ger at all," declared Mr. Harum. "Polly 'n I are too
old to set up fer shapes even if we wanted to. A good fair road-gait 's
good enough fer me; three square meals, a small portion of the 'filthy
weed,' as it's called in po'try, a hoss 'r two, a ten-dollar note where
you c'n lay your hand on't, an' once in a while, when your consciunce
pricks ye, a little somethin' to permote the cause o' temp'rence, an'
make the inwurd moniter quit jerkin' the reins--wa'al, I guess I c'n git
along, heh?"

"Yes," said John, by way of making some rejoinder, "if one has all one
needs it is enough."

"Wa'al, yes," observed the philosopher, "that's so, as you might say, up
to a certain _point_, an' in some _ways_. I s'pose a feller could git
along, but at the same time I've noticed that, gen'ally speakin', a
leetle too big 's about the right size."

"I am told," said John, after a pause in which the conversation seemed
to be dying out for lack of fuel, and apropos of nothing in particular,
"that Homeville is quite a summer resort."

"Quite a consid'able," responded Mr. Harum. "It has ben to some extent
fer a good many years, an' it's gettin' more an' more so all the time,
only diff'rent. I mean," he said, "that the folks that come now make
more show an' most on 'em who ain't visitin' their relations either has
places of their own or hires 'em fer the summer. One time some folks
used to come an' stay at the hotel. The' was quite a fair one then," he
explained; "but it burned up, an' wa'n't never built up agin because it
had got not to be thought the fash'nable thing to put up there. Mis'
Robinson (Dug's wife), an' Mis' Truman, 'round on Laylock Street, has
some fam'lies that come an' board with them ev'ry year, but that's about
all the boardin' the' is nowdays." Mr. Harum stopped and looked at his
companion thoughtfully for a moment, as if something had just occurred
to him.

"The' 'll be more o' your kind o' folk 'round, come summer," he said;
and then, on a second thought, "you're 'Piscopal, ain't ye?"

"I have always attended that service," replied John, smiling, "and I
have gone to St. James's here nearly every Sunday."

"Hain't they taken any notice of ye?" asked David.

"Mr. Euston, the rector, called upon me," said John, "but I have made no
further acquaintances."

"E-um'm!" said David, and, after a moment, in a sort of confidential
tone, "Do you like goin' to church?" he asked.

"Well," said John, "that depends--yes, I th