
 as he was drawn toward her ? 
 
 He should have been conscious of this assur- 
 ance far more acutely than we, who, standing 
 without, could too vividly imagine the thrill the 
 knowledge would give him. 
 117
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 After a silence Miss Vance suggested that as 
 they were so near those ladies, would it not be 
 a good thing to call on them ? 
 
 Hearing this proposition we turned quickly 
 and hurried toward the lamp-light, which told 
 us where the shanty was. 
 
 Orlando, who had been on one of the mys- 
 terious trips which dogs often find it necessary to 
 take, now came running back and began to bark 
 at the boat. We did not reveal our presence by 
 calling him. 
 
 We entered our hovel and sat down to wait. 
 It was a good while, considering the distance, 
 before the two appeared at the entrance. They 
 did not seem eager to come in, but the girl 
 entered and sat down, while her escort lounged 
 in the door-way. 
 
 If there had been something like stolidity in 
 the squareness of young Peake's face, there was 
 nothing like it now. It was dangerously illu- 
 minated and alive. The aggressive chin and 
 mouth were almost sensitive in their expression, 
 and there was a sort of flush showing through 
 the tan of his cheeks. That flush and the gleam 
 in his eyes reminded me by contrast of the sod- 
 118
 
 A Letter and a Nerve Attack 
 
 den condition in which I had just seen his father, 
 and it also made me think of the insinuations 
 Mar Baker had spoken. What had this fellow 
 been doing in Boston ? Had he been drinking 
 champagne with a gay party while his father 
 had been enacting a more advanced part in the 
 same drama ? And was he going to love this 
 girl and win her without being worthy even to 
 be her friend ? 
 
 Here I glanced at Miss Vance, and was made 
 quite unhappy because I fancied she looked too 
 happy. There was little color in her face, 
 however. She had that pallor which often goes 
 with dark skins, and which saves the owner 
 many an agony of blushing. She met my eyes 
 radiantly. She was more quiet even than usual. 
 I could not, after the two were gone, forget a 
 way she had of lifting her eyes slowly toward 
 Leife, without smiling, but with something in 
 her face a great deal better than a smile. 
 
 When they were well out of the way I de- 
 clared that it was a shame. Without asking 
 what I meant, my companion reiterated my 
 exclamation. 
 
 After this, the closeness being still intolerable, 
 119
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 we went out again. It was that kind of air, or 
 lack of it, which makes people sure they cannot 
 breathe if there is n' t a change. 
 
 We went up on to the road till we came to 
 Mrs. Baker's. We found her sitting on her 
 doorstep flapping a bunch of sweet fern to keep 
 away the mosquitoes. She said it was so hot 'n' 
 stifled she jest hated to stay in the house. Her 
 way of speaking showed that she was very tired, 
 and when we questioned her she acknowledged 
 that ' Zias had been particularly wearin' that day, 
 and now he was asleep she was trying to rest. 
 She ended by saying : 
 
 " I guess I ain't the only woman that 's fagged 
 out to-night. Miss Peake jes' come along lookin' 
 for her husband. She was as worked up 's could 
 be ; said he 'd git cold a layin' on the dike. 
 Said he had to lay down wherever he was when 
 his nerve 'tack got to jes' such a haith " did 
 she mean height ? " Said he was so liable to 
 have a 'tack when he was on the merchine. I 
 s'pose she found him, for I seen um go 'long 
 jes' now." 
 
 We related the occurrences of the last hour, 
 so far as they concerned Mr. and Mrs. Peake. 
 
 120
 
 A Letter and a Nerve Attack 
 
 It seemed best to suppress all reference to 
 the younger people we had seen. The little 
 woman threw up her hands and exclaimed : 
 " Lord-er-mighty ! I never seen such a woman 's 
 that is ! It 's ben like that ever since she married. 
 There ain't no mortal person ever known of her 
 showing by any sign or look or word that she 
 knows Rodge drinks. He 's even had delirium 
 trimmins once or twice. She talks 'bout his 
 'tacks free enough. She wishes her husband 
 was well like other men. She nusses him up. 
 She's gentle as a dove. She beats me. I've 
 wondered many a time if she ever lets him know 
 she knows what's the matter of him. I '11 bet 
 she don't. Does she know herself? I tell 
 you she 's bright 's a dollar 'bout everything 
 else. She knows. Sometimes I feel a respect 
 for her, 'n' then I 'm so kinder tried I want to 
 go right to her 'n' tell her that Rodge gits 
 drunk. But I never did, 'n' I don't think 
 nobody ever did. What's the use? She's 
 got her trials. Yes, we all have our trials, 
 but I often think I 'd know what I should 
 do with a husband that had nerve 'tacks. I 
 ain't fitted for that kind er trouble." 
 
 121
 
 X 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF JOEL 
 
 IT may be remembered that July Burns threat- 
 ened to come over and teach us how to 
 make "bumonge." We thought that perhaps 
 fate would kindly allow her to forget that inten- 
 tion. But, no, she was here this morning. Again 
 it has been a warm, sultry dog-day and we were 
 glad to let the fire go out in our stove, and had 
 decided that we would rather eat bread and 
 milk for our dinner than prepare anything more 
 elaborate. We were in our sitting-room, which 
 is on the shady side of the shanty. The locality 
 naturally varies with the sun. We were too 
 tired even to read. It was at such a time that 
 we saw Mrs. Burns coming across the dike, and 
 again she bore with her a tin quart measure and 
 a paper bag. It was hard to think that now, 
 whether we would or not, we should be obliged 
 to learn how to make "bumonge." 
 
 I 22
 
 Reminiscences of Joel 
 
 The sound of the mowing machine was once 
 more in the air, and Mr. Peake himself was 
 enthroned upon the machine. His son was 
 turning and tossing the cut grass with two other 
 men. The father assured us that he never 
 had two nerve "'tacks" very nigh together; 
 therefore our spirits were high in the hope that 
 now our grass would soon be cut, cured, and 
 stored. 
 
 But there was Mrs. Burns. Truly, trials are 
 ever present. When she had waddled up to a 
 speaking distance she told us that we looked as 
 cool and comfort'ble as cucumbers. Why is a 
 cucumber chosen as the vegetable synonyme of 
 comfort ? She informed us that she had left her 
 young man fast asleep after a very wakeful night, 
 during which she had hardly had a minute's 
 peace. 
 
 " I tell him," she said, sitting down heavily, 
 " that I guess no trained nuss would n't be broke 
 of her rest's I be hm-m-m, no, not as I 
 be. 'N' I told him I should git somebody to 
 watch with him to-night so's I could make up 
 my sleep some. I 'm er goin* ter send word to 
 Virginy Vance ter come. He 's er perkin' up won- 
 123
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 dei ful like. I guess he wa' n't hurt's much 's 
 he pertended ; 'n' I guess too, he '11 find out 
 we know er thing er two down here, 'f we 
 don't live in er city, hm-m-m er city." 
 
 Here she passed instantly into a state of deep 
 meditation, having put her measure of milk on 
 the ground beside her, where it would have 
 been immediately examined by the terrier had 
 we not forcibly prevented such examination. 
 My friend, after looking at our guest for some 
 moments in silence, proposed that we run away ' 
 during this attack of meditation on the part of 
 July Burns, and thus escape learning how to 
 make " bumonge." But I had not the moral 
 courage to do it. I was afraid of offending Mrs. 
 Burns, and I knew that the whole hamlet would 
 take offence through her. As it was, I had a 
 stinging conviction that nearly all the people 
 near felt a mild and pitying contempt for us, 
 arising, I think, on the part of the men in the 
 fact that we, as females, were not justified in 
 getting in our own grass. On the part of the 
 women, I fancy the contempt sprang up because 
 we had no masculine protectors, and had taken up 
 with a " pesky long-haired dog" for lack of any- 
 124
 
 Reminiscences of Joel 
 
 thing better. And we read too many novels. 
 You may have noticed that among this kind of 
 people everything one reads is a novel. " Daniel 
 Deronda " and a story by Mrs. Southworth are 
 classed under one head, and you would be fool- 
 ish indeed if you tried to show the difference 
 between these two writers. I fell into such 
 imbecility once, and after having made some 
 remarks which I thought very clear on this 
 subject to Mrs. Baker, she looked at me 
 sharply and asked if all them books I'd ben 
 talkin* 'bout wa'n't novels. She shut her 
 mouth after having said she thought so, and 
 added that she had been brought up to believe a 
 novel was a novel ; there wa'n't any of them 
 true. Subsequently I learned that she had 
 read one such work in early girlhood. This 
 work was T. S. Arthur's "The Maid, Wife, 
 and Mother." This may have been considered 
 by her parents as too stimulating to the mental 
 faculties, for it was the last one. "To spend 
 your time a-readin' " puts you in a low place 
 among such people. You might better be 
 counting beans from one hand to the other, or 
 sit absolutely idle in mind and body. And yet 
 125
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 they were kind, and, being among them, I cared 
 somewhat for their good opinion. So we did 
 not run away from Mrs. Burns, though greatly 
 tempted to do so. 
 
 As it turned out, we were not compelled to 
 take any lessons in cooking this time, for when 
 Mrs. Burns roused herself she seemed disinclined 
 to stir. She said she would leave the moss and 
 milk, and we might try it again, " with a little 
 more jedgment as to moss." 
 
 She was sitting in our best camp-chair and I 
 think she found it very comfortable, for she did 
 not move. She said her young man had just 
 taken some morfeen the doctor had left for him, 
 and as it was a kind of a stiff dose she guessed 
 he wouldn't need her for a good while. 
 
 She seemed disposed to recall memories of her 
 earlier life, particularly memories concerning her 
 courtship and marriage. We had heard rumors 
 that Joel Burns was a poor thing in every way, 
 and that his wife "had had her trials." He 
 had been dead several years now, and his widow 
 had not visibly pined under the affliction. 
 
 She now sat, inclining forward as was her 
 custom, her heavy cheeks looking heavier than 
 126
 
 Reminiscences of Joel 
 
 ever as the day, warm and sweet, began to 
 deepen toward noon. There was a shrill and 
 incessant noise of crickets on the air, and the 
 sound of the machine was constantly coming 
 near and then receding, as Mr. Peake drove 
 round our dike. 
 
 I saw Mrs. Burns' s pale, inexpressive eyes 
 wander over the scene. She hitched slightly in 
 her chair, and then said that, somehow, August 
 days made her think of Joel. Then she looked 
 at us and asked if we ever seen Joel ; she 
 s' posed we hadn't. No, we had never seen 
 him. And neither of us had never been mer- 
 ried neither, she thought likely. We reluctantly 
 shook our heads in the negative. She thought 
 so ; folks had told her we had n't been able to 
 ketch nobody. 
 
 "Wall, wall," with a slow shake of her 
 head, " I 've been thinkin' of Joel mighty strong 
 all day." 
 
 She continued shaking her head and looking 
 so retrospective that she was asked some question 
 concerning Mr. Burns. She was undisguisedly 
 grateful for the chance to go on talking about 
 him. She said she had married Joel in August 
 127
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 and had buried him in August, and she didn't 
 know as folks could think it strange if she 
 thought of him in August. We told her that 
 folks must be very unreasonable who could think 
 strange of anything like that. 
 
 " Ee-us, it does seem so ; ee-us, it does,' ' 
 she said. " But folks is peculiar, as you '11 find. 
 'Cause Joel wasn't all he should be, it don't 
 foller that I shouldn't think of him; no, it 
 don't." 
 
 Our silence assented to this remark. After a 
 moment she went on, with a slightly apologetic 
 manner, speaking in her slow way : 
 
 " I wa'n't much acquainted with Joel when 
 I merried him, though he 'd been workin' round 
 in the neighborhood, choppin' wood. He told 
 me he had a chance to take a farm where there 
 was an old man and woman. He 'd work the 
 farm, and he'd bring his mother over, and if 
 I 'd merry him his mother 'd help do the work 
 and they 'd all keep the house. He never told 
 me his circumstances, but I told him mine. I 
 told him I was poor, my father and mother was 
 poor, and I had n' t no relative but what was 
 poor. I was in hopes he 'd tell me his circum- 
 128
 
 Reminiscences of Joel 
 
 stances ; but I was led to believe he had money, 
 though he only said he was going to bring his 
 mother over, and how could he bring her over 
 if he had n't no money ? " 
 
 We here interrupted to ask where the mother 
 of Mr. Burns was then residing. We were 
 told that she was to be brought " over" from 
 Maine. We inwardly inquired why " over," 
 instead of "up," for instance; but we would 
 not puzzle our friend with any such question, 
 for we were entirely willing that the elder Mrs. 
 Burns should be brought over from Maine. 
 July went on : 
 
 " Some folks did say that he had a little house 
 over there" (in Maine). "'N' he said to 
 me, ' July, what do you want me to git for you 
 to go to housekeepin' with ? ' Would n't you 
 er thought he 'd had money if he 'd said that to 
 you ? " 
 
 Mrs. Burns' s eyes were fixed on me as she 
 unexpectedly put this question, and I was neces- 
 sarily forced to try to imagine Joel Burns as 
 asking me what he should get for me to go 
 to housekeeping witn. As soon as I could I 
 answered that I should certainly have thought he 
 9 129
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 had money to pay for household goods. Then 
 Mrs. Burns resumed : 
 
 "I don't want to talk about Joel, but he had 
 his failin's. I told him that I was in the habit 
 of gittin' along with a very little. 'N' I told 
 him if I could have a bureau, three good chairs, 
 cane-bottom, 'n' what they used to call a toilet 
 set, I could git 'long. But I did want a table. 
 He went over to Rivertown 'n' he ordered them 
 things up, 'n' they was good things, too. Now, 
 what do you think ? In six months' time the 
 storekeeper from Rivertown came up, 'n' he 
 handed the bill for them goods to my father. 
 Joel hadn't no money. My father paid the 
 bill, 'n' we started agin, outer debt. He brought 
 his mother over. We had to go to housekeepin' 
 together. I did let her wash dishes a few times. 
 Wall, hm-m-m, wall, she was a curious woman, 
 Joel's mother was. She wa'n't neat. I 
 could n't stand it. Joel was always good to her. 
 But I never spent a cent of Joel's money while 
 we lived together; 'n' he used to have consid'- 
 able in his pocket sometimes, when he 'd been 
 to work on stone, a blarstin' 'n' a gittin' out 
 stone for underpinnin' 'n' pos's. But, you 
 130
 
 Reminiscences of Joel 
 
 know, after a little, work slacked. He'd 
 worked up the rocks round there, you see. 
 They said he was a marster hand at blarstin'. 
 He could calkilate 'bout the right amount er 
 powder for the kind er stone he wanted. Ee-us, 
 everybody said he was a marster hand at blarst- 
 in'. But he couldn't do much but blarst, 
 which made it inconvenient when the rocks 
 were gone. So there wa'n't nothin' left but 
 farmin', 'n' choppin' wood winters. 
 
 " I did have eighty dollars when I merried 
 him. I let him have five to a time, and never 
 arst him for it. He had the rent to pay and 
 victuals to git. Finally he brought over Ruth, 
 his sister. Then he brought over Nancy, 
 another sister. They was both widders. 'N' 
 his sister that married a Brett was with us a good 
 deal. Nancy was a poor, sickly thing, and we 
 had to keep her in victuals. Wall, 't wa'n't 
 always pleasant at our house. No, it wa'n't." 
 
 These accumulating memories were very vivid 
 and of a nature to tend to make us resigned to 
 the fact that we " had n' t ben able to ketch 
 nobody." Mrs. Burns paused a moment in 
 her retrospect, and I was afraid she was going
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 to meditate. The sun was creeping round the 
 corner of the shanty, and we must change our 
 sitting-room. But July did not meditate. She 
 was thinking of her sisters-in-law. 
 
 "Ee-us," she went on. (It has, I hope, 
 been perceived that this was her way of saying 
 "yes.") " Ee-us, Nancy's folks had flour 
 outer our barrel for a whole year. The time 
 come when we did n't have nothin' in the 
 house. 'T was 'bout this time that Joel said 
 he guessed he'd go over to Maine 'n' git a jorb 
 er stone. 'N' he went with his stone tools, 'n' 
 he promised me he 'd write soon 's he got there. 
 I waited seven weeks, 'n' then I wrote to a 
 friend of his'n, arsking if Joel was livin'. Instid 
 of arnserin' my letter, up he comes, 'n' then I 
 found he 'd hired him land 'n' planted him a 
 garden, 'n' hired a housekeeper. ' Now,' says 
 he, ' that I 'm here ' calm as a clock 'I 
 guess I '11 let myself a-hayin' . ' And he did let 
 himself to Cobbett, that owns the next dike to 
 yourn. I said, to him: 'Joel, you hain't no 
 clo'es nor nothin'.' You see he'd left all his 
 things over there in Maine, his trunk 'n' all. 
 He sold his stone tools to come home with. I 
 132
 
 Reminiscences of Joel 
 
 went to work 'n' I hunted him up some old 
 clo'es, 'n' I patched urn, 'n' he wore um. 
 He earned some money hayin', but I never 
 seen a cent of it." 
 
 Here came another pause. Mrs. Burns's 
 flabby face was flushed and covered with perspi- 
 ration, whether from the heat or from the 
 power of bygone times I could not tell. She 
 tried to rouse herself. 
 
 " So it went on year by year. Joel was 
 always a gittin' into such scrapes. One time he 
 got a lame white horse in Rivertown, 'n' he 
 traded that horse for a tin peddler's horse 'n' 
 give him 'leven dollars to boot. Then he 
 wa'n't satisfied till he had traded that animil 
 for one with the awfulest spring halt you ever 
 seen. And he had n't no use for a horse, any- 
 way. Wall, hm-m-m. He 's dead 'n' gone, 
 'n' I don't want to talk about him. He had his 
 failin's. If he'd only consulted me sometimes, 
 we'd ergot 'long better. If folks 'd known 
 how 't was they would n't wondered we were so 
 poor. What become of the little house they 
 said he had over in Maine ? Oh, he never had 
 none. 
 
 '33
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 "Here I have been a settin' 'n' talkin'. But 
 these August days do bring Joel up so plain. I 
 must be a-gittin' back to see how that morfeen's 
 a workin' on my young man. 'N' I'm goin' 
 up to Mar Baker's to see if she '11 send 'Zias 
 over to tell Virginy Vance I want her to help 
 me watch ter night." 
 
 We volunteered to go up to Mrs. Baker's and 
 save her that walk, for walking seemed to be a 
 kind of locomotion almost beyond the powers of 
 her unwieldy frame. She said she should thank 
 us kindly, for she wa'n't so spry as she wished 
 she was. 
 
 She went her v/ay over the dike toward Mrs. 
 Grant's, and while we watched her and thought 
 of what she had been telling us, Orlando suc- 
 ceeded in eating part of the milk that was to 
 have helped to make bumonge. 
 
 '34
 
 XI 
 
 HELPING MRS. BURNS WATCH 
 
 IT appeared that Ozias must have done his 
 errand faithfully, for the next morning while 
 we were brewing our coffee "Virginy" ap- 
 peared at the door of the shanty. She looked 
 tired, but she spoke no more lingeringly than 
 usual. 
 
 She said the odor of the coffee had tempted 
 her to stop, for " she 'd ben er watchin' with 
 July Burns' s young man," and the young man 
 had kept her waiting upon him to a fatiguing 
 extent. 
 
 Mrs. Burns had explained his excessive irri- 
 tability by saying that his bones was er knittin', 
 *n' when er man's bones was knittin' he was 
 justified in wearin' his nusses into the grave. 
 
 In addition to the patient, Miss Vance had 
 
 had Mrs. Burns on a lounge snoring in so 
 
 deafening and persistent a manner as to greatly 
 
 confuse the girl, who had come near putting an 
 
 135
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 end to the life of her charge by giving him 
 to drink of the lotion for a bruise in place of 
 the potion that was meant for internal healing. 
 It was only because the young man was so very 
 wide awake and so keenly critical that the mis- 
 take was discovered in time. 
 
 " I had poured a wine glass of the stuff," 
 said Miss Vance, as she discriminatingly sipped 
 her coffee, " and he swallowed some of it, and 
 cried out 'the devil' in such a terrible way that 
 I quite jumped, then he tasted again and told 
 me that that infernal imp of a nurse must have 
 put the bottles wrong. I assured him that I 
 must be the imp he meant, for I had poured it 
 out of a certain tall vial, which I went and 
 brought with the lamp that we might examine. 
 Anything was better than waking Mrs. Burns, 
 even if I could have wakened her. 
 
 " When I had the little kerosene hand-lamp I 
 looked at the bottle, and exclaimed in a great 
 fright, for the label read 'Lotion to be rubbed 
 on the bruises.' I supposed I had poisoned 
 Mrs. Burns's young man. 
 
 " Evidently while I examined the lotion, he 
 examined me, and it was the first time he had 
 136
 
 Helping Mrs. Burns Watch 
 
 had a chance to see me, except in the dusk, 
 for I had the lamp shaded on a table at the 
 end of the room. 
 
 " As he looked at me he raised himself a trifle 
 on his pillow. He groaned and fell back and 
 said ' the devil ' again. Whereupon he begged 
 my pardon and explained that he didn't feel in- 
 clined to say anything but the devil, and he 
 wanted to say that all the time, for it was the 
 only phrase that, in his circumstances, ex- 
 pressed anything. 
 
 " I answered him that it was very evident that 
 he felt an inclination to make that remark, and 
 that, as far as I was concerned, he might continue 
 making it all night. If it relieved him any I 
 was glad of it. He said it didn't relieve him 
 any, but he hoped every time that it would. 
 Nothing relieved him, he went on, groaning 
 again. 
 
 " Then he bethought himself to say that, if 
 anything could soothe his pain it would be 
 the presence of so charming a young lady. 
 
 " Here I thanked him, and said that he might 
 better stick to his former remark, and that he 
 was too ill to try compliments on his watcher. 
 137
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 " All this time I had been holding the lamp 
 and the lotion bottle. Now I took away the 
 glass I had given him, saying, as cheerfully as I 
 could, that I was like a doctor, for doctors fre- 
 quently gave the wrong medicine. 
 
 "He hastened to respond that it was no mat- 
 ter, that any medicine from my hands, etc. 
 I told him again that he was not well enough 
 to try to flirt. 
 
 " He replied to this by saying that if I would 
 give him any encouragement that I would allow 
 him even to mildly flirt with me when he got 
 well, the thought would be the greatest induce- 
 ment, and so on. I tell you it was all very 
 droll." 
 
 Here the girl paused and smiled down into 
 her coffee cup as she remembered the last few 
 hours. 
 
 *' And did you give him the encouragement? " 
 asked my friend. 
 
 Miss Vance looked up with a whimsical ex- 
 pression on her face. I could hardly tell 
 whether she really meant what she said as she 
 replied. 
 
 " Of course I did. One must indulge the 
 138
 
 Helping Mrs. Burns Watch 
 
 notions of people who are ill, you know, and 
 I don't suppose he was very sincere. I promised 
 him that he should not lack the incentive, that 
 is, if he should survive the taking of the stuff I 
 had given him. I then administered the proper 
 medicine. I suffered all night for fear I should 
 detect some symptom caused by my mistake. 
 He was very wakeful for a good while, and he 
 would converse. He informed me that he had 
 never dreamed of seeing a person like me in a 
 little sea-coast village." 
 
 She gave her mellow laugh as she said this. 
 
 " I reckon he meant such a remark to be taken 
 as a compliment. I let him know that there were 
 often people superior even to me found in New 
 England towns. He said he could not believe 
 it ; he did not know much about New England, 
 but he could not believe that. 
 
 " He made me get the lamp and put it where 
 he could see me. He said he felt like talking, 
 and it was embarrassing to talk to a person whom 
 you could not see. When he did not talk he 
 stared. I was so anxious all the time about the 
 little he had taken from that glass that very likely 
 I indulged him more than I ought. Do you 
 '39
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 think I indulged him more than I ought ? Do 
 you think it was wrong to allow him to talk 
 when he should have been trying to sleep?" 
 
 Miss Vance put her spoon in her cup and 
 looked apprehensively at us. We hardly knew 
 what to say, and only made some kind of a mur- 
 mur. She went on. 
 
 "I never saw any one so wide-awake as he 
 was. Can you fancy me sitting there near his 
 bed, with the lamp in my hand, listening to 
 him ? His eyes looked so large and his face so 
 interested that I grew very nervous as I watched 
 for some sign to tell me I had poisoned him. I 
 tried to think of antidotes for different poisons. 
 I resolved, if he showed the least sign of any- 
 thing, I would get the whites of a good many 
 eggs and make him swallow them. I looked 
 forward to my feelings in the future if he should 
 die because of what I had given him. It was a 
 great consolation to see that he did not look in 
 the least like dying. 
 
 " After I had sat thus holding the lamp for 
 an hour, I thought I had done enough, even 
 for a sick man whose death I was afraid I had 
 hastened. 
 
 140
 
 Helping Mrs. Burns Watch 
 
 "It was terribly close, and the lamp made it 
 worse. I carried it to the stand and shaded it. 
 I was going to remain there. He begged me to 
 come and fan him. I did so ; but I forbade 
 him to speak another word. I could see his 
 eyes gleaming as I leaned over him. By this 
 time I felt quite as if he were an old acquaint- 
 ance. I wonder if all men are so childish when 
 they are ill. He wouldn't let me move away. 
 You see, I had to be very gentle, because he 
 was ill, and because I wasn't sure yet whether 
 1 had killed him or not." 
 
 " Perhaps you were too gentle," here inter- 
 rupted my friend, with what seemed an un- 
 necessary earnestness. 
 
 The girl looked at the speaker in astonish- 
 ment. She answered that she supposed that 
 one couldn't be too gentle at such a time, as 
 we should know if we were ever in like 
 circumstances. 
 
 She resumed : 
 
 " But I was firm about not talking. Now 
 that we were silent, Mrs. Burns became more 
 audible than before, or we had a better chance 
 to hear her. 
 
 141
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 "It didn't seem to me so much snoring as a 
 kind of bellowing. She lay on a lounge in the 
 room. The lounge was drawn across an open 
 window, so that if there should be a breeze, 
 she would feel it. Her young man had told 
 me, before I interdicted talking, that Mrs. 
 Burns breathed all the air there was first, and 
 he thought it confounded hard that he should 
 have to breathe second-hand air, and sometimes 
 he had felt as if he would stop breathing any- 
 way ; and he would have done it long ago if 
 she would have been annoyed. He asked me 
 if she had ever told me about Joel and his 
 mother that he brought over from Maine, and 
 her sister that married a Brett. When I said 
 no, he said I didn't know how lucky I was, for 
 he knew all about 'em; in fact, he didn't know 
 much else, and he did n' t see how he could, 
 considering how often he had heard their history. 
 I see you know," and she paused while we all 
 laughed. 
 
 "As Mrs. Burns retired to her couch, after 
 
 I came last evening, she told me she was ' goin* 
 
 ter lop ri' down there so 's ter be handy 'f I 
 
 wanted her ; ' and she added in a loud whisper, 
 
 142
 
 Helping Mrs. Burns Watch 
 
 which Mrs. Grant might have heard in the 
 kitchen, that if there was any change I must be 
 sure'n' call her. She said he seemed better, but 
 nothin' was so deceivin' as appearances, and she 
 was always on the watch for a change at 'bout 
 the turn of the night. 
 
 " Are you tired of my little story ? ' ' asked 
 the girl. 
 
 Perhaps our faces assured her of our interest, 
 for she went on, 
 
 "I haven't much more to tell. The poor 
 fellow fell asleep while I was fanning him. He 
 was in the midst of a profound slumber, and I 
 was almost dreaming myself, when Mrs. Burns 
 began to make a yet stronger noise than any she 
 had perpetrated. While I was on my way to 
 her to arouse her, she sat bold upright, and 
 screamed ' fire ! ' enough to move a block of 
 stone. It was all I could do not to scream also. 
 I jumped at her, and did n't spare her. I heard 
 the sick man swearing in his bed, and in a 
 moment Mr. Grant came fumbling through the 
 entry to the open door. 
 
 " I explained that Mrs. Burns had had a 
 nightmare. Mrs. Burns further made it clear 
 H3
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 in a very aggrieved tone, that she ' never had no 
 nightmare 'less she was wore out. She couldn't 
 remember when she'd ben so wore out by 
 anybody 's she 'd been by that critter that was 
 cussin' on the bed there. If it hadn't ben for 
 him she should n't dreamt of fire V routed herself 
 up, when she needed all the rest she could git.' 
 
 " Mr. Grant muttered something about other 
 folks needing rest too, and shuffled away again. 
 
 " Long before I had ceased trembling from the 
 start I had received, Mrs. Burns was snoring 
 again, and our patient was asleep almost as soon. 
 You see what an adventureful night I have 
 had. Do you wonder I wanted some coffee, 
 and to tell you all about my first watching ? 
 After the nightmare the hours passed quietly. 
 Did you know when the fog cleared and the 
 wind came out east ? It was wonderful. Just 
 before daylight I heard a strange moan as if from 
 some giant far out at sea there." 
 
 The girl rose and walked to the door of the 
 shanty, looking off across the flat which now lay 
 beneath a brilliant sun, for the "muggy-spell " 
 had cleared without any rain. Nothing brought 
 rain of late. 
 
 144
 
 Helping Mrs. Burns Watch 
 
 Her profile was in the clear light. It was in 
 seeing her thus, possibly, that one could know 
 more in detail why her face was so charming. 
 Its very darkness was a charm ; its very irregu- 
 larity, which defied rules, was another charm. 
 Let me be contradictory, and say with sweeping 
 inclusiveness that it was not her face at all ; it 
 could not have been ; but that it was herself 
 her personality, her " atmosphere ' ' that held 
 a certain allurement as indescribable as it was 
 real, and of which she was evidently entirely 
 ignorant. 
 
 " You did not know when the wind 
 changed ? " she asked, still with her eyes on the 
 flat. " You missed a great deal. I have to 
 thank Mrs. Burns for not waking at three as she 
 said she would, and taking my place. Every- 
 body in the house seemed sound asleep at about 
 four. My patient was resting so well that I 
 crept out of the house. Even then it was suffo- 
 cating, and there was a thick gray mist every- 
 where. For all the sound the ocean made it 
 might have been a thousand miles away. I was 
 tired. Now that I felt sure that I had n' t 
 poisoned any one, I was feeling limp with the 
 10 145
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 reaction from my tense state. I really would 
 have liked to cry from sheer relief. I 'm not 
 sure that I did not weep a very little as I stood 
 alone out there at the end of the house. You 
 see I had had no coffee then. Although I had 
 no wrap on I was warm. All at once, over 
 there," she lifted a hand, "something seemed 
 to draw a long sobbing breath, and the whole 
 fog felt that breath and made a curious little 
 movement. I began to be cold. I crept in 
 and took Mrs. Burns' s great blanket shawl and 
 went out again with it huddled about me. I 
 felt as if the great out-of-doors would show me 
 something if I were only there to see ; and it 
 did. But how can I tell ? It is still new to 
 me, this being on the coast," she said as if in 
 apology. " The very scent of the salt water 
 makes me happy," she drew a deep breath, 
 " and these great flats, there is not a spear of 
 grass, nor a grasshopper on them that I don't 
 love; Uncle Peake says I am 'marked.' Since 
 I came here there has something stirred in my 
 blood, some kind of a new life ; it is the 
 salt wind and trie ocean and these marshes, 
 they all tell me I am my mother's daughter." 
 146
 
 Helping Mrs. Burns Watch 
 
 She still spoke deliberately, but with a certain 
 intensity I had never noticed in her before. 
 
 Soon with a slight movement of her head and 
 shoulders she banished this mood which might 
 reveal too much. 
 
 " That first chill was the first breath of a clear 
 east wind, not one which brings mist, but 
 one which dispels it. The fog felt it quicker 
 than I did, and wavered before it. Presently I 
 heard a rush of wings over my head and saw the 
 white breasts of some gulls as they flew above 
 me. How white those feathers looked in the 
 grayness which now began to grow luminous ! s 
 The morning was coming in from the sea. It 
 is the sea, you know, which sends us each new 
 day. It comes in splendor over that lustrous 
 water for leagues and leagues, growing brighter 
 and brighter until it is one unutterable glory." 
 
 She ceased speaking and looked at us with a 
 kind of shy deprecation of her enthusiasm upon 
 her face. 
 
 " Do not laugh at me," she said. Then, 
 
 more assuredly, " Bat you will not. You 
 
 would not have come to live on the dike if you 
 
 had not known what I have been talking about. 
 
 '47
 
 la a Dike Shanty 
 
 You should have seen the thick fog grow thin 
 and quiver, and undulate, long ribbons of it 
 shining like a diaphanous silver robe which the 
 night was casting aside. I never saw a fog 
 ripple before, but this did so when the wind 
 grew a bit stronger. Presently a level bar of 
 sunshine touched it and the breeze grew stronger 
 at the same moment. The gauze of the fog 
 was flung off in long scrolls that trembled and 
 lingered here and there, but very soon there 
 stood the naked day in the cloudless sunshine, 
 lusty, and strong, and glorious. How the birds 
 flew ! How sweet the wind was ! How the 
 sand cliffs sparkled ! Over there where there 
 are no cliffs, I could see the very topmost sail 
 of a ship. 
 
 " In a few minutes more, as the clock in the 
 kitchen struck five, I heard Mr. Grant jingle 
 the milk-pail against the door as he started for the 
 barn. He was not more than half awake, and 
 he came out stretching, followed by the cat who 
 was stretching too. When he saw me he nodded 
 and said he hoped Miss Burns rested well, for if 
 she did n't, he was sorry for the young feller, 
 and how was I myself? 
 
 148
 
 Helping Mrs. Burns Watch 
 
 " When I went back, the house was still close 
 and warm, but the wind swept it cool when I 
 set open an east window. 
 
 " Neither the patient nor his nurse wakened 
 until a short time ago, and then I came away. 
 But I promised Mr. Ross I would call there 
 before night. You knew his name is Ross? 
 He said what I had given him might be rather 
 of a slow poison, and it would be only 
 humane for me to come and see how he bore 
 it. I think he w.ill bear it very well, much 
 better than I could bear being nursed by July 
 Burns. 
 
 "If there is any coffee left I will have that 
 lovely china cup half full, thank you. I am so 
 glad you had to take some dike land for debt, 
 otherwise I could never have had this divine 
 coffee from a diviner cup." 
 
 As I gave her the cream I said I supposed she 
 would now be considered to have helped July 
 Burns to watch. 
 
 " Yes. She will have the honor. It is a 
 case of 
 
 1 The page slew the boare, 
 But the prince had the gloire.' " 
 149
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 She set down her cup, smiled at us, said 
 good-by, and sauntered out across the dike 
 toward the road. 
 
 Have I recorded that when this girl smiled 
 one was likely to have a permeating and 
 pleasurable knowledge that she did so ? 
 
 As she climbed the fence a man came rapidly 
 along the road with a hay-fork and rake over 
 his shoulder. He put down these implements 
 and hastened to the girl's help. The two lin- 
 gered a while, and when the man walked on 
 to our dike and began turning hay we saw that 
 it was Leife Peake. He was soon followed by 
 his father and more men, and the work of hay- 
 making was in full progress beneath a clear sky. 
 
 That afternoon when Mrs. Burns took what 
 she called her " airin' " she waddled over to 
 our shanty. She was extremely solemn. She 
 said that Virginy Vance had cle-an bewitched 
 that Ross feller. He was talkin' 'bout the gal 
 all day, 'n' cussin' awful 'cause he was tied 
 down to that bed. 
 
 "But, land's sake! He won't be tied down 
 there long. I must say I do hate to see gals 
 bold 's brass. They did n't useter be so. Ye 
 150
 
 Helping Mrs. Burns Watch 
 
 see I got her to help me watch. I was erwake 
 three quarters of the time myself, but I s'pose 
 when I did ketch er nap she jest talked 'n' 
 talked. She 's got a kinder takin' way with 
 her, ye know, 'n' I s'pose he kinder sensed it. 
 He's arst more questions 'bout her ter day than 
 I c'n shake a stick at. Hm-m-m." 
 
 Mrs. Burns sighed and fell to meditating, as 
 usual in our easiest chair, sometimes it almost 
 seemed as if she occupied that chair more than 
 we did.
 
 XII 
 
 STOWING HAY WITH OZIAS 
 
 I HAD always supposed, until a recent experi- 
 ence, that riding on a load of hay was a 
 pleasure which condensed nearly every joy of a 
 free, sweet life in the country, and gave you 
 a taste of them all at once. Now I think that 
 riding a hay-load and riding a camel for the first 
 time must greatly resemble each other in effect. 
 We did this unaccustomed thing partly in the 
 way of celebrating a great event, or rather a great 
 consummation. Our grass is cut and cured and 
 in the barn. When we go to our bunks to-night 
 it will be as two conquering generals, who have 
 overcome many difficulties, and who retire with 
 an inebriating sense of victory. I don't know 
 how great the sense of victory will be when we 
 learn what we owe Rodge Peake, but to-day I 
 do not feel like looking forward to that hour, 
 for I have heard that often a success is as costly 
 
 as a defeat. 
 
 152
 
 Stowing Hay with Ozias 
 
 At half past three this afternoon Mr. Peake 
 came to our door and said that they were 
 going to begin on the last load, and would we 
 like to come out and help stow it ? The idea 
 seemed to us a good one, and we hastily put 
 on our broad hats and went across the hot flat 
 in the direction of the collection of haycocks, 
 accompanied by Mr. Peake, who, since his 
 nerve 'tack, has been more genial and good- 
 humored than ever. As we went on, crowds 
 of grasshoppers flew up with every step we took 
 in the stubble ; flocks of small blackbirds were 
 sweeping through the air in short flights, then 
 settling on fences and savin trees out by the road. 
 
 When we had walked thus far, we saw Vir- 
 ginia up on the highway, and we signalled to 
 her by a moving of rakes and forks. She came 
 over the shaky fence in a very dexterous manner, 
 and soon joined us. We explained to her the 
 nature of the treat in prospect, and she was more 
 than willing to share our experience, whatever 
 it should prove. She nodded at Leife, as if she 
 had but recently parted from him. 
 
 There was scarcely any breeze, and what 
 there was came from the east, and brought with 
 53
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 it a sound of waves and an odor of salt. It was 
 rare and pleasant on the dike as we went on, 
 the terrier starting up a good many grasshoppers 
 on his own account, as he careered here and 
 there ahead of us. Noticing the birds, Mr. 
 Peake said he always felt as if fall was about here 
 when he saw them, and that he ought to be 
 gittin' in his winter coal. Then he turned to 
 us and said, he hoped we'd 'scuse him for 
 callin' us out on false pretences, as it were ; but 
 the fact was, Mar Baker's idjit had come onto 
 the dike a little while ago, and he had ben 
 raisin' Cain 'bout ridin' on the load, and Mr. 
 Peake didn't feel as if he could be responsible if 
 'Zias did ride, and did fall off. 
 
 "It's 'nough for me, 'n' more than Mar 
 Baker will ever forgive, that I chopped off small 
 bits of 'Zias's toes when I couldn't help it. 
 There he is." 
 
 Yes, there was Ozias looming up at the other 
 side of the cart. He was raking furiously after ; 
 and he had an air about him as if he had run 
 away, and did n't care if he had. He hung his 
 head and would not look at me when I asked 
 him if he remembered that his mother had for-
 
 Stowing Hay with Ozias 
 
 bidden him to work haying. He said he guessed 
 his mar didn't know everything, and he guessed 
 his mar had forgot that he was bigger ' n she was, 
 anyway. 
 
 "That's the way he is to-day," whispered 
 Mr. Peake by my side. "And you can't do 
 a thing with him. He 's continually gittin' be- 
 hind that off horse, 'n' she kicks like thunder 
 when she 's a mind to. I'm free to say that I 
 can' t tend to my work ; it just makes me sweat 
 to look at him. Can't you coax him home, 
 Virginy ? " 
 
 Even Miss Vance, who sometimes had influ- 
 ence with the boy, had no influence with him 
 now. He stuck out his lips and wagged his 
 head in a way that made one want to shake 
 him. 
 
 Perhaps it is only a wise man who will allow 
 himself to be coaxed ; certain it is that this fool 
 was proof against all our pleading, and all the 
 bribes we could offer him in the hope that he 
 would go home. He did waver a little when 
 we promised to take him to the Brant, and give 
 him unlimited ice-cream ; but he withstood even 
 that seduction, and went on raking. At Mr. 
 155
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 Peake's suggestion, one of the men went up on 
 to the road to Mar Baker's house, to find it 
 locked. Then we were sure that Mrs. Baker 
 had gone away, and equally sure, knowing her 
 never-failing and anxious care for her son, that 
 she believed she had arranged for his safety, but 
 that he had brought such plans to naught. Im- 
 possible to get any information from Ozias. If 
 we asked him a question he would either laugh 
 or sulk. 
 
 " Let us take him on the load with us," said 
 my friend ; and we did so, finding that stowing 
 hay on a cart and riding on it were occupations 
 dear to the soul of Ozias. 
 
 I know that we were at a great disadvantage 
 in judging of the pleasures of being on a load of 
 hay in that we had Ozias with us to share those 
 pleasures. He was so alert and so active, and 
 was so constandy on the point of falling off", and 
 resented so strongly our efforts to keep him from 
 pitching over the side, that the next hour was an 
 hour of agony to us, and one we shall remember 
 with terror all our lives. 
 
 Virginia, who does not have what we New 
 England people call "nerves," was tortured 
 156
 
 Stowing Hay with Ozias 
 
 with us in view of the fate which must eventu- 
 ally befall Ozias if we were not alert to the pitch 
 of panic. 
 
 She shared all our struggles to keep him in 
 safety. She was roused to a greater physical 
 activity than I had ever seen her manifest before. 
 She plunged here and there after Mar Baker's 
 son with such reckless zeal for his welfare as 
 called forth warning protests from Leife Peake, 
 whose work on the hay seemed to demand that 
 he should be in close proximity to the cart, arid 
 to the side of the cart where Virginia happened 
 to be. As she varied her position with bewil- 
 dering frequency, it appeared to me, when I 
 glanced down, that young Peake was suffering 
 almost as much from anxiety on the ground as 
 we were from the same emotion on the load. 
 But alarm concerning an imbecile, who you feel 
 needs corporeal punishment, and alarm in regard 
 to the woman who has enthralled your fancy, 
 are two widely different sensations, entailing 
 quite different results. 
 
 Hitherto I had had no idea that there were 
 such violent lurchings, such seasick rockings, 
 such pitchings to and fro, incident to being on a 
 157
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 load of hay. The very breathing of the horses 
 seemed to vibrate all through the hay ; and when 
 a big forkful came up and we essayed to trample 
 it down in place, the almost absolute certainty 
 that it would slip off, taking us with it, was 
 dreadful to bear. All the time there was a kind 
 of oscillating movement far down below us that 
 made us think the marsh was getting ready to 
 reel over to one side. There was no surety 
 about anything ; the cart rocked, and each bunch 
 of hay that was added increased the strange 
 motion that pervaded the heap. I would have 
 said that the hay was alive, and would presently 
 heave us all out with vicious enjoyment of the 
 catastrophe. I asked myself why it was that 
 men whom I had seen riding by in such posi- 
 tions always presented a picture of dreamy happi- 
 ness. Could it be that use and custom at length 
 removed the conviction that the substance upon 
 which they reposed was not a live, palpitating 
 giant, who was only waiting a good opportunity 
 to effect a wholesale destruction ? No matter 
 where I was on the load there always seemed 
 to be beneath me an incipient, sly kind of a move- 
 ment that I was sure would result dreadfully to 
 158
 
 Stowing Hay with Ozias 
 
 one or more of us. As the hay accumulated, 
 this sensation, this all-absorbing suspicion of mine, 
 increased also. Every moment made the pro- 
 spective fall still higher. Added to my own 
 private, personal fears as to my ultimate fate, was 
 always the uncertainty concerning Ozias, who 
 danced about over each increase of hay like a 
 maniac over a volcano. I think he saw how 
 anxious we were, and enjoyed our terrors. He 
 laughed shrilly every time a big bundle of hay 
 came tossing up, and rushed for it to trample it 
 down. He had the appearance of being at an 
 orgy of some kind, and his excitement grew as the 
 pile increased. With every moment that passed, 
 my resolution never again to be on a load of 
 hay with Mar Baker's idjit, nay, with any idjit, 
 increased in strength. 
 
 " Great fun, ain't it ? " cheerily exclaimed 
 Rodge Peake, as he led his horses toward the 
 next row of cocks. " You 've got a good crop 
 of hay, too. Never seen no better. Look 
 out, there ! Don't let 'Zias come so near 
 the aidge." 
 
 Yes, for the twentieth time in as many min- 
 utes Ozias was too near the " aidge." We were 
 '59
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 sitting deep down in what we hoped was the 
 middle of the load, as we moved on, swaying 
 and heaving and bumping, while great locks of 
 hay rolled off on the ground on either side of us, 
 and were gathered up by Leife, who now walked 
 behind, and thrust back at the first opportunity. 
 
 The question about Ozias had by this time 
 resolved itself in my mind into the simple inter- 
 rogation, " Was I, or was I not, willing to 
 sacrifice myself for him?" I was now con- 
 vinced that, at the present rate of progression in 
 danger on this load, either my friend, or Vir- 
 ginia, or Ozias, or I would lose life or limb 
 within the next half-hour. It was precisely all 
 we could do to preserve our own safety, but we 
 must also preserve the safety of Ozias. 
 
 When Mr. Peake shouted that our charge 
 was too near the "aidge," my friend and I had 
 simultaneously thrown ourselves out at full 
 length, and had succeeded in clutching Ozias, 
 and in pulling him, struggling, back. But we 
 were not always able to do this. 
 
 I called to Mr. Peake to let us get down, and 
 he said the load was so high now we couldn't 
 anyways git down, unless somebody went some- 
 160
 
 Stowing Hay with Ozias 
 
 where on the road and got a larder ; he meant 
 ladder. Did we think that was worth while ? 
 No, we returned, it was not worth while. We 
 could die where we were. We were sure that, 
 when the hay was taken off in the barn, he 
 would find three dead women, and one trium- 
 phant idiot. He thought this was a joke, and 
 laughed heartily. It was an added torture to us 
 to know that, no matter what happened now, 
 we could not get down without a ladder. My 
 prevailing sensation was akin to that which 
 comes to one who dreams of falling down a 
 precipice, and who cannot waken. 
 
 A dozen more hay-cocks were put on. We 
 gave up trying to trample the hay in place, and 
 did nothing but make lurches and clutches for 
 Ozias, some of them effective fortunately. 
 How far off and solemn sounded Orlando's bark 
 from the ground ! He was getting excited as 
 we rose higher and higher in the air ; I think 
 he suspected that we were not happy, and sym- 
 pathized with us. Besides, he was, perhaps, 
 giving vent to his natural antipathy to our 
 companion. 
 
 At last, after an unusually arduous rescue of 
 n 161
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 Ozias, we simultaneously shouted to Rodge 
 Peake. Virginia told him that it was absolutely 
 necessary that we have a rope several yards in 
 length. Something in her voice made Leife 
 Peake start instantly on a run up to the barn. I 
 knew that he was alarmed, because he did not 
 stop to ask any questions. He returned at the 
 same rapid pace, and at the very first fling the 
 rope fell over the load so that we could reach it. 
 We did as we had read is the custom among 
 mountain travellers, who go in especially dan- 
 gerous places. We fastened the rope about the 
 waist of each person, thinking that, if we women 
 exercised due caution, we should be able to 
 resist by our combined weight all the freaks of 
 Ozias, who, contrary to our expectation, seemed 
 to think it quite a funny thing to have the cord 
 secured upon him, and who now, strange to say, 
 became instantly utterly averse to moving any- 
 where but in the very centre of the hay, where 
 there was no danger of falling off. As soon as 
 the rope was upon him he ceased to require any 
 such safeguard. But we did not dare to take it 
 off, and, thus hampered, we did all we could 
 toward fulfilling the duty of "stowing." 
 162
 
 Stowing Hay with Ozias 
 
 When at last we rode into the barn we real- 
 ized that we were dripping with perspiration ; 
 that we had known nothing whatever of the 
 fragrant odor of new-mown hay ; that there had 
 not been a particle of idyllic joy in the experi- 
 ence. And we knew that every pulse was 
 bounding with heat, fatigue, and anxiety ; the 
 sense of gratitude when we really reached ground 
 again was so profound that it swallowed up every 
 other emotion. Orlando greeted us as if after a 
 month's absence, and we responded as fervently. 
 Thankfully we heard Mar Baker's shrill voice 
 from the road calling to her son, who reluctantly 
 obeyed, after having been disunited from the 
 bond which had bound him to us for an un- 
 happy space of time. It was dreadful to us to 
 see that Ozias did not want to have the rope 
 unfastened ; dreadful to see that he wanted to 
 remain tied to us. This union seemed funny to 
 him and provocative of great laughter on his 
 part. 
 
 We asked Miss Vance to return with us and 
 
 help restore herself with a cup of cold tea. By 
 
 cold tea we meant that it was not hot, only 
 
 lukewarm from standing in a pitcher which had 
 
 163
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 no ice in it and was near none. There are 
 advantages in a shanty life, but cold beverages 
 are not among them. We had found that tea 
 of nearly blood heat was easier to drink than 
 plain water of the same temperature. It was to 
 this exhilarating tipple that we invited the girl. 
 
 When we wearily walked back over the dike 
 to the shanty we talked sadly. We were glad 
 the hay was in, but were sorry the ideal we had 
 always cherished concerning riding on the load 
 was hopelessly shattered. It is sorrowful to 
 have illusions vanish. 
 
 We all sat on the shady side and drank tea, 
 and fanned ourselves and looked off over the 
 dike. 
 
 Suddenly there seemed a greater flurry than 
 usual among the blackbirds. Great, white- 
 winged fowl rose from toward the sea, and 
 circled swiftly. The sun no longer shone and 
 the east wind no longer blew. Without the 
 least warning it had come on " muggy" again. 
 There was a mutter of thunder in the west, a 
 quick, almost pungent sweetness in the air. 
 
 Virginia rose and put on her hat. As she 
 did so, Leife Peake came round from the barn. 
 164
 
 Stowing Hay with Ozias 
 
 With the interest of two women who are 
 only spectators, we watched the faces of these 
 two. 
 
 Peake, without being silly at all, to an ob- 
 server, was very evidently a man in love, and 
 with the inevitable but now only partial fatuity 
 of a man in love, he was confident that no one 
 suspected the fact. The owner of that kind of 
 a chin was not going to make a fool of himself. 
 He could still shut his mouth firmly, and had 
 not entirely lost control of his eyes. 
 
 He said he was afraid Virginia had not noticed 
 that a tempest was threatening. If they started 
 now they could get home across lots before it 
 rained. They went away immediately. It did 
 not seem to us that they moved as rapidly as 
 was natural for people who were obliged to 
 cross lots to shorten the distance. But it was 
 not the girl's way to hasten. And as for him, 
 why should one who had an opportunity of 
 meeting her glance, now peculiarly soft, try to 
 abridge those moments, even though a thunder- 
 storm should burst too soon? 
 
 But the shower did not come at all. It 
 passed over to the south and left the afternoon 
 165
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 sky clear and warm. It turned out to be a fine 
 day for " him and her" to be strolling forget- 
 fully through pastures where ferns and penny- 
 royal sent up a country fragrance as slow feet 
 brushed among them. 
 
 Did these two chance to turn from those 
 uplands and look off to the ocean that undulated 
 in blue sheen under the blue heaven ? 
 
 Mr. Peake called at the shanty an hour later 
 to say that things were all right up to the barn, 
 and he hoped we 'd had a good time on the cart. 
 Though the hay was in we mustn't begin to 
 think of goin'. He said 't wa'n't fair to Ma'sh- 
 field to leave 'fore we 'd had a coot stew. Coots 
 'd be plenty in a week or two, and he 'd engage 
 to shoot a couple for us, 'n' his wife would tell 
 us how to make a stew. Folks might say what 
 they pleased, but there wa' n't nothin' like a coot 
 stew with dumplin's. 
 
 1 66
 
 XIII 
 
 THE REBELLION OF JULY'S YOUNG 
 
 MAN 
 
 r I A HERE has been somewhat of a mental 
 JL flatness to depress us since the hay was 
 in. The terrestrial flatness upon which we have 
 been living for so long has ceased, we think, to 
 affect us. To dwell upon dike lands seems by 
 this time a natural thing to do, but we have not 
 now the stimulant furnished by the interest and 
 the irritation of cutting and making hay by proxy. 
 And we have not seen Miss Vance for some 
 days. 
 
 Her absence has revealed quite clearly how 
 much she has interested us. We talk her over 
 a great deal. We say that we are afraid that 
 Leife Peake is going to win her too easily. We 
 believe that a man ought to have a hard fight to 
 get the woman he loves, particularly when she 
 is such a woman as Mrs. Peake' s niece. But it 
 167
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 is in stories, not often in real life, that a man 
 has to struggle to secure his choice. Girls 
 are too much like the ripe peach or is it 
 plum ? which drops almost before the hand 
 is extended. 
 
 We have read all our novels. We have re- 
 covered from riding on the load of hay, so far as 
 we may recover from such an experience. We 
 have " used our jedgment" in the perfectly suc- 
 cessful preparation of bumonge for the young 
 man at Mr. Grant's, and have been rewarded by 
 being told that he remarked that he could really 
 eat the stuff. 
 
 This person has been gaining rapidly both in 
 strength and ferocity, if we may trust the reports 
 his nurse circulates concerning him. 
 
 She also says that Virginy has ben ter see him 
 twice to her certain knowledge, and she can' t tell 
 how many times that she don't know. She 
 heard him er beggin' 'n' er pleadin' to her to 
 promise to come every day. 
 
 "You'd think his life hung on her comin', 
 
 when there I be constant," said July, aggrievedly, 
 
 " ter wait upon him if he but jest winks his eye. 
 
 I s'pose he '11 git over his tantrums ter see her 
 
 168
 
 Rebellion of July's Young Man 
 
 when he c'n git out for himself. They mostly 
 does." 
 
 We have fulfilled a long cherished intention 
 and taken Ozias to the Brant, and have paid for 
 all the ice-cream he could eat at a single sitting, 
 learning at that time that a wholesale purchase 
 of the delicacy would have been far better for our 
 purpose, for he ate until he began to be blue 
 about the mouth, which we thought was a 
 symptom that he also was beginning to freeze. 
 His tongue was so nearly congealed on the way 
 home, that it was only just before we came to 
 the pea-green house where he resides that he 
 was able to articulate enough to say that he 
 wished he had tried a little of the vanilla flavor, 
 though p'raps it was jest as well to stick to 
 lemon. 
 
 His mother was standing at the gate watching 
 for us anxiously. She had given her permission, 
 but she was naturally uneasy until our return. 
 She told us as we slowly came nearer that she 
 more than half thought that she should never 
 see 'Zias alive again, but she s'posed the Lord 
 had preserved him. We said that, if he should 
 live for the next twelve hours, we thought she 
 169
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 might consider him as entirely inoculated, or 
 insured, as regarded ice-cream. Ozias leaned 
 against the house wall with such a tired air that 
 Mrs. Baker told him to go right on to the lounge 
 and rest himself, and he obeyed her without a 
 murmur. We sat down on the doorstep, and so 
 impressed had we been by witnessing the idiot's 
 prowess, that we had a vicarious sense of having 
 ourselves over-eaten upon lemon ice-cream, and 
 felt that we should need no more food for a 
 long time. 
 
 Mar Baker asked us with great interest how 
 much our hay was going to cost us, and we were 
 glad to be able to say that we did not know yet 
 what Mr. Peake's bill was. Then she said with 
 a sigh that women wa'n't fit to tend to them 
 things, but ended more cheerfully with the 
 remark that she guessed we were used to it, 
 never havin' had no man, and she had heard 
 that folks could even git used to goin' on one 
 leg, or no legs at all, if it came to that. 
 
 Neither of us seemed to be able to think of 
 any response to make to this remark, and a con- 
 strained silence fell upon us, presently broken 
 by the loud snores of Ozias who had fallen 
 170
 
 Rebellion of July's Young Man 
 
 asleep on the lounge the other side of the open 
 window. 
 
 Finally Mrs. Baker said that now our hay was 
 in she reckoned we should be thinkin' of goin'. 
 
 But no, we were not going, we said, until we 
 had seen something of the beauties of early fall 
 here by the sea and had had a coot stew. At 
 mention of a coot stew the small woman visibly 
 brightened, and remarked that she was not one 
 who thought too much of her victuals, but she 
 would say she was glad when coots come, though 
 ' Zias was apt to over-eat himself. As she said the 
 last words she put her hand up to shade her eyes 
 while she gazed up the white, dusty road. The 
 road was very hot as well as dusty. It had been 
 a "dry time " for the last few weeks, and there 
 was a kind of oppressive gloom over this part of 
 the world, so parched and sere looked every- 
 thing. It was only when sitting on the beach 
 that one felt that there was water anywhere. 
 
 " Mebbe you know who that is," said Mrs. 
 Baker at last, "but I can't make it out, near- 
 sighted 's I be." 
 
 What we saw seemed to be a form, whether 
 of man or woman we could not tell, . coming 
 171
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 toward us in the middle of the road. The 
 scorching southerly wind kept blowing up clouds 
 of dust which obscured the person approaching. 
 A long-flowered gown covered the figure entirely 
 and it was coming on with the aid of crutches. 
 
 In a moment we all rose to our feet, and Mar 
 Baker cried out, " The land's sake! If that ain't 
 July Burns's young man ! " 
 
 Yes, it was July's patient, and he was now 
 close upon us. He did not notice us in the 
 least until he had seated himself upon the 
 door-step, which we, in our amazement, had 
 vacated. Then he drew his gorgeous dressing- 
 gown around him, looked at us and said he 
 hoped he didn't intrude, but he was bound to 
 get out of that cursed stuffy little room for a few 
 minutes. He leaned back and panted from his 
 exertions. He was very thin and white, but he 
 looked like a man who is getting well, and who 
 was irritable to the verge of desperation. As 
 he gazed about him it almost seemed as if he 
 wished to strike out, right and left, with one 
 of his crutches, and thus relieve himself of the 
 wrath and resentment which were boiling with- 
 in him. 
 
 172
 
 Rebellion of July's Young Man 
 
 Mar Baker seemed awe-struck at sight of him. 
 She ventured to express the hope that his ribs 
 were all right, whereupon he snarled the reply 
 that he didn't believe there had ever been any- 
 thing the matter with his ribs. He would have 
 been well long ago if it had not been for that 
 infernal doctor and that infernal nurse, curse 
 them both ! Here he pulled himself up and 
 said, looking at us, that we really must pardon 
 him, but all the comfort he had was in cursing 
 and swearing. My friend said quietly that she 
 should judge that he must have been rather com- 
 fortable then. The young man's pale face red- 
 dened until, glancing down the road he had just 
 traversed, an expression of fury banished all other 
 expressions. 
 
 We followed his glance and saw July Burns 
 coming like one who is in pursuit, but who can 
 make very little progress on account of a too 
 great load of flesh. Mr. Ross, after that first 
 look, leaned his head back and closed his eyes, 
 as in despairing surrender. 
 
 July came up puffing. She was so breath- 
 less that she could not speak. Meanwhile her 
 charge kept his eyes persistently shut, as though, 
 173
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 if they were opened, they would see a sight 
 they could not endure. 
 
 It was an interesting tableau now before us, 
 and one at which we looked with a mixture of 
 pity and interest. We only needed Ozias to 
 complete the figures. He, however, slumbered 
 on audibly within the house. 
 
 As soon as she could command her voice, 
 Mrs. Burns, with her hands on her hips, said 
 huskily, " Wall ! I never ! I declare, I never 
 did!" 
 
 The escaped patient winced and shrunk as he 
 heard her, but he did not open his eyes. 
 
 " I wonder," went on July, " I wonder if 
 folks that go gallivantin' like this here, ever ex- 
 pect broken bones to knit ! They earn' t knit ; 
 't aint possible ! What '11 the doctor say ? " 
 
 The invalid, still with closed eyes, vibrated 
 through his thin frame. I heard him mutter 
 that the doctor might go to the devil, and the 
 nurse too. 
 
 "How's he goin' to be got. back?" went 
 on July. " He '11 have a relupse, sure 's fate. 
 I wish one of you folks," looking at us, " would 
 go right over to Mr. Kendall's and git him to
 
 Rebellion of July's Young Man 
 
 harness inter his democrat, and put a bed on it, 
 'n' come here's quick's ever he can. Tell 
 him it's a case of sickness." 
 
 Much to our surprise, July's patient now 
 opened his eyes, but he kept them carefully 
 fixed on us. He spoke with surprising energy. 
 
 "Yes," he said, "I beg you to go to Mr. 
 Kendall's for his democrat, whatever that is. 
 Tell him to come confounded quick, too ! " 
 
 Mrs. Burns looked exultantly at us as if she 
 said, " See, how he is conquered ! " 
 
 But there was a gleam in the man's glance 
 that made us suspicious. There was also even 
 greater pallor, and a lock as if he were begin- 
 ning to suffer greatly. 
 
 We responded to this request by hastening 
 along over the road toward Mr. Kendall's, 
 which lay a hot quarter of a mile distant. 
 
 Mr. Kendall had to be called in from a field 
 where he was digging early potatoes. And he 
 insisted upon asking a good many questions be- 
 fore he would really begin to harness. But he 
 did harness and we rode back to Mar Baker's 
 with him, sitting on the mattress he had placed 
 in the wagon after having removed the seats.
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 We found that Mrs. Baker had put a pillow 
 to the stranger's back, and a footstool under his 
 leg. He was looking badly spent with fatigue 
 and pain. 
 
 July came bustling forward to help, and the 
 patient immediately closed his eyes again. More 
 pillows were brought and arranged. Mr. Ken- 
 dall, being a big, strong man, lifted the now 
 helpless fellow into the carriage. Having seen 
 him well arranged, July turned to go back to 
 Mr. Grant's to await the coming of her charge. 
 
 Now the closed eyes were opened again, and 
 the man motioned to Mr. Kendall, with quite 
 a show of animation, so that I hardly knew 
 whether he had been feigning a trifle or not. 
 
 "Don't take me back," he said, vehe- 
 mently, "I won't go! If you take me there, 
 I'll kill her! She's so fat! Take me to the 
 best hotel at the Brant. Ten dollars if you 
 will. I shall be well in a week if I can get 
 away from her ! She 's so fat ! Go ahead ! 
 I'll make it fifteen dollars." 
 
 Mr. Kendall looked involuntarily at us as if 
 for advice. Now I recall the moment I am 
 almost sure that I bent my head as if counselling 
 176
 
 Rebellion of July's Young Man 
 
 him to go. He laughed and started his horse 
 briskly over toward the Brant. 
 
 Now Brant Rock village was in a different 
 direction from that taken by Mrs. Burns, and 
 presently that person perceived that the sound 
 of wheels was receding instead of approaching. 
 She turned round, and, standing still, she en- 
 deavored, by flourishing her arms in strange 
 signals, to make Mr. Kendall know he was 
 going the wrong way. But, as Mr. Kendall's 
 back was turned toward her, her gesticulations 
 had no effect. Then she began running toward 
 us, if that kind of propelling motion may be 
 called running. She was purple and breathless 
 when she came near. Finally, after two or 
 three attempts, she succeeded in asking furiously, 
 
 " Don't John Kendall know that ain't the way 
 to Mr. Grant's ? Don't he know nothin' ? " 
 
 It was Mar Baker who spoke, and she tried to 
 be soothing. 
 
 " 'T aint well for you to run, July. You 're 
 too fleshy, don't ye know ye be ? Lemme git 
 you a glass of water." 
 
 Inability to go on made July lean against the 
 fence. When Mrs. Baker came out with a 
 12 177
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 pink mug filled with water, Mrs. Burns was 
 able to move it away scornfully, and to say, 
 
 "You ain't no nuss, Mar Baker, or you 
 would n't give cold water to anybody 's hot 's 
 I be." 
 
 Nevertheless, she drank from the pink mug, 
 and then asked with asperity if we knew what 
 John Kendall thought he was a-doin'. 
 
 I took it upon myself to reply that the in- 
 valid had requested to be taken to a hotel, and 
 I suspected Mr. Kendall was taking him to the 
 Brant. 
 
 It was very wicked in my friend to add that 
 she believed the young man would immediately 
 have a trained nurse. 
 
 Hearing this, Mrs. Burns threw up her head 
 and rolled her eyes. 
 
 "Then I wash my hands of him," she cried 
 out. "He'll have a relupse, 'n' if a trained 
 nuss can bring him out of a relupse, she 's wel- 
 come to do it." 
 
 178
 
 XIV 
 
 A PIECE OF MUSIC 
 
 DURING the week which followed the re- 
 volt and escape of July's charge, his fate, 
 so far as we were concerned, was shrouded in 
 mystery. We had no opportunity to make 
 inquiries as to his welfare from any one, save 
 Mrs. Burns herself, and we could not consider 
 her an unprejudiced person. She says "he has 
 been swallered up, and she don't know nothin' 
 'bout him." Now, to say a man has been 
 "swallered up" is not to speak definitely, but 
 only to bring to the mind of the listener vague 
 memories of Jonah, and of "proud Korah's 
 troup," all of whom were swallowed, but under 
 widely different circumstances. July always 
 added that she had washed her hands of him, 
 and that if he had a relapse she should always 
 be thankful that she was not responsible. She 
 affected an air of relief and gratitude that she 
 was no longer his nurse. She said that he wore 
 179
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 upon her more than any person she had ever 
 waited on. For some reason she still lingered 
 at Mrs. Grant's. She said she remained to 
 " help Miss Grant put her house to rights, for 
 it was all tore up, 'n' she hoped that young man 
 would make it right with them, even if he never 
 did with her." 
 
 She sometimes wonders, with a very exasper- 
 ated expression of countenance, what that Vir- 
 giny Vance thinks of the feller now. She 
 gives it to be understood that the girl was prob- 
 ably reckoning upon ketchin' him. Mrs. Burns 
 supposes he has " oceans of money, 'n' any 
 gal 'd be tickled to death ter git him." She is 
 not at all sanguine that Miss Vance will be able 
 to ketch him, but generously says she is wel- 
 come to try. 
 
 During these days Mrs. Burns was often seen 
 on the way to Mrs. Bakei's or to our shanty. 
 She would sit for hours at a time in our most 
 comfortable chair, placed in the coolest spot in 
 the shade, and meditate, and talk. She said she 
 was trying to rest herself after the strain there 
 had been upon her. She never was with us 
 ten minutes that she did not tell us that she had 
 1 80
 
 A Piece of Music 
 
 washed her hands of her former patient. She 
 related several times the history of her acquaint- 
 ance with Joel Burns, before and after marriage, 
 and it was always just as I have written it down 
 in a former chapter. We became so familiar 
 with it that we frequently recited portions of 
 it to each other when she was not present. 
 We knew exactly at what time Joel brought his 
 mother over, and his sister that married a Brett, 
 and about his horse trades. Indeed, at this time 
 in our lives we felt that there was not room in 
 our minds for any thoughts not connected with 
 Joel Burns and his widow. 
 
 We felt more keenly than ever for the poor 
 fellow who had been obliged to lie still that his 
 bones might knit, and so could not escape this 
 tale, no matter how many times it was repeated. 
 We did not wonder he swore. We thought it 
 likely that this profanity, however reprehensible 
 it might be in itself, furnished an outlet which 
 saved his life. 
 
 Mrs. Burns sung to us many times a " piece 
 
 of music " that is what she called it which 
 
 Joel was accustomed to sing in the days of his 
 
 courtship. The tune was not in the least com- 
 
 181
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 plicated, and my friend soon learned it ; but I, 
 not being able to sing anything, could only 
 master the words, and these I learned so effectu- 
 ally that I repeated them mentally, sleeping or 
 waking, and had a strong fear that they would 
 henceforth flavor everything I should ever read 
 or hear. I will give a few verses, only a few, 
 for there would hardly be space enough any- 
 where for them all. I was always uncertain as 
 to the sequence in which they came, for they 
 were sung "just as it happened," without 
 regard to the unities : 
 
 " Tell her to buy me a yard of cloth, 
 For to make me a shirt thereof ; 
 Tell her to make it up with one stitch, 
 Or a horse-hair, I don't care which, 
 Then she shall be a true lover of mine, true 
 lover of mine. 
 
 " A parcel of sage, rosemary and thyme ; 
 Tell her to wash it out in a dry well 
 In which never a drop of water there fell ; 
 Tell her to hang it out on a sharp thorn 
 Which never bore a bud since Adam was born, 
 And then she shall be a true lover of mine, 
 true lover of mine." 
 182
 
 A Piece of Music 
 
 There were a great many lines in which he 
 tells her of impossible things which she must do 
 if she aspired to be a true lover of his, until the 
 heart of the listener began to bleed for the poor 
 girl, when suddenly the thing is reversed, and 
 we are rejoiced to hear that it is she who is 
 singing in this way : 
 
 " Tell him to buy me an acre of land, 
 'Twixt the sea and the sea-sand ; 
 Tell him to plow it up with a cockle's horn 
 And sow it all over with one pepper-corn, 
 And then he shall be a true lover of mine, 
 true lover of mine. 
 
 " Tell him to reap it before it grew, 
 And reap it down with the sole of his shoe ; 
 Tell him to thresh it out with a goose quill, 
 And to winnow it in an egg shell ; 
 And then he shall be a true lover of mine, 
 true lover of mine." 
 
 After a while I noticed that, in whatever 
 order the verses happened to be sung, this was 
 always the last one : 
 
 " Kind sir, are you bound unto Cape Ann ? 
 My service to that same young man,
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 For once he was a true lover of mine, true lover 
 
 of mine, 
 A parcel of sage, rosemary, and thyme." 
 
 It was gratifying to us to be able to conclude 
 that the feminine speaker in this piece of music 
 had the last word, and we thought that the sar- 
 casm on her part was even more fine and biting 
 than that on his part. Altogether, we had never 
 heard the like, and were greatly impressed. 
 Mrs. Burns sang it to us so many times within 
 a few days that we used to wonder if she had 
 sung it to her patient, and if the composition 
 had had anything to do with his escape. 
 
 At the end of a week Mr. Kendall met us on 
 the road and drew in his horse to say that p'raps 
 we 'd like to know about that young feller that 
 had run away. We eagerly said we should like 
 to know, and were informed that he was to the 
 Brant, and was doing prime ; would probably 
 be leavin' in a fortnight or less. That he 
 hadn't no nuss of any kind, and hadn't had 
 since he left Mrs. Grant's. Furthermore he 
 had put a sum of money into his, Mr. Kendall's 
 hands, with which to pay the Grants and July, 
 184
 
 A Piece of Music 
 
 and the doctor. Then Mr. Kendall drove on 
 a few yards ; but he pulled in his horse and 
 looked back to tell us that the feller said he 'd 
 ruther be hung than to see his nuss again. " He 
 says she's so fat ; 'n' he says" here the 
 speaker laughed so that it was with difficulty 
 that he continued " 'n' he says he 's afraid he 
 never shall live long 'nough to forgit all 'bout 
 Joel Burns' s courtship 'n' marriage, 'n' the 
 sister that married a Brett." 
 
 Here Mr. Kendall's horse started and Mr. 
 Kendall himself shook so on the seat that he 
 looked as if he would fall off. 
 
 When we reached our shanty there was Mrs. 
 Burns sitting in the shade, fanning herself and 
 humming "a parcel of sage." We were be- 
 ginning to wonder what we had done to deserve 
 so much of July Burns, and we were so far from 
 glad to see her just now that I am afraid we had 
 a pleasure in telling her what we had just heard. 
 But she took the news very calmly, and did not 
 apparently resent it when I said that we all 
 ought to be thankful that her patient had not 
 been swallowed up as she had reported. She 
 said that, " leastways, he might as well have 
 185
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 ben swallered up," and did not explain when 
 we asked what she meant by that. She ac- 
 knowledged that she had seen Mr. Kendall and 
 had the money. She was willing to own that 
 the feller hadn't been stingy. She was alto- 
 gether so mollified that we inferred that she had 
 been well paid. She left the topic as soon as 
 possible and remarked that folks said that Rodge 
 Peake's wife was a failin', she ain't been well 
 sence she put her shoulder out early in the 
 spring, but she ain't one to make no fuss about 
 herself. "I should n't be one mite supprised if 
 she was a-failin'." The woman added that she 
 didn't s'pose Virginy knew how sick her aunt 
 was, for gals had n't much sense any way. 
 Virginia 'd ben visitin' a friend out to Neponset 
 for a week, 'n' when she was to home likely 's 
 not she 'n' Leife was so much taken up er 
 courtin' they didn't notice Miss Peake. She 
 thought probable Virginy was er fixin' by this 
 time. 
 
 When we asked her what she meant by 
 "fixin'," it was explained that no gal as re- 
 spected herself would think of gittin' married 
 'thout jest so much time spent in makin' table- 
 186
 
 A Piece of Music 
 
 cloths, towels, 'n' such, and to be employed in 
 this work with marriage in prospect, was to be 
 fixin' . 
 
 I hardly think Mrs. Burns believed the mar- 
 riage tie could be legally binding upon a woman 
 who had not previously gone through this 
 process. We learned later that it is customary 
 to announce an engagement by simply saying 
 that " so and so is er fixin'." 
 
 July went on to give minute particulars as to 
 the way in which Mrs. Peake put her shoulder 
 out, and how she was there three weeks to take 
 care of her. "She put it out," said July, as if 
 speaking of a candle flame, " a-tryin' to help 
 Rodge in one of his nerve 'tacks. You mark 
 my words, they '11 be the death of that woman. 
 When you have a husband that is subject to 
 nerve 'tacks, I tell you it don't lengthen your 
 days. Joel was jest what he was, but he didn't 
 drink, thank the Lord!" 
 
 Every time July mentioned Joel we were 
 afraid that she would go on with the history 
 which we had heard so many times, and we 
 used to try frantically to change the subject. 
 We were now sure, from a certain look which 
 187
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 came to her face, when she was going to begin. 
 She had never yet told the tale in our hearing 
 without that preliminary look, and we saw it on 
 her face now. I do not know how it was with 
 my friend, but I had a wild impulse to turn and 
 run over the dike. I had made two or three 
 steps away from the shanty when I saw ap- 
 proaching over the grass an open wagon con- 
 taining a man and a woman. In another 
 moment I knew that they were Mr. and Mrs. 
 Rodge Peake. 
 
 It seemed to us a providential thing that Mrs. 
 Burns chose to depart after having stopped long 
 enough to hear Mr. Peake say jovially that here 
 he was, and he had brought his wife and his 
 bill for hay-making. 
 
 I had always liked Mr. Peake, and now my 
 heart quite warmed to him as I saw with what 
 tenderness he lifted his companion down from 
 the awkward wagon, and gave her his arm as 
 she walked up to the chair July had vacated. 
 
 Mrs. Peake looked more gentle, more thin 
 
 and white than ever, and her voice was slower, 
 
 more piercing in its pathos as she drawled her 
 
 reply to our inquiries about her health. She 
 
 1 88
 
 A Piece of Music 
 
 said that Rodge was trying to make out she was 
 sick, but she guessed she should be all right 
 when the bracing weather come. The trouble 
 was she kept taking a bit of a cold now and then, 
 and somehow she could n't quite get rid of her 
 cough. 
 
 Rodge stood looking at her with open anxiety 
 upon his face. When she ceased speaking he 
 glanced at us and said, with a great show of 
 cheerfulness and confidence, that she 'd be sure 
 to be all right when the bracing weather come. 
 These dog days were enough to pull anybody 
 down. Oh, she'd be all right. 
 
 "That's what I tell him," said Mrs. Peake 
 softly, falling back in her chair, and breathing 
 quickly. 
 
 It appeared difficult for Mr. Peake to keep his 
 eyes from his wife's face, and when he asked 
 one of us to go to the barn with him, and I 
 went, he leaned up against the barn door and 
 said tremulously that he vowed he could n't 
 help being anxious, and he felt ten thousand 
 times worse because she was so kind of cheerful 
 'n' hopeful, and what did I really think of her 
 looks ? 
 
 189
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 I hesitated and finally said that she seemed 
 frail. 
 
 "You don't think it's nothin' worse 'n' that, 
 do you ? " he inquired, eagerly. "You know 
 frail folks sometimes have a mighty tough streak 
 in 'em." 
 
 I assented. He tried visibly to cheer up. 
 
 He guessed Marcia 'd feel better when Vir- 
 giny come back. Virginy was a prime one to 
 have round in the house. But when he ex- 
 plained that he had no idea his wife was so 
 weak, till she come to try to git into the wagon, 
 his voice broke again, he turned away, and we 
 stood in silence. 
 
 190
 
 w 
 
 XV 
 
 A COOT STEW 
 
 E have had a party and a coot stew on 
 **' one and the same day. The one was 
 the instigator of the other. If we had not had 
 the coot stew we should not have had the party. 
 Mr. Peake brought us yesterday morning a pair 
 of the fowls above mentioned. He shot them 
 himself, and appeared to take great pleasure in 
 giving them to us. Not knowing what was in 
 the near future, we expressed gratitude to him. 
 We can always have the consciousness that, 
 whatever happened later, we were sincere at the 
 time we thanked him. 
 
 The animals, I mean the fowls, were de- 
 nuded of their feathers and ready to cook. Mr. 
 Peake had even been so thoughtful as to bring 
 their wings, two pair of them, thinking that we 
 might want them to put on hats. He said we 
 might tell our friends when we went away that 
 191
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 we shot the critters, if we wanted to, for he 
 believed it was not customary to go away from 
 Ma'shfield without having killed a few coots, 
 and we could show the wings as proof of the 
 truth of our assertion. We promised to consider 
 the suggestion. 
 
 The coots looked darker than we had thought, 
 and were altogether different from what our 
 ideal had pictured them to be. , From the first 
 moment of their arrival Orlando had manifested 
 a strong, and at the same time, disgusted interest 
 in them. He wished to sniff at them con- 
 stantly, and each sniff appeared to nauseate him. 
 
 Mr. Peake said his wife sent word to us that 
 if we wa n't used to sea- fowl, and did n't exactly 
 know whether we liked them or not, we 'd 
 better parboil them the day before we made the 
 stew, and throw that water away. By so doing 
 we should get rid of some of the oil. "Then," 
 said Mr. Peake, " all you 've got to do is to 
 make 'em up jest like any stew; onions, per- 
 taters and dumplin's." 
 
 Again we expressed our gratitude. Mr. 
 Peake said he was glad he happened to git um, 
 for 'twas kind of early. He was in great spirits, 
 192
 
 A Coot Stew 
 
 and informed us that his wife seemed better than 
 she had been all summer. He 'd been sure all 
 along the bracing weather 'd bring her round. 
 
 And Virginy had come home. She 'd be 
 over to see us directly. 
 
 As soon as he had gone, we washed the coots 
 carefully and put them on to parboil. When 
 the odor began to diffuse itself in the little room 
 Orlando went out of doors with his nose very 
 much turned up. But we remained, being very 
 sure that we liked coots. For myself, I had 
 inwardly sworn tfcat nothing should prevent my 
 liking them as food, although as odorating articles 
 I now perceived that I was not pleased with 
 them. But it was not for their perfume we 
 were cooking them ; it was for their gustatory 
 and nourishing qualities. 
 
 I hope it will not be suspected that the coots 
 had been killed so long that they were too old. 
 They were perfectly fresh, and their fragrance 
 was not from age. There may be people who 
 will read this chapter who are old enough to 
 remember the lamps with whale oil in them 
 which were wont to illuminate the past. Those 
 who remember the lamps will recall the scent 
 '3 193
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 they threw around them, if they happened not 
 to be in perfect cleanliness. 
 
 It was dreadful, though we would not then 
 admit it, that anything we expected to eat should 
 smell exactly like old whale-oil. 
 
 My friend made the observation that Orlando 
 seemed very fastidious this morning, and that 
 she herself noticed that the coots diffused an 
 odor not like anything else ; but she supposed 
 that when they had been parboiled all that sort 
 of thing would be dispelled. I agreed with her. 
 
 At the proper time we removed the coots 
 from the kettle, carried the kettle a good ways 
 over the dike and emptied its contents, the terrier 
 following us and snuffing like a terrier bewitched. 
 
 "When we put the fowls on for the stew 
 to-morrow," I said cheerfully, "there won't be 
 anything like this." 
 
 My companion assented with unnecessary 
 ardor to my assertion. 
 
 It is useless to try to explain the fact that all 
 the remainder of the day we were depressed and 
 silent, as if we had something on our minds. 
 
 Mrs. Peake had sent word that we must be 
 sure and put the coots on early and have them 
 194
 
 A Coot Stew 
 
 boil every minute until dinner time, because, 
 though so good when done, before they were 
 done they were tough. 
 
 We rose earlier than usual, still depressed and 
 silent. My friend said that she would put on 
 the coots while I went over to Mrs. Grant's for 
 our daily milk. 
 
 Long before I reached the shanty, on my 
 return, the wind being the right way, I inhaled 
 the fumes of cooking coots, and I owned to my- 
 self, undisguisedly then, that the lamp oil was 
 just as strong as on the day before. I carefully 
 carried our pint of milk in what I was every 
 day convinced was a half-pint bowl. 
 
 I was naturally somewhat absorbed in the 
 effort to keep the milk all in the bowl. This 
 effort, and the odor from the shanty were making 
 me more and more gloomy. I did not see any- 
 thing but my bowl and I did not smell anything 
 but coots. 
 
 I was not aware of the step behind me, and 
 only saw a tanned hand advanced and the bowl 
 taken, while a sweet, languid voice drawled, 
 
 "I have steadier nerves this morning than 
 you have. Why do you take a vessel of that 
 195
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 size for more milk than it can hold? Is it to 
 mortify the flesh ? Are you under a vow ? ' ' 
 
 Virginia's face, when I looked at it, had such 
 a happy expression upon it that I began imme- 
 diately, as it were, to bask in its light. 
 
 For a moment she made me forget what I 
 will call, without any desire to be blasphemous, 
 the hell-broth we were concocting at the shanty. 
 
 I watched the unswerving hand which held 
 the bowl of milk. Again I felt how well 
 strung she was. Doubtless she had nerves, but 
 they were thoroughly sheathed and in order. 
 
 I told her it must be a great thing to be a 
 woman, and yet carry a hand like that. It 
 seemed to me that this capability indicated a 
 good deal. She smiled. She was very ready 
 to smile this morning. Her look was the look 
 of one who must radiate the glow from within. 
 
 "It is the sunshine," she said. " When the 
 sun has this warmth in it I am intoxicated. 
 The summer is too short here at the North. 
 There is Leife. Wave your handkerchief. You 
 see I am hampered." 
 
 I heard the galloping of a horse's feet on the 
 road. In the perfectly still air the sound was 
 196
 
 A Coot Stew 
 
 almost metallic. The rider had flung up his 
 hat and was looking at us. I did as Virginia 
 bade me, feeling that the salute would not be 
 received gratefully. 
 
 "We walked over from Uncle Peake's," said 
 the girl, her eyes following the rider. "He is 
 going up to the village for some medicine for 
 Aunt Marcia. She is really better. We are 
 quite cheered." 
 
 She looked at young Peake until with one 
 more up-tossing of the hat he disappeared on the 
 inland road. Then she sighed, but smiled. 
 
 Hearing and seeing her, I sighed but did not 
 smile. 
 
 I could not say I did not approve of Leife 
 Peake, and I certainly believed I understood why 
 he had fallen in love with the girl by my side. 
 If he had not done so I would have set him 
 down as a blind dolt. But I would not have 
 arranged that she should love him. Let him be 
 sighing and dying for her. Let her gently and 
 coldly pity him until Prince Charming came to 
 Ma'shfield and saw her and won her and carried 
 her away beyond the utmost purple rim. 
 
 A woman's imagination, as is well known, 
 197
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 when occupied by this congenial topic will go a 
 great ways in a short time. 
 
 As we came near the shanty the shall I 
 say effluvia proceeding from it banished all 
 such fancies. 
 
 My companion sniffed. She threw her head 
 back and sniffed again. She said one word, and 
 that word was "Coots." 
 
 She did not utter it as an interrogation, but 
 simply as an assertion. 
 
 I was greatly relieved to find that she knew, 
 and that I need not explain anything. 
 
 As we came still nearer, she looked at me 
 again and said that perhaps we liked them. 
 With an effort toward politeness she went on to 
 remark that some people did like them. 
 
 My friend within the shanty was stirring egg 
 and coffee together, and she had a set look of 
 despair on her face. Orlando stood a moment 
 within the door, then walked away and carefully 
 sat down in a place where the wind blew from 
 him toward the house, and there he went to 
 sleep. 
 
 We begged Virginia to stay with us through 
 the experience upon which we were now enter- 
 198
 
 A Coot Stew 
 
 ing. We said we knew she might suffer, but 
 her presence would be a comfort to us. She 
 was too good-natured not to consent. 
 
 She drank some coffee in our company and in 
 company of the stew, though she said she had 
 breakfasted at the usual Peake hour ; just before 
 daylight. That hour always gave her a certain 
 uncanny sense of having risen in the middle of 
 the night and eaten and drank with ghosts by a 
 kerosene lamp that had not been filled since the 
 night before. She supposed it was a necessary 
 thing to do, because almost all the neighbors par- 
 took of their first meal at that time and in that 
 way. It made a long forenoon, and long fore- 
 noons seemed to be the one thing for which 
 Yankees longed. They differed from the lotus 
 eaters. 
 
 " Now for my part," went on Virginia, lean- 
 ing her head back against the grimy wall, and 
 sitting in such a way that the rigid chair which 
 held her directly seemed a lounging chair, " for 
 my part I think happiness ought to be some 
 object in life. My happiness would not be 
 achieved by grubbing for pennies before light in 
 the morning. 
 
 199
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 " Be sure I would not have made this confession 
 before a real resident of the town. I value their 
 good opinion too much. What do you think 
 Mrs. Burns would say if she heard me ? She 
 thinks very little of those who are not ' scrab- 
 bling.' Do you know the height of praise Mar 
 Baker can bestow ? It is when she says of a 
 young man, ' He '11 make a good husband ; he 's 
 a nice, scrabblin' sort of a feller.' 
 
 " It was a good while before I could imagine 
 what the word meant. Poor woman ! She 
 has had to scrabble all her life. I hope she will 
 get to a place some time where it is always after- 
 noon, and will be so changed that she will be 
 glad of it. Can you fancy her as resting ? " 
 
 The tones of the speaker were full of sym- 
 pathy and pity. She immediately changed them 
 as she said, 
 
 " Have you ever known the curious experi- 
 ence it is to take ' Zias off in the fields for a few 
 hours ? I 've done it several times because I was 
 so sorry for his mother. When I do it I give 
 myself up to one occupation, and that is hunting 
 for trees that are just right for him to swing from 
 their tops. I tell you he makes it arduous work. 
 200
 
 A Coot Stew 
 
 If you give over for a minute he begins to cry, 
 and then you know that you would rather sac- 
 rifice almost anything than to hear him cry. 
 There is nothing in this world that makes me 
 so angry as to hear Ozias Baker cry. He bellows 
 and he snuffles and he punches his fists into his 
 eyes, and he gurgles that he will tell his mar, 
 until the temptation to slap him hard and often 
 is a temptation nearly irresistible. But you must 
 not slap him, because he is not half-witted. All 
 you can do is to hurry frantically to find another 
 tree for him to swing on. Then he laughs, and 
 when he laughs you are only one degree less 
 irritated than when he cries. Yes, Ozias is a 
 companion to be dreaded." 
 
 About an hour after breakfast, which, for 
 some reason I was sure none of us enjoyed, my 
 fellow- sufferer, who was slicing potatoes and 
 onions for the stew, proposed that we invite a 
 few friends to dine with us. We hailed the 
 proposition with delight. She said it was a 
 pity to have such a good dinner all by our- 
 selves ; and I added that it was a shame to be 
 so selfish as that ; and we would put the table 
 and chairs on the shady side, and I would go 
 201
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 immediately and borrow plates and things from 
 Mrs. Grant. Before I went, however, we 
 settled that I should invite Mr. and Mrs. 
 Grant, July Burns, and Ozias and his mother. 
 We wished we could also ask Mr. Peake and 
 his wife, but they were too far away for so 
 impromptu a dinner party, and their niece was 
 sure her uncle could not leave his work. 
 
 I set off quite gayly on my errands ; all the 
 people promised to come, and seemed pleased 
 with the prospect of a coot stew. Mrs. Burns 
 offered to arrive early and season it for us, for 
 she said that a great deal depended on the 
 amount of pepper and salt there was in this 
 kind of victuals. She seemed much chagrined 
 when I confessed, in answer to her question, 
 that we had not put in a red pepper in whole 
 form, just as that condiment grew in the gar- 
 den. She had never heard of a coot stew being 
 made in any other way, and plainly thought 
 still less of us from that moment. 
 
 As the time approached for us to leave the 
 
 shanty, perhaps never again to return to it, I 
 
 felt a welcome sense of independence as to 
 
 what July Burns did think of us. I was sure 
 
 202
 
 A Coot Stew 
 
 that she pitied us somewhat and despised us 
 more. Was it not true that we had never 
 been able to ketch no man, and that we had 
 not, until very recently, been capable of making 
 bumonge ? What more need she to know ? 
 But I cared now little as to whether or not we 
 should succeed before we left in modifying her 
 opinion of us. I could not explain to myself 
 why I had ever cared a particle what her judg- 
 ment was concerning us. My friend declared 
 that it was a lack of moral stamina that had 
 made us so weak. She said that though she 
 was not sure as to what moral stamina was 
 precisely, she was certain it was a good thing 
 to have, and she never meant to go to any 
 place like a dike again without it. In the 
 future she intended not to care what people 
 like Mar Baker and Joel Burns' s relict thought 
 of her. 
 
 It was thus that we exchanged thoughts and 
 resolves after I had hastened back from giving 
 my invitations, and while we were hurrying to 
 arrange the table out of doors and place the 
 borrowed crockery thereon before our guests 
 should appear. 
 
 203
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 Miss Vance went off, politely accompanied 
 by Orlando. When she returned she bore 
 large quantities of asters and golden rod, with 
 which she decked the otherwise somewhat bare 
 table. It is true that some of the flowers had 
 to be put in empty stone beer bottles, and that 
 the attempt to hide the bottles by twining five- 
 fingered ivy about them was distressingly un- 
 successful. There seemed to be a natural 
 antipathy on the part of the bottles toward 
 any sort of decoration, and their glazed sides 
 smoothly rejected every clambering leaf. They 
 were beer jugs and declined to be obscured or 
 disguised in any way. 
 
 If we ever give a fashionable dinner-party I 
 do not think we shall suffer so much anxiety as 
 we felt concerning that coot stew. 
 
 It would be indescribably shameful to us if 
 the dish should not be just what these people 
 were accustomed to having ; and, to add to 
 our responsibility, we had reason to think that 
 ours would be the first coot stew of the season, 
 and thus attended by a certain clat which 
 would make a failure all the harder to bear. 
 
 As time went on the odor within the shanty 
 204
 
 A Coot Stew 
 
 became stronger and stronger ; and, in truth, 
 it was a dreadful odor. It did not seem pos- 
 sible that our dinner ought to send forth such 
 a stench ; certainly stench does not seem too 
 strong a name for it. 
 
 I was thankful that Mr. and Mrs. Grant 
 were the first to arrive, instead of Mrs. Burns. 
 We placed Mr. Grant in the shade and then 
 we begged his wife to come in the house for a 
 moment. She limped good-naturedly into the 
 shanty. We, with poorly disguised solicitude, 
 asked her if she would honestly tell if what we 
 were cooking smelled all right. 
 
 Mrs. Grant lifted the lid from the kettle, as 
 if that were necessary. But the action seemed 
 to make things stronger, and I wished I were 
 outside, in the place Orlando had selected in 
 which to pass the time while we were engaged 
 in what must seem to him barbarous orgies. 
 We watched Mrs. Grant's face and hung upon 
 her words. 
 
 "Law!" she said, replacing the kettle 
 cover, "don't you worry one bit. The stew 
 smells proper nice. It '11 be first-rate. I see 
 you've got the dumplin's ready. I guess I'll 
 put 'em in." 205
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 While she was placing the balls of dough on 
 top of the bubbling mass of potatoes, onions, 
 and coots, she was asked if really the thing 
 ought to smell quite so, well, quite so awful, 
 you know. 
 
 She looked at us in amazement. We felt 
 our spirits rise. Her amazement seemed to 
 turn to sorrow for us. 
 
 "I'm afraid," she said, "that you don't 
 like coots. They be kind of strong for you 
 folks that are made so you ain't fond of 'em." 
 
 All our friends came. 
 
 We shall never cease to be grateful to Miss 
 Vance for the marvellous skill with which she 
 pretended to eat heartily of the mess which we 
 set before her. She was, as they say here, so 
 "easy in her manners," and she had "such 
 pooty ways ' ' of speaking about the whole affair, 
 that the stew seemed to its lovers, I am sure, 
 even better than it was. How could she ap- 
 pear to like it so well ? 
 
 I suppose that Ozias will live, for no one 
 
 seemed astonished at his success in regard to 
 
 the amount he ate. Perhaps I ought to be 
 
 humiliated because I felt proud and thankful 
 
 206
 
 A Coot Stew 
 
 when, about half-way through the banquet, the 
 under-witted one proclaimed aloud that he 
 thought it was the best coot stew he had ever 
 tasted. I was so elated at hearing him say 
 these words that I was happy during the rest 
 of the time that the party lasted. It was like 
 receiving praise from Sir Hubert Stanley. 
 
 Yes, it must have been a good stew. The 
 feasters not only praised it, but ate copiously of 
 it. They seemed not able to stop eating. But 
 then it was the first stew of the season. We, 
 who had concocted it, could almost say that 
 this was the proudest moment of our lives. I 
 am sure that, if either of us had made an after- 
 dinner speech, we should have used that phrase. 
 It was plain, beyond mistake, that July Burns 
 approved ; and we felt that we had at last 
 shown ourselves worthy of her approval. 
 
 As for me, I will not hesitate to say that I 
 do not like coots. I courageously tasted our 
 own dinner, but that was all ; it was more than 
 enough. To quote that always quotable child, 
 Little Marjory, a coot " is a thing I am not a 
 member of," and to quote her again, a coot 
 "is devilish." 
 
 207
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 The guests pitied us when they found we 
 could not relish this delicacy. They tried to 
 encourage us by saying that perhaps we might 
 learn to like it. But why, we asked ourselves, 
 should we try to enjoy a flavor made up of the 
 flavors of rancid fish oil and wild-fowl that ap- 
 pear to have fed on stale fish ; a combination 
 of the worst there is in fish and fowl. Is it 
 worth while to spend effort in acquiring a liking 
 for coots ? 
 
 Ozias did not pity us. I saw that he was 
 glad we did not partake, for would there not 
 be more for him ? 
 
 At last there was one plateful left, and this 
 we made Mrs. Baker take home with her that 
 she might warm it over for her son's supper. 
 When our party had dispersed we called 
 Orlando in. He came very gingerly, with 
 nose elevated suspiciously ; but things seemed 
 better to him. He consented to join us in a 
 plain meal of bread and milk. In this repast 
 we were also joined by Miss Vance who pro- 
 fessed to be almost starved. 
 
 208
 
 XVI 
 AN AFTER-DINNER EPISODE 
 
 WE who had prepared the coot dinner and 
 borne the responsibility of it, naturally 
 suffered a reaction after our triumph. It was 
 very warm, as it is likely to be on a September 
 midday. Our dinner had been at precisely 
 twelve of the clock. We knew our neighbors 
 too well to offer them a dinner at any other 
 hour. By one they were gone, the dishes 
 were washed, the fire in the stove was out. 
 
 The sun was looking down unblinkingly 
 upon the silent dike lands, silent save for the 
 monotonous whir and drone of the insects in 
 the parched "second crop" grass. That whir 
 and drone seemed but the voice, the accentu- 
 ation of the silence. 
 
 Virginia was lying on the ground in the 
 shade, with a folded shawl for a pillow. She 
 said she liked nothing in a warm day so well as 
 14 209
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 lying in the shade unless it were to lie in the 
 sun. 
 
 Orlando was curled in a ball near her, occa- 
 sionally opening shining eyes to peep through 
 his hair and see that all was well. 
 
 My friend was asleep in one of the bunks. 
 I opened a folding rattan chair and put it by 
 the window and was soon asleep in it. 
 
 I have described these arrangements so par- 
 ticularly that the practised reader will immedi- 
 ately suspect that something is going to happen. 
 Yes, the practised reader will be right. 
 
 What happened was that I became an eaves- 
 dropper. If I had not explained about the 
 rattan chair and the open window it might not 
 have been thoroughly understood why I over- 
 heard as I did. 
 
 I seemed to be dreaming. I dreamed that 
 an immense coot flew over from the water and 
 alighted close to the shanty, and that the terrier 
 growled but did not bark. The coot put up 
 one claw and took off his head as if it were a 
 hat, and said, 
 
 " Ah, pardon me, Miss Vance. But I am 
 so glad to find you that I can't be sorry to dis- 
 210
 
 An After-Dinner Episode 
 
 turb you. I have been up to your uncle's ; I 
 have looked everywhere for you." 
 
 By this time I was awake and knew that the 
 speaker was not a coot but was July Burns's 
 former patient, and that he was standing there 
 with his hat in one hand, and a cane, on which 
 he leaned, in the other. He was very pale and 
 thin, and had a great expression of resolution 
 on his face. His apparel was something so 
 immaculate, so exquisitely appropriate to pre- 
 cisely this date of early fall, that I know I can- 
 not adequately describe it. 
 
 Evidently Virginia had been in a deep sleep, 
 for she put both hands to her face and pushed 
 back her hair before she could return his gaze. 
 She was now in a sitting posture on the grass. 
 
 "Pray be seated, Mr. Ross," she said at 
 last, motioning toward a chair. " It was not 
 wise of you to walk far." 
 
 " I have not walked far. I have a carriage 
 on the road yonder." 
 
 He seemed glad to sit down, and more glad 
 of the opportunity to continue looking at the 
 girl. He availed himself of this opportunity in 
 a very hungry way. 
 
 211
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 " You gave me a certain promise when I was 
 ill," he finally said, with some abruptness. 
 
 " People promise a great many things to a 
 person who is ill," replied Virginia. 
 
 Mr. Ross did not choose to answer this 
 remark. The determination in his face really 
 made him look quite manly in spite of the 
 effeminate carefulness in dress. 
 
 " I want to remind you of the promise," he 
 said. 
 
 The girl was silent. 
 
 Mr. Ross seemed to grow more desperate 
 and more determined. 
 
 "The promise," he said, "was that when I 
 recovered you would allow me to flirt with 
 you." 
 
 Virginia grew red. 
 
 "This is all very silly," she exclaimed. 
 "Is it possible you have remembered such 
 folly and come to claim a fulfilment ? ' ' 
 
 He moved his cane restlessly. 
 
 "I don't want you to fulfil the promise," 
 he said with a kind of feeble violence. "I 
 wouldn't allow it. But I have remembered. 
 I remember every word you have said to me." 
 
 212
 
 An After-Dinner Episode 
 
 He became silent. What did he mean ? 
 Perhaps his meaning was not hard to guess. I 
 gazed at him with the calm curiosity of a third 
 person. He was quite livid. His eyes looked 
 hot. 
 
 I thought there was no need to proclaim my 
 presence, for Miss Vance knew perfectly well 
 where I was. 
 
 It was apparently out of the girl's power to 
 break the silence. It was also unnecessary. 
 In a moment he gave the following rather gen- 
 eral definition with almost a tragic fervor : 
 
 " To flirt is to amuse oneself." 
 
 He paused as if to recover calmness ; and 
 presently resumed, " I am past amusing myself 
 where you are concerned." 
 
 In his earnestness the young man must now 
 command respect. 
 
 This time his companion did not flush. 
 Neither did she speak. She gave him a glance. 
 
 I may have heretofore hinted that when Miss 
 Vance looked at one in a certain way one was 
 vividly aware of the fact. Even I, in the char- 
 acter of a calm third person, felt my blood sud- 
 denly glow because of a glance which did not 
 213
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 belong to me. What then, must have been its 
 effect upon this man ? 
 
 It was he who flushed now. He rose and 
 made a step forward hastily. 
 
 I shall never know what he would have said, 
 for she rose also and with a movement of her 
 hand seemed to restrain him, even before she 
 spoke. 
 
 " Here is my friend to whom you have not 
 been presented." 
 
 The young man came toward the window 
 where I sat, and which Virginia also ap- 
 proached. He so plainly wished me per- 
 haps at the bottom of the sea, that I was 
 embarrassed by the mere fact of not being at 
 the bottom of the sea. 
 
 He tried to stammer out some remark about 
 the pleasures of an unconventional life in a 
 shanty, and I tried to reply to him. 
 
 Virginia did not help us any. She may 
 have been unable to do so. She was bending 
 over and playing with Orlando. It was a bad 
 moment for us all. It was terminated, or I 
 might say aggravated, by the appearance of 
 another actor. 
 
 214
 
 An After-Dinner Episode 
 
 I heard some one whistling on the other side 
 of the shanty, a quick, firm step, and Leife 
 Peake appeared with his hands thrust into the 
 pockets of his loose coat. 
 
 The instant he turned the corner of the 
 building he felt the electricity in the air. He 
 withdrew his hands from their resting place, 
 and assumed that hostile attitude with which 
 one man sometimes meets another. If he had 
 been a dog he would have bristled. Not 
 being a dog he did all he could to appear to 
 bristle. 
 
 He plainly was not acquainted with the other 
 gentleman, but knew him. There was some- 
 thing almost insolent in the way his eyes rested 
 on the pale fellow who leaned somewhat 
 heavily on his stick. 
 
 Miss Vance named the two to each other, 
 and they grimly nodded. 
 
 Peake said that his mother had had a bad 
 turn, and was besides a little anxious to know 
 where her niece was, so she had sent him to 
 find her. He added that he was very sorry to 
 ask her to leave such company, glancing at 
 Mr. Ross. 
 
 215
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 " I dare say mother can wait ; and you can 
 come later." 
 
 He turned on his heel, but paused when 
 Virginia said that she would immediately go 
 home with him. Her tone had a slight edge 
 to it as she spoke these words, and I wondered 
 how Peake liked it. It was the first time I 
 was made aware that there could be an edge 
 to that voice. 
 
 In a very different way, and with marked 
 courtesy, she said good-by to Mr. Ross. 
 That gentleman had presence and strength of 
 mind sufficient to ask permission to call upon 
 her. 
 
 Then he limped slowly off toward his car- 
 riage, and the other two departed also. 
 
 It was only the girl who was thoughtful 
 enough to bid adieu to me. 
 
 I sank back in my chair and fell to musing. 
 My friend had continued to sleep. She had 
 not witnessed the scene from this small comedy. 
 
 Orlando came and sat on my lap. We con- 
 fided to each other our belief that it must be a 
 very painful as well as a very interesting state 
 when two men are in love with one woman. 
 216
 
 An After-Dinner Episode 
 
 When I questioned Orlando as to which man 
 the woman in her very heart most favored, the 
 terrier cocked one ear, stopped panting, and 
 suggested that, after all, the whole affair was 
 probably of very little consequence. I, being 
 a woman with a melancholy dearth of love 
 affairs of my own, did not agree with Orlando. 
 
 Of course I knew she loved Peake. Had I 
 not observed ? Although I did not wholly 
 approve of her loving Peake, I was convinced 
 that she did love him. I was not conscious 
 that July Burns' s hints that " Virginy was er 
 fixin'," had anything to do with these in- 
 tuitions of mine. 
 
 I had seen that softening of the dark face, 
 that sudden, unconscious melting of the eyes in 
 Leife Peake' s presence. 
 
 As I confided these ideas of mine to my 
 friend when she at last emerged from her bunk 
 she assented with almost suspicious readiness. 
 
 At the conclusion of our conversation on this 
 subject she made one remark which rankled 
 somewhat. 
 
 She said that, on the other hand, we could 
 neither of us judge accurately as to what were 
 217
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 Miss Vance's thoughts concerning Mr. Ross, 
 because we had not been in a position to wit- 
 ness any unconscious softening and melting in 
 that admirer's presence. 
 
 I had kept sacredly unspoken my knowledge 
 of the way the girl had looked at Mr. Ross just 
 now. What did my friend mean ? 
 
 I do not know that this Southern New Eng- 
 land girl could be blamed if she had a face 
 and eyes which gave such delicious suggestions. 
 Why accuse her if her face and eyes sometimes 
 make you think unutterable things ? And then 
 her kindness, her cordiality were as spontaneous 
 and genuine as the warm grasp of her hand. 
 
 If she had had an ugly face and pig eyes she 
 might, of course, have had as kind a heart, but 
 then who cares so much for a kind heart when 
 connected with pig eyes ? 
 
 Of one thing we were sure, that it had 
 been a great blessing to us that Mrs. Peake's 
 niece had come north to live with her aunt. 
 
 218
 
 XVII 
 
 POOR RODGE 
 
 " "pVRETFUL tryin' weather for anybody 
 
 \J that's sick." 
 
 So said Mrs. Baker the other day as we all 
 sat on the steps that led to the door of her 
 house. Ozias had been sent to the post-office, 
 and so there was a slight intermission in the 
 stress of his mother's anxiety concerning him, 
 for he was never known to get into mischief in 
 going to the post-office or in coming from it. 
 
 "Ee-us," repeated Mrs. Baker, wearily, 
 "it's so trying that they say folks as come for 
 the summer are goin' away earlier 'n common. 
 But that young feller, that Mr. Ross is still 
 over to the Brant. I seen him yisterd'y in a 
 buggy goin' toward Rodge Peake's. They say 
 he 's a ha'ntin' round there er sight. Jest be- 
 witched with that Virginy, I guess. She goes 
 out with him in his buggy once 'n a while. 
 219
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 Wall, I hope whoever ketches her '11 be worthy 
 of her." 
 
 Mrs. Baker relapsed into a long silence. 
 
 It had been dry and hot in August and thus 
 far into September. Every day the sun had 
 risen red, had gone its round obscured partially 
 by a smoky haze, and then had set redly in the 
 west. We had almost ceased to think that it 
 could rain, although a few times thunderheads 
 had risen threateningly ; but they had only dis- 
 charged a few big drops and then dispersed. 
 It had begun to be "sickly" among the vil- 
 lages near the coast. One and another yielded 
 to low, feverish attacks, and two deaths had 
 occurred. We often saw the doctor's sulky 
 going rapidly along the highway, a white dust 
 whirling after it. There was a call for Mrs. 
 Burns, but she had been for some time helping 
 take care of Mrs. Peake, who, without seeming 
 much worse, had yet gradually given up all pre- 
 tence of work. Perhaps it would be more 
 accurate to say that Mrs. Burns was doing the 
 Peake housework than that she was nursing 
 Mrs. Peake, who was dressed and about the 
 house every day, particularly waited upon by 
 220
 
 Poor Roclge 
 
 her niece. Folks said that his wife's sickness 
 was making a sober man of Mr. Peake, for he 
 had not touched a drop of liquor so far as any 
 one knew since that time when he had been 
 mowing our grass. 
 
 Two days ago we walked over to see Mrs. 
 Peake. We took her some dainties we had 
 been able to prepare. Strange to say, though 
 very thin, she seemed to have lost that faded 
 look we had noticed when we first saw her, 
 and now she had a startling resemblance to the 
 blond pretty girl she mast have been when she 
 insisted upon marrying Rodge Peake. Her 
 smile was sweeter, and her voice even more 
 gentle and winning in its slow sound. 
 
 Virginia happened to be gone out to rest for 
 a half hour and get a breath of fresh air. Her 
 aunt said with feeling that she didn't know 
 how she should live without Virginy. 
 
 The invalid appeared to be glad to see us. 
 She said folks were very kind to her ; she 
 didn't know what she had done that folks 
 should be so kind. Her words were often 
 interrupted by her cough, about which she said 
 nothing. She thought she was gradually im- 
 
 221
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 proving ; the doctor's medicine seemed to agree 
 with her. No, she didn't have much appe- 
 tite, but she expected she would soon come 
 to that. 
 
 When we had risen to go, Mr. Peake came 
 in with a basket of large, yellow porter apples 
 he had been gathering. After one glance at 
 him I hardly dared look again, his face was so 
 pinched and worn. He shook hands with us 
 and said briskly that he guessed we found his 
 wife looking quite bright. We tried to answer 
 in the same vein. When we had reached the 
 door Mrs. Peake called us back and kissed us. 
 She did not have the appearance of bidding us 
 farewell, but only remarked that she supposed 
 we would soon be leaving Ma'shfield, and we 
 had been so kind. 
 
 Her husband stood without, his features 
 working painfully. When we joined him in 
 the little yard he again shook hands with us, 
 as he told us brokenly that " Marcia had took 
 to us from the first." Having said this, he 
 walked quickly away, and we went homeward. 
 
 Yes, we repeated for the twentieth time, we 
 must leave the shanty. Why should we stay 
 222
 
 Poor Rodge 
 
 any longer ? That brassy sky above us was 
 depressing, and the never-ceasing moan of the 
 ocean which, in its way, seemed to be affected 
 by the "dry time," would finally give us 
 melancholia. Orlando, who always mysteri- 
 ously shared our moods, trotted on mechani- 
 cally, with not even one dash aside. 
 
 This, as I said, was two days ago. Last 
 night, when the sun was within an hour of 
 setting, a great bank of clouds rose from the 
 west and obscured that crimson ball. I was 
 thankful. In the air there was a certain sense 
 of moisture which we had not felt for long. 
 Mar Baker said she really believed we should 
 have rain before morning. Not two hours 
 after that prophecy the gray, wet-looking clouds 
 had covered the whole sky, smoothed and 
 massed themselves, and the rain began to fall 
 with a steady heaviness that was refreshing. 
 There was no wind, and we stood at the door 
 of our shanty and watched the sheets of water 
 come down straightly. The terrier was so 
 overjoyed that he ran out and capered in the 
 wet, and we would have liked to follow his 
 example. 
 
 223
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 It was in that darkest time in the next morn- 
 ing that Orlando's sharp barking disturbed us 
 as we lay dreaming in our bunks. The rain 
 was still pounding steadily on the roof. I was 
 very sleepy, but I became wide awake when I 
 heard something heavy fall against the door, and 
 it seemed to me that a voice said "Hullo!" 
 The dog barked worse than ever. Confusedly 
 I rolled from my bunk, lighted a lamp and 
 huddled some clothes upon me, my friend 
 dressing also. We had heard nothing more, 
 but Orlando did not for an instant stop barking. 
 
 Before drawing the bolt we asked who was 
 there, and as no one replied, we gradually opened 
 the door until the light from our lamp revealed 
 Rodge Peake leaning against the wall outside. 
 
 His face was terribly white, and he was soaked 
 with water. We each put a hand out and drew 
 him in. He stood dripping, while the dog 
 ceased his noise instantly and began smelling 
 about this unexpected guest. 
 
 Now that the man was in the room we could 
 detect the odor of whiskey, but he seemed per- 
 fectly sober. There was a look in his eyes 
 which frightened me. 
 
 224
 
 Poor Rodge 
 
 " Did you come for us ? Is your wife 
 worse?" asked my friend, quickly. 
 
 Mr. Peake turned sharply toward the speaker. 
 He laughed a little as he said hoarsely, " My 
 wife 's dead. She died about midnight. I killed 
 her." 
 
 We stood silent and trembling. 
 
 After a short time he laughed again, and said 
 in the same voice, 
 
 " She kinder took to you two. She used to 
 talk consid'able 'bout you. You know she 
 kissed you when she saw you last." 
 
 He turned to the open door, where the cur- 
 tain of the rain fell steadily. He paused long 
 enough to add: "Thought I'd tell you. I 
 guess I '11 be goin' now. But I killed her. 
 There ain't no mistake 'bout that part of it." 
 
 He stepped quickly out before we could think 
 to stop him. When we did think, we ran 
 after him, calling his name. But he was hidden 
 in the dark and would not reply. Orlando 
 found him, we knew by the dog's voice, but 
 he could not bring him back. 
 
 We dressed fully and sat down, waiting until 
 we could think what to do, and as we waited 
 15 225
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 the daylight began to grow. While it was still 
 gray we put on water-proofs, and hurried, 
 splashing through the pools of water, to Mr. 
 Kendall's house on the road. To him we told 
 our story. He was greatly concerned, but was 
 inclined to think that Peake had got crazy with 
 drink, and did not know what he said or did. 
 
 He said he would harness and go right over 
 to Mr. Peake' s. He did so, and we waited 
 until his return. It kept raining in the same 
 heavy way. We were thankful that Mrs. Ken- 
 dall was not one of the talking kind, so that we 
 could sit at the window and watch in silence. 
 Very soon Mr. Kendall came back. He hur- 
 ried into the house. 
 
 Mrs. Peake was dead. Rodge had been over 
 to the Cut on business that afternoon, and he 
 did not come home at supper time. Then his 
 wife, who had been unusually bright all day, 
 began to worry. Leife was off somewhere for 
 the day. Mrs. Peake would not go to bed 
 when it came bed-time. She told July Burns 
 that she should n't rest, and she might as well 
 be up. She expressed great fear that her hus- 
 band had been seized with one of his 'tacks of 
 226
 
 Poor Rodge 
 
 die nerves, and she was not able to take care of 
 him. She said no one knew as she did what 
 he needed at such times. 
 
 "I don't think," said Mr. Kendall, at this 
 point, trying to steady his voice, "I don't think 
 July was as sympathetic with the poor woman 
 as she might have ben. They say Virginy, 
 who was up all the night before with her aunt, 
 had gone to bed. I gethered from what July 
 said herself, that she informed Mrs. Peake that 
 Rodge was prob'ly drunk somewhere. When 
 the sick woman heard her say that, she rose up 
 from her chair and told July that she would 
 never speak to her agin. She did n't and she 
 never will." 
 
 It was about half-past eleven that Mrs. Peake 
 heard a slight sound, as of some one falling near 
 the door. She sprang up and out into the rain. 
 There was Rodge, unable to walk steadily. 
 His wife bent over him, thrusting July Burns 
 back furiously. She got her husband inside the 
 door. 
 
 She had her arm around him, and she had 
 just said, "Poor Rodge! You've got one of 
 them 'tacks agin, ain't you?" when a thin 
 227
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 stream of bright blood came from her mouth, 
 and she leaned up heavily against the man she 
 was trying to help. 
 
 The sight of that blood sobered Rodge in an 
 instant. He carried his wife into the sitting- 
 room and put her on the lounge, kneeling be- 
 side it, she clinging feebly to him all the time. 
 He said he would go for the doctor; but she 
 would not let him stir. 
 
 "There ain't no need of a doctor," she 
 said. 
 
 The blood stopped flowing almost directly. 
 She said she was better, and held him tighter 
 and tighter, until, all at once, the strength left 
 her and she died. 
 
 Still he would not let her aunt or July take 
 her from him. He kept swearing she had only 
 fainted, until, all at once, it seemed to come to 
 him that she was dead. Then he put her back 
 on the lounge. He stood above her, looking 
 down at her for many minutes. 
 
 Mrs. Peake's aunt, who told this to Mr. 
 Kendall, said she had never seen a man's face 
 look as did this man's as he stood there, his eyes 
 on his dead wife. 
 
 228
 
 Poor Rodge 
 
 So suddenly that they were not aware of 
 what he was about, he turned away and left the 
 house. They had not seen him since. 
 
 It was some hours later that he had come to 
 our shanty. Mr. Kendall judged from what 
 we told him that Rodge was suddenly crazed. 
 A number of men started out to find him. The 
 search was not long. Before noon they brought 
 his body to his home. They had found him 
 lying below one of the steep rocks on the shore. 
 There was no life in him when they reached 
 him. In falling he had broken his neck. 
 
 We did not stay at the dike long enough to 
 hear the comments upon this tragedy. We 
 began putting our things together the next 
 morning that we might go in the afternoon 
 train. We did not feel that we could listen to 
 anything July Burns might say on the subject, 
 and she had already begun travelling from house 
 to house with her news. 
 
 While we were packing, some one silently 
 approached our open door. It was Virginia, 
 looking very hollow-eyed and worn. She sat 
 down and seemed for the moment unable to 
 speak. 
 
 229
 
 In a Dike Shanty 
 
 At last she glanced round and said we did 
 well to leave. She was going back that day to 
 the East village where she boarded when she 
 had taught school last spring. She could not 
 stay another night where she had been living. 
 
 She shuddered and paused. After a while 
 she added that she should start for the South in 
 a week. We had been such friends that she 
 would tell us that she was to be married on the 
 2Oth. She expected her betrothed to arrive on 
 the I gth. She had been engaged for two years. 
 Her lover was a Tallahassee gentleman. 
 
 "A Tallahassee gentleman ! " unguardedly 
 exclaimed my friend. " And what of Leife 
 Peake ? I am surprised." 
 
 Miss Vance turned and looked full at the 
 person who had spoken thus, but she did not 
 speak. 
 
 " Do you love him ? " I asked, with per- 
 haps an unwise impulsiveness. I felt myself 
 somewhat adrift regarding our caller and wished 
 to get to some kind of anchorage if possible. 
 
 The girl rose as if to terminate the interview. 
 She shook hands with my friend. When she 
 came to me she took both my hands, kissed me 
 230
 
 Poor Rodge 
 
 with tender deliberateness, and, with her head 
 still bent toward me, and her eyes full of a 
 lovely light, she whispered, 
 
 "Oh, yes, I love him." 
 
 And I could not doubt her words, but still 
 then she went across the dike. 
 
 Now that we are back again in the wide, old- 
 fashioned rooms of our inland farm-house, we 
 should be inclined to think our shanty life a sort 
 of a dream were it not for one thing ; that thing 
 is Orlando, who sits gravely on the table at my 
 elbow as I write this, and Orlando is very much 
 of a reality. 
 
 I am convinced that he agrees with us in our 
 conviction that his former mistress has no place 
 in her heart for more than her Arthur. Orlando 
 has adopted us, and we are now his women. 
 Perish the hand that would part us ! 
 
 231
 
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