with a painstaking care which must be somewhat wasted on Sweetapple Cove.
I don't believe the people are really interested in the meaning of Greek
texts. When he is in the throes of inspiration none dare go near him and
Mrs. Barnett, the good soul, walks on tiptoe and hushes her brood. I only
meet her at various sick-beds. In her own home she is so tremendously
busy that I feel I have no right to trespass too often. The baby requires
a lot of care, and there are lessons to the others, and family sewing,
and keeping an eye upon the little servant. Worshipping her husband takes
up the rest of her time.

After I had my breakfast I left Sammy's house, where I have an office
which would astonish some of my New York friends. I had scraped my face
and put on fairly decent clothing in deference not only to my own
preferences but also to the feelings of the newcomers.

I was hardly out of the house before Sammy's wife came running after me.

"You's forgot your mitts," she cried. "Here they is. I hung 'em up back
o' th' stove ter dry. It's like ter be cold at sea an' ye'll be wantin'
them."

I thanked the good woman, telling her that I could afford to be careless
since I had her to look after me.

"Oh! Don't be talkin'," she answered, highly pleased.

I stopped for a moment to light my pipe. Mrs. Sammy was now calling upon
her offspring to hasten, for it was a fair drying day. The sun was out
and the ripples glimmered brightly over the cove. The people were
climbing up on their flakes, tall scaffolds built on a foundation of