“I s’pose I do. We call ’em ‘fresh airers’ up here.”
“What did they do?” inquired Jock.
“Lots o’ things. Two of ’em—we had five to our house—was walkin’ along the road with me the next day after they come, an’ one little fellow ran up the bank an’ began to pick some buttercups what was growin’ there. The other little chap was scared like, an’ he called out, pretty sharp, ‘Hi, there, Henry! Keep off the grass or the cop’ll get ye!’ An’ he meant it too.”
“Poor little wretches,” said Jock, sympathizingly.
“’Twasn’t whether they was wretches or not; ’twas their greenness I was thinkin’ on. We had a lot o’ bee-hives out near the back door, an’ after dinner that same day my wife looked out the window an’ she see that same little chap there with a stick in his hand. He’d jest poked one o’ the hives over, and the bees was fightin’ mad. She was scared ’most out o’ her seven senses, my wife was, an’ she jest grabbed her sunbunnit an’ hurried out o’ the house an’ screamed to that young ’un to come on. He didn’t want to come, an’ was layin’ about him with his stick; but my wife ran out an’ grabbed him by the hand an’ they started up the hill ‘lickety-whew, yer journey pursue,’ an’ the bees after ’em. They finally made eout to get free from ’em, an’ then the little shaver was for goin’ back an’ havin’ it out with ’em. ‘Them bugs bit me,’ he says, says he, ’an’ I’m goin’ to go back and fight ’em.’”
Both the boys laughed heartily at Ethan’s narrative, and now that his good humor was restored, he said, “Wasn’t that greenness for ye? That same little chap was a great one, he was. He was tickled to pieces to gather the hens’ eggs. He’d be out in the barn an’ kep’ so close after the hens they didn’t have a chance to hop onto a nest, so that my wife had to tell him that he mustn’t go out there for the eggs except when she told him he could. He teased like a good fellow, an’ finally ’bout noon the next day she told him he could go out an’ get the eggs. He was gone a long time, an’ she kind o’ mistrusted some-thin’ was wrong, so she started out to ‘view the landscape o’er,’ as the tune says; but pretty quick she sees him a-comin’ out o’ the barn holdin’ his hat in his hand, an’ lookin’ as disconsolate like as if he’d lost every friend he ever had or ever expected to have on this earth. ‘What’s the matter, sonny?’ says she, ‘can’t ye find any eggs?’ ‘Yes,’ says he, ‘I found two, but they ain’t no good.’ ‘What’s the trouble?’ says she. ‘They ain’t no good,’ says he, again. ‘The old hen was on the nest, an’ when I scart her off, the eggs was spoiled,’ says he. ‘I guess she’s cooked ’em, for they’re both warm!’ I’d like to know if any country boy could be greener in the city than that city boy was in the country?”
“I don’t believe he could,” laughed Jock.
“That’s my opinion, too,” said Ethan, soberly. “Why, that there boy was the greenest thing alive! D’ye know, he ’lowed he’d never seen a live pig in all his born days. What d’ye think o’ that? Yes, sir! never had seen a live pig, an’ he was a boy ten year old, goin’ on ‘leven.”
Ethan’s reminiscences were cut short, however, for they were now entering Goose Bay. Its wooded shores and high bluffs, its still waters and little islands, in the light of the morning sun, presented a scene of marvellous beauty, and both boys were much impressed by the sight. In the distance they perceived their companions, and as soon as they had been seen, Ethan exclaimed,—