Vesty of the Basins

Vesty of the Basins, by Sarah P.
McLean Greene

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Vesty of the Basins, by Sarah P.
McLean Greene This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no
cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give
it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License
included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: Vesty of the Basins
Author: Sarah P. McLean Greene
Release Date: May 15, 2007 [EBook #21443]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VESTY OF
THE BASINS ***

Produced by Al Haines

[Illustration: Cover Art]

VESTY OF THE BASINS

A Novel
BY
SARAH P. McLEAN GREENE
AUTHOR OF CAPE COD FOLKS, ETC.

NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
Published by arrangement with Harper & Brothers

Copyright, 1892, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
All rights reserved.

CONTENTS
I. THE MEETIN' II. "SETTIN' ON THE LOG" III. "GETTIN' A NAIL
PUT IN THE HOSS'S SHU" IV. LOVE, LOVE V. COLUMBUS AND
THE EGG, AND LOT'S WIFE VI. THIS GREATER LOVE VII.
"SETTIN' ON THE FENCE"--THE SHIFTY SPECTRE VIII.
"VESTY'S MARRIED" IX. THE TALE OF CAPTAIN LEEZUR'S
SLY COURTSHIP X. A CALL FROM NOTELY'S YACHT XI.
ANOTHER NAIL XII. THE MASTER REVELLER XIII. CAPTAIN
LEEZUR RELATES HOW MIS' GARRISON ATE CROW XIV.
"TAR-A-TA!" OF THE TRUMPET XV. THE BROTHERS XVI. THE
POPLAR LEAVES TREMBLE XVII. GOIN' TO THE
DAGARRIER'S XVIII. UNCLE BENNY SAILS AWAY TO
GALILEE XIX. THE BASIN XX. SOCIAL DIVERSIONS AT THE

"POST-OFFICE" XXI. BROKEN WINDOWS XXII.
"NEIGHBORIN'" XXIII. THE "FLAG-RAISIN'," OR THE
"OCCASION" XXIV. THE STORY OF THE SACRED COW XXV.
IN THE LANE XXVI. JUST THE SCHOOL-HOUSE

VESTY OF THE BASINS
I
THE MEETIN'
Now is it to be rain or a storm of wind at the Basin?
I love that foam out on the sea; those boulders, black and wet along the
shore, they are a rest to me; the clouds chase one another; in this dim
north country the wind is cool and strong, though it is now midsummer;
at sunset you shall see such color!
From a little, low, storm-beaten building comes the sound of a fog-horn.
That is the gift of Melchias Tibbitts, deceased, to the Basin
school-house. Yonder is his schooner, the "Martha B. Fuller," long
stranded, leaning seaward, down there in the cove.
It is Sunday afternoon; the fog-horn that Melchias Tibbitts gave--it
serves as bell; the battered schoolhouse as church; and for Sunday
raiment? some little reverent, aspiring compromise of an unwonted
white collar, stretched stiff and holy and uncomfortable about the
stalwart neck above a blue flannel shirt, or a new pair of rubber
boots--the trousers much tucked in--worn with an air of conscious,
deprecating pride.
But the women will be fine. God only knows how! but be sure, in some
pitiful, sweet way they will be fine.
There are many panes of glass out of the windows, the panels of the
doors are out; so better they can see the clouds pass: it is beautiful.

Oh, naught have I either, nor wisdom, nor fine speech--only a little
knowledge of shipwreck out yonder, and mirth, and tears, and love. The
windows and panels of my life are no strong plate, polished and
glittering to all beholders; they are stained and broken through. Let me
come in and sit with ye.
"We should like to open our meetin' with singin'," said Superintendent
Skates; "will one of the Pointers lead us in singin'?"
The Pointers were the aristocrats of this region, living twelve miles
away at the Point, in the midst of two grocery stores and a millinery
establishment; there were two of them here for a Sunday drive and
pastime. They were silent.
"I see," said Elder Skates patiently, "that a few of the Crooked Rivers
have drove down to-day, too. Will one of the Crooked Rivers lead us in
singin'?"
Lower down in the scale than the Pointers were they of Crooked River,
but still far above the Basins; those present were not singers, they were
silent.
"Then will one of the Capers lead us in singin'?" very meekly and
patiently persisted Elder Skates.
Nearer, and of low degree, were they of the Cape, but still above the
Basins. They were silent.
"I know," said Elder Skates, his subdued tone buoyant now with an
undertone of hope, "that one of the Basins will lead us in singin'!"
For the Basins had reached those cheerful depths where there is no
social or artistic status to maintain; so low as to be expected to do, or
attempt to do, whatever might be asked of them, even though failure
plunged them, if possible, in deeper depths of abasement. There was
nothing beneath them except the Artichokes;