The next day passed over.  The night was intensely cold, and I did not rise so early as usual in the morning.  My servant was away at a quilting bee, and we were still in bed, when I heard the latch of the kitchen-door lifted up, and a step crossed the floor.  I jumped out of bed, and began to dress as fast as I could, when Philander called out, in his well-known nasal twang—­

“Missus!  I’m come for the kettle.”

I (through the partition ):  “You can’t have it this morning.  We cannot get our breakfast without it.”

Philander:  “Nor more can the old woman to hum,” and, snatching up the kettle, which had been left to warm on the hearth, he rushed out of the house, singing, at the top of his voice—­

“Hurrah for the Yankee Boys!”

When James came home for his breakfast, I sent him across to demand the kettle, and the dame very coolly told him that when she had done with it I might have it, but she defied him to take it out of her house with her bread in it.

One word more about this lad, Philander, before we part with him.  Without the least intimation that his company would be agreeable, or even tolerated, he favoured us with it at all hours of the day, opening the door and walking in and out whenever he felt inclined.  I had given him many broad hints that his presence was not required, but he paid not the slightest attention to what I said.  One morning he marched in with his hat on, and threw himself down in the rocking-chair, just as I was going to dress my baby.

“Philander, I want to attend to the child; I cannot do it with you here.  Will you oblige me by going into the kitchen?”

No answer.  He seldom spoke during these visits, but wandered about the room, turning over our books and papers, looking at and handling everything.  Nay, I have even known him to take a lid off from the pot on the fire, to examine its contents.

I repeated my request.

Philander:  “Well, I guess I shan’t hurt the young ’un.  You can dress her.”

I:  “But not with you here.”

Philander:  “Why not?  We never do anything that we are ashamed of.”

I:  “So it seems.  But I want to sweep the room—­you had better get out of the dust.”

I took the broom from the corner, and began to sweep; still my visitor did not stir.  The dust rose in clouds; he rubbed his eyes, and moved a little nearer to the door.  Another sweep, and, to escape its inflictions, he mounted the threshold.  I had him now at a fair advantage, and fairly swept him out, and shut the door in his face.

Philander (looking through the window ):  “Well, I guess you did me then; but ’tis deuced hard to outwit a Yankee.”

This freed me from his company, and he, too, never repeated his visit; so I found by experience, that once smartly rebuked, they did not like to try their strength with you a second time.

When a sufficient time had elapsed for the drying of my twenty bushels of apples, I sent a Cornish lad, in our employ, to Betty Fye’s, to inquire if they were ready, and when I should send the cart for them.