confidently clambered over the fence.

Not even a growling dog to intimate that I was
trespassing. All was open--gracious-looking--pastoral.
The sward beneath my feet was velvet-like
in elasticity, and the scarce visible path I followed
through it led promptly to the open kitchen door.
From within I heard a woman singing some old
ballad in an undertone, while at the threshold a
trim, white-spurred rooster stood poised on one foot,
curving his glossy neck and cocking his wattled
head as though to catch the meaning of the words.
I paused. It was a scene I felt restrained from
breaking in upon, nor would I have, but for the
sound of a strong male voice coming around the
corner of the house:

"Sir. Howdy!"

Turning, I saw a rough-looking but kindly
featured man of sixty-five, evidently the owner of the
place.

I returned his salutation with some confusion
and much deference. "I must really beg your pardon
for this intrusion," I began, "but I have been
tiring myself out fishing, and your home here looked
so pleasant--and I felt so thirsty--and--"

"Want a drink, I reckon," said the old man,