AN ASTONISHED FARMER.
"Wall, I swanny!" was the farmer's exclamation, as he stared at the
strange-looking outfit invading his shores. "Who be ye? and where did
ye come from?"
They began to tell him, and at every sentence his "Wall, I swanny!"
was thrown in, to show the astonishment with which he listened. At
last he seemed to recollect himself.
"Ye mus' be drea'ful tired--nigh about beat out--and cold, too. Come
into the haouse and git suthin' to eat. There ain't nobody to hum, but
I guess I can find ye suthin'."
_Something!_ Why, my dear reader, they found, in the buttery and
milk-room and cellar of that little house on the shore, a dinner the
like of which, for goodness, they believed never was equalled. They
ate and ate, laughing and almost crying by turns over their good
fortune, the happiness of feeling safe and warm again taking off their
hearts a load, whose weight they had not appreciated until it was
removed. Meanwhile the old gentleman gossiped on in a pleasant
strain.
"My wife," he told them, "has gone down to the Port to see da'ter an'
her husband, for a day or two. My son, he runs on the Lake Shore
Railroad in the winter, and so I'm alone. They wanted me to go down to
the Port, too, but I don't think any great things of the feller
Samanthy married, and I told mother I 'lowed I'd be more comf'able
stayin' home 'long with the cow and the chickens."
"What is this Port you speak of, sir?" Aleck asked him.
"What? Why, Port Linton, to be sure--don't ye know where that is? Oh,
I forgot, ye're lost, ain't ye. He! he! Wall, Port Linton is a town on
the railroad, and also on the shore, to the west'ard o' here, or,
leastways, to the suthard, 'cause we're out on a pint here, and the
Port is up at the head of the bay, behind the big ma'sh. Ye could see
it if 'twan't for them big sycamores. 'S about five mile 'cross the
water."
"Can you let us stay with you to-night, and to-morrow we'll go on to
the Port?"
"Oh, yes, ye can stay, an' welcome. If mother was home I'd hitch up
and take ye in, but I ain't got no horse to-day, so I s'pose that's
the best thing ye can do. But you'll have to double up some, 'cause I
ain't got four beds."
Their rich supper and deep sleep and full breakfast made a new crew
of them, and next morning they were eager to get on. It seemed as
though ages had passed since they had been in civilization, and Tug
began to wonder whether he would recognize a railway car when he saw
it. When they were ready to go, Aleck heartily thanked the kind old
farmer for his hospitality, and asked how much he should pay him for
their entertainment.
[Illustration: "'WA'AL, I DECLARE!'"]
"Oh, I don't want nothin'--nothin' at all," he said. "You're what they
might call mariners in distress, and I just helped you as well as I
could. I ain't done nothin', an' I don't want no money."
"Oh, but we have eaten so much, and made you so much trouble. I shall
not feel right unless you let us pay you."
"Wall, if you're so earnest about it, I 'low a dollar would be about
right. I reckon ye didn't hurt me mor'n about that's worth."
Surely this was small enough, but the farmer was entirely satisfied,
and said he was sorry to say good-bye.
They had swung along over the ice in good style after leaving the
farmer's cottage, and the buildings and ice-bound shipping of the
village, which in summer was a busy port, but in winter was sleepy
enough, were now in plain view.
There was to be the end of their troubles so far as the present
scrape was concerned, but they were not a great deal nearer Cleveland
than when they started; and their minds, relieved of present
anxieties, began to be crowded with thoughts of the future, and how
they were going to accomplish their purpose any better now than before
they had started.
They were to be aided, in this respect, in a way they had not
suspected, however, and the help was now approaching in the shape of a
skater who came on towards them with swift, strong strides.