Part 4 (1/2)

He stopped and sez, ”She is my wife.”

His indifferent mean madded me and I sez, ”Well, you good-for-nothin'

snipe you, instead of traipsin' all over the neighborhood tellin' of your wife's state, why hain't you to home buildin' a fire and heatin'

soap stuns and bricks, and steepin' pepper tea?”

”What for?” sez he, amazed like.

”Why, to keep Malviny from freezin'.”

”I don't want to stop it,” sez he.

Sez I, ”Do you want your wife to freeze?”

”Yes,” sez he.

Sez I, lookin' up and apostophrizin' the clear sky that looked down like a big calm blue eye overhead, ”Are such things goin' on here in a place so good that folks can't git a letter Sundays to save their lives, or embark to see their friends if they're dyin' or dead; is such a place,” I groaned, ”to condone such wickedness!”

Sez the man, ”What harm is there in Malviny's freezin'?”

Sez I, ”You heartless wretch, you! if I wuz a man I'd shake some of the wickedness out of you, if I had to be shot up the minute afterwards!”

”What harm is there in freezin' ice-cream?” sez he.

Sez I, astounded, ”Is that what Malviny's freezin'?”

”Yes,” sez he.

I sunk back weak as a cat.

Sez he, ”I bring it round to the cottages every time Malviny freezes; they give me their orders if they want any.”

”Well,” sez I in a faint voice, ”I don't want any.” Truly I felt that I had had enough chill and shock for one day.

Well, Whitfield and Tirzah Ann come in pretty soon and she wuz all enthused with the place. They'd been up the steep windin' way to Sunrise Mountain, and gazed on the incomparable view from there.

Looked right down into the wind-kissed tops of the lofty trees and all over 'em onto the broad panaroma of the river, with its innumerable islands stretched out like a grand picture painted by the one Great Artist. They had seen the little artist's studio, perched like a eagle's nest on top of the mountain. Some dretful pretty pictures there, both on the inside of the studio and outside.

And they had stopped at the Indian camp, and Tirzah bought some baskets which they see the Indians make right before their eyes out of the long bright strips of willow. And I spoze, seein' the brown deft fingers weavin' their gay patterns, Tirzah Ann wuz carried back some distance into the land of romance and Cooper's novels, and ”Lo the Poor Indian” Stories. She's very romantick.

And she'd gone into the place where they blow gla.s.s right before your eyes and then cut your name on it. I couldn't do it to save my life. I might jest as well give right up if I wuz told that I had got to blow jest a plain bottle out of some sand and stuff. And they blow out the loveliest, queerest things you ever see: s.h.i.+ps in full sail with the ropes and riggin' of the most delicate and twisted strands of brilliancy; tall exquisite vases with flowers twisted all about 'em.

Posies of all kinds, b.u.t.terflies, cups, tumblers, etc. They had been into all the little art and bookstores, full of pictures and needle work, sh.e.l.ls, painted stuns, books, and the thousand and one souvenirs of all kinds of the Thousand Islands. When Josiah come in he said he had interviewed ten or a dozen men about Coney Island--all on 'em had been there--I wuz discouraged, I thought I might jest as well let him loose with Serenus.

Well, Whitfield of course couldn't wait another minute, without seein'

Shadow Island, so the next day we went over there right after dinner.

Josiah proposed enthusiastickly to fish on the way there. Sez he, ”Samantha, how I do wish we could git a periouger to go in.”