CHAPTER XVII.

TWO MUD-TURTLES.


"There goes a man drunk, Aunt Stanshy."

Aunt Stanshy said nothing, but continued to thump away on her
ironing-board.

"He is going down the lane, aunty."

Aunt Stanshy heard Charlie, but she said nothing, only ironing away
steadily as ever. Charlie heard her sigh once, or thought he did.

"Did you speak, aunty?"

"Me, child? Why, no!"

Charlie continued to look out of the window that fronted the narrow lane.
The drunken man was not a very attractive object. Then it was a dark,
lowery, and rainy day in the latter part of November. The streets were
muddy, fences damp and clammy to the touch. Over the river hung a gray,
cheerless fog. To such a day a staggering drunkard could not be said to
contribute a cheering feature, and it was no wonder that Aunt Stanshy
cared little to see him. Soon after this, Charlie went out into the barn.
It had a deserted look, especially up in the chamber.