If Jolly Robin wanted to see this shy cousin, he had to go into the swamp. For the Hermit never repaid any of Jolly’s calls. He was afraid of Farmer Green 65 and the other people that lived in the farmhouse. Apple orchards, and gardens and open fields he considered good places to avoid, because he thought them dangerous.
“There’s no place to live that’s quite as safe and pleasant as a swamp,” he often remarked. “I have one brother who prefers an evergreen thicket, which doesn’t make a bad home. And another brother of mine lives in some bushes near a road. But how he can like such a dwelling-place as that is more than I can understand.”
Now, there were two things for which this cousin of Jolly Robin’s was noted. He was an exquisite singer; and he always wore a fine, spotted waistcoat.
Jolly always admired the Hermit’s singing. But he didn’t like his spotted waistcoat at all.
“That cousin of mine is too much of a 66 dandy,” Jolly remarked to his wife one day. “I’m going to pay him a visit this afternoon. And I shall speak to him about that waistcoat he’s so fond of wearing. It’s well enough for city birds to dress in such finery. But it’s a foppish thing for anybody to wear way up here in the country.”
Jolly’s wife told him plainly that he had better mind his own business.
“It’s no affair of yours,” she said. “And you ought not to mention the matter to your cousin.”
Jolly Robin did not answer her. He thought there was no use arguing with his wife. And since the Hermit was his own cousin, he saw no reason why he shouldn’t tell his relation exactly what he thought.
The Hermit appeared glad to see Jolly Robin when he came to the swamp that afternoon. At least, the Hermit said he 67 was much pleased. He had very polished manners for a person that lived in a swamp. Beside him, Jolly Robin seemed somewhat awkward and clownish. But then, Jolly always claimed that he was just a plain, rough-and-ready countryman.
“I never put on any airs,” he often said. “Farmer Green and I are a good deal alike in that respect.”