Part 5 (1/2)

”Why?”

”Why! don't it strike ye, woman, 't they 's nothin' ondefinite 'n pokin' around over the 'nhabited 'arth, lookin' for the Widder Lester's circle-basket? I was hopin' widders was more definite, but it seems they're jest like all the rest on ye: poo! poo! hohum--jest like all the rest on ye.”

”We've got to find her, cap'n; she sets sech store by talkin' along o'

major.”

”Major!” sniffed the captain; ”she ain't worthy to ontie the major's shoe-lockets; they ain't none on 'em worthy, maids, widders--none on 'em!”

I knew to what he referred, what grat.i.tude was moving in his breast.

”Wal, thar now, Cap'n Pharo Kobbe! ain't Vesty Kirtland worthy?”

”Vesty!” said the captain, undismayed--”Vesty 's an amazin' gal, but she ain't nowheres along o' major!”

”Wal, I must say! I wonder whatever put you in such a takin' to major.”

He did not say.

We travelled vaguely, gazing from house to house, and then the road over again, without discovering any sign of the basket.

”By clam! it 's almost enough to make an infidel of a man,” said the captain, furiously relighting his pipe.

”Cap'n Pharo Kobbe, you're all'as layin' everything either to women or religion.”

”Don't mention on 'em in the same breath,” said the captain; ”don't.

They hadn't never orter be cla.s.sed together!”

Fortunately at this juncture we saw Mrs. Lester afar off at a fork of the roads standing and waving her arms to us, and we hastened to join her, but imagine the captain's feelings when from the circle-basket she took out a large, plump blueberry pie, or ”turnover,” for each of us, with a face all beaming with unconscious joy and good-will.

”How do you feel now, eatin' Miss Lester's turnover, after what you've been and said?” said his wife.

”What'd I say?” said the captain boldly, immersed in the joys of his blueberry pie; for a primitive, a generic appet.i.te attaches to this region: one is always hungry; no sooner has one eaten than he is wholesomely hungry again.

”Do you want me to tell what you said, Cap'n Pharo Kobbe?”

”Poo! poo!” said the captain, wiping his mouth with a flourish.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Music fragment: 'Or as the morning flow'r, The blighting wind sweeps o'er, she--'”]

”You'd ought to join a concert,” said his wife, at the stinging height of sarcasm, for the captain's singing was generally regarded as a sacred subject.

But there was one calm spirit aboard, my companion, Mrs. Lester. Ah me! if I might but drive with her again! Her weight was such, settling the springs that side, that I, slender and uplifted, and tossed by the roughness of the road, had continually to cling to the side bars, in order to give a proper air of coolness to our relations.h.i.+p.

But when it came to the pie I had to give up the contest, and ate it reclining, literally, upon her bosom.

”I'm glad I didn't wear my dead-l.u.s.tre silk,” said she tenderly; ”it might 'a' got spotted. I'm all'as a great hand to spot when I'm eatin'

blueberry pie.”

Blessed soul! it was not she; it was my arm that was scattering the contents of the pie.

”You know I board 'Blind Rodgers,'” she went on, still deeper to bury my regret and confusion. I had heard of him; his sightless, gentle ambition it was to live without making ”spots.”