bling off down the path. "And there's a deal of
heft to a pail of water--uphill, too. An' by-me-by I got ter go down
to the dock, I s'pose, when the boat comes in, to meet Broxton's gal.
I 'xpect _she'll_ be a great nuisance, 'Mira."

"I'll stand her bein' some nuisance if you give me the twenty dollars a
month your brother wrote that he'd send for her board and keep,"
snapped Mrs. Day. "You understand, Jase. That money's comin' to _me_,
or I don't scrub and slave for no relation of yourn. Remember that!"

Jason shuffled on as though he had not heard her. That was the most
exasperating trait of this lazy man--so his wife thought; he was too
lazy to quarrel.

He went out at the gate, which hung by one hinge to the gatepost, into
the untidy back lane upon which one end of his rocky little farm
abutted. Had he glanced back at the premises he would have seen a
weed-grown, untidy yard surrounding the old house, with decrepit
stables and other outbuildings in the rear, a garden which was almost a
jungle now, although in the earlier spring it had given much promise of
a summer harvest of vegetables. Poorly tilled fields behind the front
premises terraced up the timber-capped hill.

Jason Day always "calkerlated ter farm it" each year, and he started in
good season, too. The soil was rich and most of his small fields were
warm and early; but somehow his plans always fell through before the
season was far advanced. So neither the farm nor the immediate
premises of the old Day house were attractive.

The house itself looked like a withered and narly apple left hanging
upon the tree from the year before. In its forlorn nakedness it
actually cried out for a coat of paint. Each individual shingle was
curled and cracked. Only the superior workmanship of a former time
kept the Day roof tight and defended the family from storms.

Some hours later the _Constance Colfax_ came into view around a distant
point in the lake shore. Mr. Day had camped upon the identical bench
again and was still sucking at the stem of his corncob pipe.

"Wal," he groaned, "I 'xpect I've got to go down to meet that gal of
Broxton's. And the sun's mighty hot this mawnin'."

"You wouldn't feel it so, if ye hadn't been too 'tarnal lazy to change
yer seat," sniffed his wife. "Now, you mind, Jase! That board money
comes to me, or you can take Broxton's gal to the _ho_-tel."

Mr. Day shambled out of the front gate without making reply.

"D