I cannot quite appreciate the enormity of the offence, but doubtless Dr. Russell and your husband can, as they live in a fox-hunting country.  It seems that a rabbit would have been bad enough, something however, to be condoned,—­but not a cat!  Instantly Amos fixed upon Larry as the responsible cause of the calamity,—­Larry, who is so soaked in a species of folk-lore, blended of tradition, imagination, and high spirits that, after hearing him talk, it is easy to believe that he deals in magic by the aid of a black cat, and unfortunately the cat brought in by David was of this colour!

Then Amos spoke, for David’s honour was as his own, and Larry heard a pronounced Yankee’s opinion, not only of all the inhabitants of the Emerald Isle, but of one in particular!  After freeing his mind, he threatened to free his house of Larry as a lodger, this being particularly unfortunate considering the near approach of one of that gentleman’s times of retirement.

Last night I thought the sky had again cleared, for Amos discovered that the postmaster did not suspect the cat episode, and as Larry had no friends in the village through which it might leak out, the old man seemed much relieved; also, Larry apparently is not a harbourer of grievances.  Within an hour, however, a second episode has further strained the relationship of lodger and host, and it has snapped.

Though still quite stiff in the joints, Amos came over this morning to do some little tinkering in the barn camp, especially in strengthening the stays of the shower-bath tank, when, as he was on his knees fastening a brace to a post, in some inexplicable manner the string was pulled and the contents of the entire barrel of cold well-water were released, the first sprinkle so astonishing and bewildering poor Amos that he remained where he was, and so received a complete drenching.

Bart and Larry were up in the woods getting the day’s load of hemlocks, and I, hearing the spluttering and groans, went to Amos’s rescue as well as I could, and together with Maria Maxwell got him to the kitchen, where hot tea and dry clothes should have completely revived him in spite of age.  As, however, to-day, it seems, is the anniversary of a famous illness he acquired back in ’64, on his return from the Civil War, the peculiarities of which he has not yet ceased proclaiming, he is evidently determined to celebrate it forthwith, so he has taken to his bed, groaning with a stitch in his side.  The doctor has been telephoned, and Maria Maxwell, as usual bursting with energy, which on this occasion takes a form between that of a dutiful daughter and a genuine country neighbour, has gone over to Opal Farm to tidy up a bit until the doctor gives his decision and some native woman, agreeable to Amos’s taste, can be found to look after the interesting yet aggravating crank.