“Where’s Hadlock?”
In the cheery kitchen of an old but beautiful New England farmhouse, an elderly woman was busily engaged in preparing the evening meal. She was a woman of education and broad sympathies, prominent in the church and in all good works. Her kindly solicitude for the household took into account even the most transient laborer temporarily employed on the farm.
One of the hands who had lived at the farm for several years was taking a short vacation. It had vaguely come to the ears of the kind lady that this man had been known to indulge a little too freely in stimulants. It seemed to her, however, that there must be some mistake about these rumors, in view of the never-failing good behavior, respectful manner and general capability of the man in his relations with the family and the farm.
Sad to say on this occasion above mentioned, there was disillusionment in store for this friendly lady.
The kitchen door opened and the man who had been on vacation entered. The cheery welcome with which she was about to greet him was checked on her lips. Somehow he looked strange——different.
Standing in the entrance to the room and swaying slightly on his feet, the man, whose hat was tilted a little to one side, inquired in tones of solemn gravity:
“Where’s Hadlock?”
The woman looked at him in utter bewilderment. He smiled a silly smile and again asked the question:
“Shay, where’s Hadlock?”
And now it dawned upon this estimable old lady that those stories which had come to her in the past must have had some foundation. For the man who was asking this question was Hadlock himself.
Many tales have been told of the French-Canadian “habitant” which would imply that he is a very conservative person. It would appear, however, that when he becomes transplanted on a farm in “the States,” he is quite capable of getting up to date.