“Oh,” pleasantly replied the missionary, “I put up without ‘leave or license,’ at a hut out on Walnut Creek, where I was taken care of.”
“Why, nobody lives out there that I know of,” said Mr. Kerr. “Let me see; was it about due west from where you left us?”
“Very nearly, I think,” said the missionary, at the same time smiling.
“Well, sir, I know of but one family that ever lived in that swampy, sickly, mosquito hole, and two or three of them died there and the rest moved away long ago,” replied Mr. Kerr, instantly adding, “What is the man’s name that lives there?”
“Indeed I cannot give the name,” answered the missionary, with such a look of mischief that Mrs. Kerr declared that he was only joking. “It was at the place you mention, no doubt, that I staid. There were two graves on a hill near the house, which was in a very dilapidated condition, and the yard was overgrown with weeds and briars; indeed, everything presented the appearance of having been long deserted.”
“That was Mr. Kelly’s home once, but the mosquitoes and chills drove him out. It was well he left, or the whole family would soon have perished there. It is a poor country compared with this,” explained Mr. Kerr.
“But you said that you were well taken care of; I’d like to know who took care of you,” said Mrs. Kerr, with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
“The Lord took care of me,” he replied.
“Oh, yes, I did not think of that;” said she. “Did you keep dry in the old hut in that dreadful storm?” she added; and in the same breath continued, “Didn’t you think the whole thing would blow down over your head?”
“I was pretty well sheltered from the wind and rain, but I really did think more than once that all would go down.”