men
much, myself, teacher."

"Who are the fishermen?" I inquired.

"They board up to Emily's," said Grandma. "They come from Providence and
around, and they stay here, off and on, a week or two to a time, along
through the winter, some of 'em. They fish pickerel on the river, and
sometimes they're blue-fishin' out in the bay, and quite generally
they're just kitin' round as young men will, I suppose. Sometimes they
have vittles sent to 'em and Emily she cooks for 'em.'"

"Why, they're off on a spree, that's all," said Grandpa Keeler,
comprehensively, giving me another significant glance; "they're off on a
spree, and ye see they think this 'ere is jest a right fur enough out the
way place for 'em. This 'ere red-haired one that was in here this
evenin', Rollin his name is, he's a dreadful rich one, I suppose,
dreadful rich! I've heered all about him. He's an old bachelder, I
reckon, that is, he keeps mighty spruce, but I reckon he's hard on to
thirty. Emily's got a cousin that works for some o' them big folks down
to Providence, and she's heered all about him, this red-haired one, and
how he keeps a big house down thar', and sarvants enough, massy! and half
the time he's hither and yon, and a throwin' out money like water. His
father and mother they're dead, so I've heered, and he used to have
gardeens over him, but he haint kep' no gardeens lately, I reckon," said
Grandpa, with grim facetiousness.

"Why, he's been a waitin' on Weir's daughter, down here--Becky. She goes
to school to you, teacher," the old man added, presently, brightening
with a senile predilection for gossip.

"Becky's a very sensible girl," said Grandma Keeler; "and don't cast no
sheep's eyes, but goes right along and minds her own business. Becky
plays very purty on the music, too."

"Yes. But you know Dave Rollin wouldn't any more think of marrying Becky
Weir than he would of marrying me," cried Mrs. Philander. "Of all the
fishermen that have come down here not one of them ever married in
Wallencamp. He's just trifling, and she thinks he's in real earnest;
anybody can see that. You've only to mention his name to see her flush up
as red as a rose. I tell you this is a strange world," Madeline snapped
out sharply; "and Dave Rollin, I suppose, is one of the gentlemen."

"We ain't no right to say but what he's honest," said Grandma Keeler;
"Becky she's honest herself, and she takes it in other folks. She's more
quiet than some of our girls be, an