k o' water." He glanced furtively at the girl, then
looked quickly away at the gallant red-bird, still gayly parading among
the leaves.

The old woman grinned with delight. "Now, ef that ain't s'prisin'," she
declared. "Ef we hed knowed ez Lost Creek war a-goin' dry over yander
a-nigh the shop, so ye an' Pete would hev ter kem hyar thirstin' fur
water, we-uns would hev brung suthin' down hyar ter drink out'n. We-uns
hain't got no gourd hyar, hev we, Cynthy?"

"'Thout it air the little gourd with the saft-soap in it," said Cynthia,
confused and blushing. Her mother broke into a high, loud laugh.

"Ye ain't wantin' ter gin 'Vander the soap-gourd ter drink out'n,
Cynthy! Leastwise, I ain't goin' ter gin it ter Pete. Fur I s'pose ef ye
hev ter kem a haffen mile ter git a drink, 'Vander, ez surely Pete'll
hev ter kem, too. Waal, waal, who would hev b'lieved ez Lost Creek would
go dry nigh the shop, an' yit be a-scuttlin' along like that
hyarabouts!" and she pointed with her bony finger at the swift flow of
the water.

He was forced to abandon his clumsy pretence of thirst. "Lost Creek
ain't gone dry nowhar, ez I knows on," he admitted, mechanically rolling
the sleeve of his hammer-arm up and down as he talked.

* * * * *

From Miss Woolson's story of "Anne," I give the pen-portrait of the
precise

"MISS LOIS."

"Codfish balls for breakfast on Sunday morning, of course," said Miss
Lois, "and fried hasty-pudding. On Wednesdays, a boiled dinner. Pies on
Tuesdays and Saturdays."

The pins stood in straight rows on her pincushion; three times each week
every room in the house was swept, and the floors, as well as the
furniture, dusted. Beans were baked in an iron pot on Saturday night,
and sweet-cake was made on Thursday. Winter or summer, through scarcity
or plenty, Miss Lois never varied her established routine, thereby
setting an example, she said, to the idle and shiftless. And certainly
she was a faithful guide-post, continually pointing out an industrious
and systematic way, which, however, to the end of time, no
French-blooded, French-hearted person will ever travel, unless dragged
by force. The villagers preferred their lake trout to Miss Lois's salt
codfish, their tartines to her corn-meal puddings, and their
_eau-de-vie_ to her green tea; they loved their disorder and their
comfort; her bar soap and scrubbing-brush were a horror to their eyes.
They washed the household clothes