ent. I tried it on the gang up to the post-office last night.
I says to 'em, says I, 'Work's all right. I believe in it. I'm a workin'
man, myself. But to work when you don't have to is wrong. Take Ros
Paine,' I says--"

"Why should you take me?" I interrupted, rather sharply.

"'Cause you're the best example I could think of. Everybody knows you
don't do no work. Shootin' and sailin' and fishin' ain't work, and
that's about all you do. 'Take Ros,' says I. 'He might be to work. He
was in a bank up to the city once and he knows the bankin' trade. He
might be at it now, but what would be the use?' I says. 'He's got enough
to live on and he lives on it, 'stead of keepin' some poor feller out of
a job.' That's right, too, ain't it?"

I didn't answer at once. There was no reason why I should be irritated
because Luther Rogers had held me up as a shining example of the
do-nothing class to the crowd of hangers-on in a country post-office.
What did I care for Denboro opinion? Six years in that gossipy village
had made me, so I thought, capable of rising above such things.

"Well," I asked after a moment, "what did they say to that?"

"Oh, nothin' much. They couldn't; I had 'em, you see. Some of 'em
laughed and old Cap'n Jed he hove out somethin' about birds of a feather
stickin' up for each other. No sense to it. But, as I said afore, what
can you expect of a Democrat?"

I turned on my heel and moved toward the back gate. "Ain't goin', be
you?" asked Lute. "Hadn't you better set down and rest your breakfast a
spell?"

"No, I'm going. By the way, if you're through with that tobacco pouch of
mine, I'll take it off your hands. I may want to smoke by and by."

Lute coolly explained that he had forgotten the pouch; it had "gone
clean out of his head." However, he handed it over and I left him seated
on the wash bench, with his head tipped back against the shingles. I
opened the gate and strolled slowly along the path by the edge of the
bluff. I had gone perhaps a hundred yards when I heard a shrill voice
behind me. Turning, I saw Dorinda standing by the corner of the kitchen,
dust cloth in hand. Her husband was raking for dear life.

I walked on. The morning was a beautiful one. Beside the path, on the
landward side, the bayberry and beach-plum bushes were in bud, the green
of the new grass was showing above the dead brown of the old, a bluebird
was swaying on the stump of a wild cherry tree, and the pines and scrub
oaks o