Mary Louise in the Country | Page 2

good to see you again!" she exclaimed, taking
both his dusky hands in her own and shaking them cordially. "How is
Aunt Polly, and how is your 'rheum'tics'?"
"Rheum'tics done gone foh good, Ma'y Weeze," he said, his round face
all smiles. "Dis shuah am one prosterous country foh health. Nobuddy
sick but de invahlids, an' dey jus' 'magines dey's sick, dat's all."
"Glad to see you, Uncle," said the Colonel. "A little late, eh?--as usual.
But perhaps you had a tire change."

"No, seh, Kun'l, no tire change. I was jus' tryin' to hurry 'long dat lazy
Joe Brennan, who's done comin' foh de trunks. Niggehs is slow, Kun'l,
dey ain't no argyment 'bout dat, but when a white man's a reg'leh loaf
eh, seh, dey ain' no niggeh kin keep behind him."
"Joe Brennan is coming, then?"
"Dat's right, Kun'l; he's comin'. Done start befoh daylight, in de
lumbeh-wagin. But when I done ketch up wi' dat Joe--a mile 'n' a half
away--he won't lis'n to no reason. So I dodged on ahead to tell you-uns
dat Joe's on de way."
"How far is it from here to Cragg's Crossing, then?" inquired Mary
Louise.
"They call it ten miles," replied her grandfather, "but I imagine it's
nearer twelve."
"And this is the nearest railway station?"
"Yes, the nearest. But usually the Crossing folks who own motor cars
drive to the city to take the trains. We alighted here because in our own
case it was more convenient and pleasant than running into the city and
out again, and it will save us time."
"We be home in half'n hour, mos' likely," added Uncle Eben, as he
placed the suit cases and satchels in the car. Colonel Hathaway and
Mary Louise followed and took their seats.
"Is it safe to leave our trunks here?" asked the girl.
"Undoubtedly," replied her grandfather. "Joe Brennan will doubtless
arrive before long and, really, there is no person around to steal them."
"I've an idea I shall like this part of the country," said Mary Louise
musingly, as they drove away.
"I am confident you will, my dear."

"Is Cragg's Crossing as beautiful as this?"
"I think it more beautiful."
"And how did you happen to find it, Gran'pa Jim? It seems as isolated
as can be."
"A friend and I were taking a motor trip and lost our way. A farmer told
us that if we went to Cragg's Crossing we would find a good road to
our destination. We went there, following the man's directions, and
encountered beastly roads but found a perfect gem of a tiny, antiquated
town which seems to have been forgotten or overlooked by
map-makers, automobile guides and tourists. My friend had difficulty
in getting me away from the town, I was so charmed with it. Before I
left I had discovered, by dint of patient inquiry, a furnished house to let,
and you know, of course, that I promptly secured the place for the
summer. That's the whole story, Mary Louise."
"It is interesting," she remarked. "As a result of your famous discovery
you sent down Uncle Eben and Aunt Polly, with our car and a lot of
truck you thought we might need, and now--when all is ready--you and
I have come to take possession."
"Rather neatly arranged, I think," declared the Colonel, with
satisfaction.
"Do you know anything about the history of the place, Gran'pa, or of
the people who live in your tiny, forgotten town?"
"Nothing whatever. I imagine there are folks Cragg's Crossing who
have never been a dozen miles away from it since they were born. The
village boasts a 'hotel'--the funniest little inn you can imagine--where
we had an excellent home-cooked meal; and there is one store and a
blacksmith's shop, one church and one schoolhouse. These, with half a
dozen ancient and curiously assorted residences, constitute the shy and
retiring town of Cragg's Crossing. Ah, think we have found Joe
Brennan."

Uncle Eben drew up beside a rickety wagon drawn by two sorry nags
who just now were engaged in cropping grass from the roadside. On the
seat half reclined a young man who was industriously eating an apple.
He wore a blue checked shirt open at the throat, overalls, suspenders
and a straw hat that had weathered many seasons of sunshine and rain.
His feet were encased in heavy boots and his bronzed face betokened
an out-of-door life. There are a million countrymen in the United States
just like Joe Brennan in outward appearance.
Joe did not stop munching; he merely stared as the automobile stopped
beside him.
"Say, you Joe!" shouted Uncle Eben indignatly, "wha' foh yo' done
sett'n' heah?"
"Rest'n'," said Joe Brennan, taking another bite from his apple.
"Ain't yo' gwine git dem trunks home to-day?" demanded the