"Perhaps it's because I've had my teeth out," suggested Mary, and Mr.
Knight, with another scrutinizing look in her face, replied, "Wall, I
guess 'tis that. Teeth is good is their place, but when they git to
achin', why, yank 'em out."

So saying, he again relapsed into silence, and commenced whipping at
the thistle tops and dandelions. As they rode on, Mary fancied that
the country looked pleasanter and the houses better, than in the
region of the poor-house; and when a sudden turn of the road brought
into view a beautiful blue sheet of water, embosomed by bright green
hills, her delight knew no bounds. Springing up and pointing towards
it, she exclaimed, "Oh, please stop a moment and look. Isn't it
lovely! What is it?"

"That? Oh, that's nothing but 'Pordunk Pond, or as folks most
generally call 'em, seem' there's two, North and South Pond."

"But it's big enough to be a lake, isn't it?" asked Mary.

"Why, yes," returned her companion. "It's better than five miles long,
and a mile or so wide, and in York State I s'pose they'd call it a
lake, but here in old Massachusetts we stick to fust principles, and
call all things by their right names."

"How far is the pond from Mrs. Mason's?" asked Mary, casting longing
glances towards the distant sandy beach, and the graceful trees which
drooped over the water's edge.

"It's farther back than 'tis there, 'cause it's up bill all the way,"
said Mr. Knight, "but here we be at Miss Mason's,--this house right