“I’ve brought your book, Melindy,” said I.

“Thank you, sir,” returned she, crisply.

“How pretty you look to-day.” condescendingly remarked I.

“I don’t thank you for that, sir;—­

    “’Praise to the face
      Is open disgrace!’”

was all the response.

“Why, Melindy! what makes you so cross?” inquired I, in a tone meant to be tenderly reproachful,—­in the mean time attempting to possess myself of her hand; for, to be honest, Polder, I had been a little sweet to the girl before Kate drove her out of my head.  The hand was snatched away.  I tried indifference.

“How are the turkeys to-day.  Melindy?”

Here Joe, an enfant terrible, came upon the scene suddenly.

“Them turkeys eats a lot, Mister Greene.  Melindy says there’s one on ‘em struts jes’ like you, ‘n’ makes as much gabble.”

“Gobble! gobble! gobble!” echoed an old turkey from somewhere; I thought it was overhead, but I saw nothing.  Melindy threw her apron over her face and laughed till her arms grew red.  I picked up my hat and walked off.  For three days I kept out of that part of the Smith demesne, I assure you!  Kate began to grow mocking and derisive; she teased me from morning till night, and the more she teased me, the more I adored her.  I was getting desperate, when one Sunday night Kate asked me to walk down to the farm-house with her after tea, as Mrs. Tucker was sick, and she had something to take to her.  We found the old woman sitting up in the kitchen, and as full of talk as ever, though an unlucky rheumatism kept her otherwise quiet.

“How do the turkeys come on, Mrs. Tucker?” said I, by way of conversation.

“Well, I declare, you han’t heerd about them turkeys, hev ye?  You see they was doin’ fine, and father he went off to salt for a spell, so’s to see’f ‘twouldn’t stop a complaint he’s got,—­I do’no’ but it’s a spine in the back,—­makes him kinder’ faint by spells, so’s he loses his conscientiousness all to once; so he left the chickens ‘n’ things for Melindy to boss, ‘n’ she got somethin’ else into her head, ‘n’ she left the door open one night, and them ten turkeys they up and run away, I’xpect they took to the woods, ’fore Melindy brought to mind how’t she hadn’t shut the door.  She’s set out fur to hunt ’em.  I shouldn’t wonder’f she was out now, seein’ it’s arter sundown.”

“She a’n’t nuther!” roared the terrible Joe, from behind the door, where he had retreated at my coming.  “She’s settin’ on a flour-barrel down by the well, an’ George Bemont’s a-huggin’ on her”

Good gracious! what a slap Mrs. Tucker fetched that unlucky child, with a long brown towel that hung at hand! and how he howled! while Kate exploded with laughter, in spite of her struggles to keep quiet.

“He is the dre’fullest boy!” whined Mrs. Tucker.  “Melindy tells how he sassed you ’tother day, Mr. Greene.  I shall hev to tewtor that boy; he’s got to hev the rod, I guess!”