“We bought Spotty off o’ the Ancient up the river, an’ Cookie towed ’er in ’long the road through the hills with a rope. Somehow I alw’ys liked that ol’ girl, an’ we gotta have milk.
“Them squealers is to eat wot’s left out o’ the kitchen, an’ next winter they’ll quit squealin’. Them hens is from the village, too, an’ their business is to make aigs. Next year we’ll have slews o’ young chicks, an’ some w’ite ducks. Cookie’s got a rubber thing wot ’e fastens on that rooster’s bill ev’ry night w’en ’e puts ’im to bed, so ’e can’t crow an’ roust us out in the mornin’.
“We got a compass an’ a binnacle an’ a new spy-glass up in the crow’s nest. Me an’ Bill an’ John set an’ smoke up there in the shade an’ see fellers work’n way off, an’ watch Mike windin’ up the boat.”
“Tell ’im ’bout the motor, long as yer goin’ to keep this up all day,” interrupted Saunders.
“Oh, yes. We got a new one wot’s built in aft o’ the cab’n. It’s got two cylinders, an’ it works fine. We buried the old one up ’side o’ Cal’s dog. It ’ad to be that er us. Bill, you keep still w’en I’m talk’n!
“The mast an’ them halyards over the house is to fly signals. W’en we’r’ up er down the beach, er out buzz’n on the lake, Cookie runs up the mess flag w’en it’s dinner time. He uses red with w’ite edges fer chops an’ steaks, an’ the w’ite one with a round yellow splotch in the middle means aigs wot’s been poached. He flys that, an’ a square o’ calico under it, w’en we’r’ goin’ to have corn beef hash an’ aigs on top of it. He runs up a big bunch o’ cotton cords w’en ’e’s made oggrytong speggetties, an’ w’en the flag’s plain brown, it means beans. There’s no knowin’ wot that cookie’s goin’ to do next.”
A cool breeze came up in the evening and we built our usual fire on the beach, more for its subtle cheer than its heat, and talked over reminiscences of the big snow-storm, and things that had happened since.
The old sailors were in a state of opulent bliss. All of their desires were satisfied, except, as Sipes expressed it, “git’n even with two er three fellers I know of,” and happiness reigned in their simple hearts.
Out of the tempests of many seas, their battered ship had come, and was anchored in a haven of tranquillity. The languor that comes with satiety and completion was stealing gently over them. Life presented no riddles, and they were without illusions. So far as their capacity for enjoyment extended, the fair earth and the fulness thereof was theirs. The great blue lake, the floating clouds, the jewelled fire of the sunsets, and the star-decked firmament belonged to them, as much as to anybody else. Title deeds to the sands, vine-clad hills, woods, and to the open fields, where suppliant petals drink the rain, could not add to their sense of possession.
Every comfort was around them that their limitations could require. They were spared the inanities and shallow snobbery of “society,” and the many other ills that come with existence in a sphere of vanity and hypocrisy. The gates of higher knowledge were not opened to them. Art, science, and literature lay in garnered hoards far beyond their ken, but after their lives are closed, who may judge of the futility, or award the laurel?