thin--with its trim parlor,
proud of a cabinet organ; with its front hall, now cooled by the light
sea-breeze drifting through the blind-door, where a tall clock issued
its monotonous call to a siesta on the rattan lounge; with its spare
room, open now, opposite the parlor, and now, too, drawing in the salt
air through close-shut blinds, in anticipation of the joyful arrival
this evening of Sister Sarah, with her little brood, from the city.

The children scampered across the road, and then the eldest hushed the
others and sent a little brother ahead to steal, barefoot, along the
shining sea-weed to his father.

The plotted surprise appeared to succeed completely. The painter was
seized by the ears from behind, and captured.

"Guess who's here, or you can't get up," said the infant captor.

"It's Napoleon Bonaparte; don't joggle," said his father, running a
brush steadily along the water-line.

"No! no! no!" with shouts of laughter from the whole attacking party.

"Then it's Captain Ezekiel?"

This excited great merriment: Captain Ezekiel was an aged, purblind
man, who leaned on a cane.

After attempts to identify the invader--with the tax-collector come
for taxes, then with the elderly minister making a pastoral call, with
the formal schoolmaster, and with Samuel J. Tilden--the victim reached
over his shoulder, and, seizing the assailant by a handful of calico
jacket, brought him around, squirming, before him.

"Now," he said, "I'll give you a coat of verdigris."

(Great applause from the reserve force behind.)

"I suppose Mother sent you to say dinner's ready," said the father,
rising and surveying the green bottom of the boat. "I must eat quick,
so as to do the other side before half-flood."

And with a child on each shoulder, and the third pushing him from
behind with her head, he marched toward the vine-covered kitchen,
where, between two opposite netted doors, the table was trimly set.

"Father, you look like a mermaid, with your green hands," said his
wife, laughing, as she handed him the spirits of turpentine. "A woman
could paint that boat, in a light dress, and not get a spot on her."

He smiled good-naturedly: he never spoke much.

"I guess Louise won't have much trade to-day," said his wife, as they
all sat down; "it's so hot in the sun that everybody'll wait till
night. But she has her tatting-work to do, and she's got a book, too,
that she wanted to finish."

Her husband nodded, and ate