The Portygee | Page 9

of night for? You don't want to change your
clothes, do you, boy?"
"No, sir, I guess not."
"Sartin sure you don't. Want to wash? There's a basin and soap and
towel right out there in the kitchen."
He pointed to the kitchen door. At that moment the door was partially
opened and a brisk feminine voice from behind it inquired: "How about
eatin'? Are you all ready in there?"
It was Captain Snow who answered.
"You bet we are, Rachel!" he declared. "All ready and then some. Trot
her out. Sit down, Mother. Sit down, Al. Now then, Rachel, all aboard."
Rachel, it appeared, was the owner of the brisk feminine voice just
mentioned. She was brisk herself, as to age about forty, plump, rosy
and very business-like. She whisked the platter of fried mackerel and
the dishes of baked potatoes, stewed corn, hot biscuits and all the rest,
to the table is no time, and then, to Albert's astonishment, sat down at
that table herself. Mrs. Snow did the honors.
"Albert," she said, "this is Mrs. Ellis, who helps me keep house. Rachel,
this is my grandson, Albert--er--Speranza."
She pronounced the surname in a tone almost apologetic. Mrs. Ellis did
not attempt to pronounce it. She extended a plump hand and observed:
"Is that so? Real glad to know you, Albert. How do you think you're

goin' to like South Harniss?"
Considering that his acquaintance with the village had been so
decidedly limited, Albert was somewhat puzzled how to reply. His
grandfather saved him the trouble.
"Lord sakes, Rachel," he declared, "he ain't seen more'n three square
foot of it yet. It's darker'n the inside of a nigger's undershirt outdoors
to-night. Well, Al--Albert, I mean, how are you on mackerel? Pretty
good stowage room below decks? About so much, eh?"
Mrs. Snow interrupted.
"Zelotes," she said reprovingly, "ain't you forgettin' somethin'?"
"Eh? Forgettin'? Heavens to Betsy, so I am! Lord, we thank thee for
these and all other gifts, Amen. What did I do with the fork; swallow
it?"
As long as he lives Albert Speranza will not forget that first meal in the
home of his grandparents. It was so strange, so different from any other
meal he had ever eaten. The food was good and there was an
abundance of it, but the surroundings were so queer. Instead of the
well-ordered and sedate school meal, here all the eatables from fish to
pie were put upon the table at the same time and the servant--or
housekeeper, which to his mind were one and the same--sat down, not
only to eat with the family, but to take at least an equal part in the
conversation. And the conversation itself was so different. Beginning
with questions concerning his own journey from the New York town
where the school was located, it at length reached South Harniss and
there centered about the diminutive person of Laban Keeler, his
loquacious and tuneful rescuer from the platform of the railway station.
"Where are your things, Albert?" asked Mrs. Snow. "Your trunk or
travelin' bag, or whatever you had, I mean?"
"My trunks are coming by express," began the boy. Captain Zelotes
interrupted him.

"Your trunks?" he repeated. "Got more'n one, have you?"
"Why--why, yes, there are three. Mr. Holden--he is the headmaster, you
know--"
"Eh? Headmaster? Oh, you mean the boss teacher up there at the school?
Yes, yes. Um-hm."
"Yes, sir. Mr. Holden says the trunks should get here in a few days."
Mrs. Ellis, the housekeeper, made the next remark. "Did I understand
you to say you had THREE trunks?" she demanded.
"Why, yes."
"Three trunks for one boy! For mercy sakes, what have you got in
'em?"
"Why--why, my things. My clothes and--and--everything."
"Everything, or just about, I should say. Goodness gracious me, when I
go up to Boston I have all I can do to fill up one trunk. And I'm
bigger'n you are--bigger 'round, anyway."
There was no doubt about that. Captain Zelotes laughed shortly.
"That statement ain't what I'd call exaggerated, Rachel," he declared.
"Every time I see you and Laban out walkin' together he has to keep on
the sunny side or be in a total eclipse. And, by the way, speakin' of
Laban-- Say, son, how did you and he get along comin' down from the
depot?"
"All right. It was pretty dark."
"I'll bet you! Laban wasn't very talkative, was he?"
"Why, yes, sir, he talked a good deal but he sang most of the time."
This simple statement appeared to cause a most surprising sensation.

The Snows and their housekeeper looked at each other. Captain Zelotes
leaned back in his chair and whistled.
"Whew!" he observed. "Hum! Sho! Thunderation!"
"Oh, dear!" exclaimed his wife.
Mrs. Ellis, the housekeeper, drew a long breath. "I might