's you've got ice, and send
'em up with yourn."

Eph was taken all aback with this mark of confidence. He would decline
the offer, sure that it sprang from some mere passing vexation.

"I can't buy fish," said he. "I have no scales to weigh 'em."

"Then send ourn in separate barrels," said one of them.

"But I haven't any money to pay you," he said. "I only get my pay once a
month."

"We'll git tick at William's, and you can settle 'th us when you git
your pay."

"Well," said he, unable to refuse, "I'll take 'em, if you say so."

Before the season was over, he had still another customer, and could
have had three or four more, if he had had ice enough. He was strongly
inclined that fall to build a larger ice-house, and although he was a
little afraid of bringing ridicule upon himself in case no fish should
be brought to him the next summer, he decided to do so, on the assurance
of three or four men that they would deal with him. Nobody else had such
a chance, he thought--a pond right by the shore.

One evening there was a knock at the door of Eliphalet Wood, the owner
of the burned barn. Eliphalet went to the door, but turned pale at
seeing Eph there.

"Oh, come in, come in!" he panted. "Glad to see you. Walk in. Have a
chair. Take a seat. Sit down."

But he thought his hour had come: he was alone in the house, and there
was no neighbor within call.

Eph took out a roll of bills, counted out eighty dollars, laid the money
on the table, and said, quietly:

"Give me a receipt on account."

When it was written he walked out, leaving Eliphalet stupefied.

Joshua Carr was at work, one June afternoon, by the road-side, in front
of his low cottage, by an enormous pile of poles, which he was shaving
down for barrel-hoops, when Eph appeared.

"Hard at it, Joshua!" he said.

"Yes, yes!" said Joshua, looking up through his steel-bowed spectacles.
"Hev to work hard to make a livin'--though I don't know's I ought to
call it hard, neither; and yet it is rather hard, too; but then, on
t'other hand, 'taint so hard as a good many other things--though there
is a good many jobs that's easier. That's so! That's so!

"'Must we be kerried to the skies
On feathery beds of ease?'

Though I don' know's I oughter quote a hymn on such a matter; but
then--I don' know's there's any partic'lar harm in't, neither."

Eph sat down on a pile of shavings and chewed a sliver; and the old man
kept on at his work.

"Hoop-pole