Had he suspected that he was so close to the landing, he would have picked his way thither and then followed the road to the home of Mrs. Friestone. It seemed to him that there must be a good many scattered houses, any one of which would give him welcome. He remembered that a broad highway runs the whole length of big Westport Island. Necessarily this was parallel with the course of Back River. If he therefore turned away from the latter and held a direct course, he must sooner or later reach the road named, where he would be sure soon to receive hospitality.
No doubt you know from experience how hard it is to hold a straight course when going through a wilderness, without landmarks to guide you and ignorant also of the “signs” which are as plain as print to the veteran hunter. The fog inclosed Mike on every hand, but his activity imparted a pleasant warmth to his frame, which otherwise would not have been felt, even though it was summer time.
He zigzagged sometimes to the right and sometimes to the left, but, on the whole, held substantially to the right direction and gradually drew near the dusty avenue which, once reached, would bring the end of his discomforts. Good fortune stayed with him, for when he was beginning to feel somewhat discouraged with his failure to free himself from the dripping woods, he abruptly came upon a clearing, in the midst of which stood a small house, surrounded by a well-tilled garden and several smaller buildings. Chickens were scratching and picking at the earth, and a big dog, fortunately restrained by a chain, scrambled out of his kennel at sight of the stranger and barked and tugged to get at him.
Between him and Mike stretched a clothesline supported at intervals by leaning props, and despite the fact that the humidity in the air must have been close to ninety-nine degrees, a corpulent woman was hanging out clothes. Two or three wooden pins were in her mouth, and every now and then she reached up with one hand and squeezed the little conveniences over the cord which supported the flapping clothes. She wore no bonnet or hat, and the untied shoes evidently were an old pair belonging to her husband.
Hearing the dog bark, she looked around to learn the cause. She saw a freckle-faced youth in the act of doffing his cap and bowing.
“The top of the morning to yer ladyship, and would ye be willing to hang me across yer line till me clothes be dried?”
The woman snatched the pins from between her teeth and stared at him. Her face was broad, homely and good-natured.
“G’way now,” she answered; “I don’t hang up any clothes till the same is claan. It will take a waak’s washing to rinder ye fit. If I straddle ye over the line wid yer faat and rid head hanging down and bumping togither, ye’ll cut a purty figger a-flapping in the wind.”
Mike’s laughter rang out. She was Irish like him and his heart warmed to her.
“Begorra! I’ve met a leddy after me own heart. She’s from the ‘owld sod’ and it’s not mesilf that is going to have me own way in gay conversation wid the charming beauty.”