Vesty of the Basins | Page 2

and it was seldom, very
seldom, an Artichoke was present.

But the Basins, though so low, were modest.
"Can't one of the Basins start, 'He will carry you through'?" said the
enduring Brother Skates; "where is Vesty?"
"She 's a-helpin' Elvine with her baby," came now a prompt and ready
reply: "she said she'd come along for social meetin', after you'd had
Sunday-school, ef she could."
"How is Elvine's baby?" spoke up another voice.
"Wal', he 's poored away dreadful, but Aunt Lowize says he 's turned to
git along all right now, and when Aunt Lowize gives hopes, it 's good
hopes, she 's nachally so spleeny."
"Sure enough. Wal', I've raised six, and nary sick day, 'less it was a
cat-bile or some sech little meachin' thing. I tell you there ain't no
doctor's ructions like nine-tenths milk to two-tenths molasses, and sot
'em on the ground, and let 'em root."
At this simple and domestic throwing off of all social reserve, voices
hitherto silent began to arise, numerous and cheerful.
"Is there any more rusticators come to board this summer?"
"There 's only four by and large," replied a male voice sadly. "These
here liquor laws 't Washin'ton 's put onto nor'eastern Maine are a-killin'
on us for a fash'nable summer resort. When folks finds out 't they've got
to go to a doctor and swear 't there 's somethin' the matter with their
insides, in order to git a little tod o' whiskey aboard, they turns and
p'ints her direc' for Bar Harbor and Saratogy Springs; an' they not only
p'ints her, they h'ists double-reef sails and sends her clippin'!"
"Lunette 's got two," came from the other side of the house.
"What do they pay?"
"Five dollars a week."

"Pshaw! what ructions! Three dollars a week had ought to pay the
board of the fanciest human creetur 't God ever created yit. But some
folks wants the 'arth, and'll take it too, if they can git it."
"Wal', I don' know; they're kind o' meachy, and allas souzlin'
theirselves in hot water; it don't cost nothin', but it gives yer house a
ridick'lous name. Then they told Lunette they wanted their lobsters
br'iled alive. 'Thar,' says she, 'I sot my foot down. I told 'em I' wa'n't
goin' to have no half-cooked lobsters hoppin' around in torments over
my house. I calk'late to put my lobsters in the pot, and put the cover on
and know where they be,' says she."
"I took a rusticator once 't was dietin' for dyspepsy--that's a state o' the
stomick, ye know, kind o' between hay and grass--and if I didn't get
tired o' makin' toast and droppin' eggs!"
"I never could see no fun in bein' a rusticator anyway, down there by
the sea-wall on a hot day, settin' up agin' a spruce tree admirin' the
lan'scape, with ants an' pitch ekally a-meanderin' over ye."
"Lunette's man-boarder there, the husban', he 's editor of a noos-sheet,
and gits a thousand dollars a year--'tain't believable, but it's what they
say--an' he thinks he knows it all. He got Fluke to take him out in his
boat; he began to direc' Fluke how to do this, an' how to do that, and
squallin' and flyin' at him. Fluke sailed back with him and sot him
ashore. 'When I take a hen in a boat, I'll take a hen,' says he."
"Did ye hear about Fluke's tradin' cows?"
"No."----
Meanwhile Brother Skates had been standing listening, patient,
interested, but now recovered himself, blushing, in his new rubber
boots.
"Can't one of the Basins start 'He will carry you through'?" he
entreated.

"I'd like to," said one sister, the string of her tongue having been
unloosed in secular flights; "I've got all the dispersition in the world,
Brother Skates, but I don't know the tune."
"It 's better to start her with only jest a good dispersition and no tune to
speak of," said Brother Skates with gentle reproof, "than not to start her
at all."
Thus encouraged the song burst forth, with tune enough and to spare.
It was this I heard--I, a happy adopted dweller, from the lowest
handle-end of the Basin, while driving over through the woods with
Captain Pharo Kobbe and his young third wife and children.
"Come, git up," said Captain Pharo, at the sound, applying the lap of
the reins to the horse; "ye've never got us anywheres yet in time to hear
'Amen'! Thar 's no need o' yer shyin' at them spiles, ye darned old fool!
Ye hauled 'em thar yourself, yesterday. Poo! poo! Hohum!
Wal--wal--never mind--
[Illustration: Music fragment: 'My days are as the grass. Or as--']
Git up!"
As we alighted at the school-house, we listened through the open panel
with comfort to the final