“Well, good day, sir!  I’xpect it’s Mister Greene, Miss Smith’s cousin.  Well, you be!  Don’t favor her much though; she’s kinder dark complected.  She ha’n’t got round yet, hes she?  Dew tell!  She’s dre’ful delicate.  I do’no’ as ever I see a woman so sickly’s she looks ter be sence that ’ere fever.  She’s real spry when she’s so’s to be crawlin’,—­I’xpect too spry to be ’hulsome.  Well, he tells me you’ve ben ’crost the water.  ’Ta’n’t jest like this over there, I guess.  Pretty sightly places they be though, a’n’t they?  I’ve seen picturs in Melindy’s jography, looks as ef ’twa’n’t so woodsy over there as ’tis in these parts, ’specially out West.  He’s got folks out to Indianny, an’ we sot out fur to go a-cousinin’, five year back, an’ we got out there inter the dre’fullest woodsy region ever ye see, where ’twa’n’t trees, it was ’sketers; husband he couldn’t see none out of his eyes for a hull day, and I thought I should caterpillar every time I heerd one of ’em toot; they sartainly was the beater-ee!”

“The key, if you please!” I meekly interposed.  Mrs. Tucker was fast stunning me!

“Law yis!  Melindy, you go git that ‘ere key; it’s a-hangin’ up’side o’ the lookin’glass in the back shed, under that bunch o’ onions father strung up yisterday.  Got the bread sot to rise, hev ye? well, git yer bunnet an’ go out to the coop with Mr. Greene, ‘n’ show him the turkeys an’ the chickens, ‘n’ tell what dre’ful luck we hev hed.  I never did see sech luck! the crows they keep a-comin’ an’ snippin’ up the little creturs jest as soon’s they’re hatched; an’ the old turkey hen’t sot under the grapevine she got two hen’s eggs under her, ‘n’ they come out fust, so she quit—­”

Here I bolted out of the door, (a storm at sea did not deafen one like that!) Melindy following, in silence such as our blessed New England poet has immortalized,—­silence that

    “—­Like a poultice comes,
     To heal the blows of sound.”

Indeed, I did not discover that Melindy could talk that day; she was very silent, very incommunicative.  I inspected the fowls, and tried to look wise, but I perceived a strangled laugh twisting Melindy’s face when I innocently inquired if she found catnip of much benefit to the little chickens; a natural question enough, for the yard was full of it, and I had seen Hannah give it to the baby. (Hannah is my sister.) I could only see two little turkeys,—­both on the floor of the second-story parlor in the chicken-house, both flat on their backs and gasping.  Melindy did not know what ailed them; so I picked them up, slung them in my pocket-handkerchief, and took them home for Peggy to manipulate.  I heard Melindy chuckle as I walked off, swinging them; and to be sure, when I brought the creatures in to Peggy, one of them kicked and lay still, and the other gasped worse than ever.

“What can we do?” asked Peggy, in the most plaintive voice, as the feeble “week! week!” of the little turkey was gasped out, more feebly every time.