The Village Convict | Page 3

for a moment to enjoy the view. The
situation of the little house, half a mile from any other, was beautiful in
summer, but it was bleak enough in winter. In the small front dooryard
stood three lofty, wind-blown poplars, all heading away from the sea,
and between them you could look down the bay or across the
salt-marshes, while in the opposite direction were to be seen the roofs
and the glittering spires of the village.
"It is social for him here, to say the least," said the doctor, as he turned
and walked alone to the shop. He opened the door and went in. It was a
long, low lean-to, such as farmers often furnish for domestic work with
a carpenter's bench, a grindstone, and a few simple tools. It was lighted
by three square windows above the bench. An air-tight stove,
projecting its funnel through a hole in one of the panes, gave out a
cheerful crackling.
Eph, in his shirt-sleeves, his hands in his pockets, was standing, his
back against the bench, surveying, with something of a mechanic's eye,
the frame of a boat which was set up on the floor.
He looked up and colored slightly. The doctor took out a cigarette, lit it,
sat down on the bench, and smoked, clasping one knee in his hands and
eying the boat.
"Centre-board?" he asked, at length.

"Yes," said Eph.
"Cat-rig?"
"Yes."
"Going fishing?"
"Yes."
"Alone?"
"Yes."
"I was brought up to sail a boat," said the doctor, "and I go fishing in
summer--when I get a chance. I shall try your boat, some time."
No reply.
"The timbers aren't seasoned, are they? They look like pitch-pine, just
out of the woods. Won't they warp?"
"No. Pitch-pine goes right in, green. I s'pose the pitch keeps it, if it's out
of the sun."
"Where did you cut it?"
Eph colored a little.
"In my back lot."
The doctor smoked on calmly, and studied the boat.
"I don't know as I know you," said Eph, relaxing a little.
"Good reason," said the doctor. "I 've only been here two years;" and
after a moment's pause, he added: "I am the doctor here, now. You 've
heard of my father, Dr. Burt, of Broad River?"

Eph nodded assent; everybody knew him, all through the country,--a
fatherly old man, who rode on long journeys at everybody's call, and
never sent in his bills.
The visitor had a standing with Eph at once.
"Doctors never pick at folks," he said to himself--"at any rate, not old
Dr. Burt's son.
"I used to come here to see your mother," said the doctor, "when she
was sick. She used to talk a great deal about you, and said she wanted
me to get acquainted with you, when your time was out."
Eph started, but said nothing.
"She was a good woman, Aunt Lois," added the doctor; "one of the best
women I ever saw."
"I don't want anybody to bother himself on my account," said Eph. "I
ask no favors."
"You will have to take favors, though," said the doctor, "before the
winter is over. You will be careless and get sick; you have been living
for a long time entirely in-doors, with regular hours and work and food.
Now you are going to live out-of-doors, and get your own meals,
irregularly. You did n't have on a thick coat the other night, when I saw
you at the store."
"I haven't got any that's large enough for me," said Eph, a little less
harshly, "and I 've got to keep my money for other things."
"Then look out and wear flannel shirts enough," said the doctor, "if you
want to be independent. But before I go, I want to go into the house. I
want my wife to see Aunt Lois's room, and the view from the west
window;" and he led the way to the sleigh.
Eph hesitated a moment, and then followed him.
"Mary, this is Ephraim Morse. We are going in to see the Dutch tiles I

have told you of."
She smiled as she held out her mittened hand to Eph, who took it
awkwardly.
The square front room, which had been originally intended for a
keeping-room, but had been Aunt Lois's bedroom, looked out from two
windows upon the road, and from two upon the rolling, tumbling bay,
and the shining sea beyond. A tall clock, with a rocking ship above the
face, ticked in the corner. The painted floor with bright rag mats, the
little table with a lacquer work-box, the stiff chairs and the
old-fashioned bedstead, the china ornaments upon the mantel-piece, the
picture of "The Emeline G. in the Harbor of Canton," were just as they
had been when the patient invalid had lain there, looking