Mr. Matlack was seated on his log, and he smoked, while Mrs. Perkenpine sat on the ground, her head thrown back and her arms hugging her knees.
“Phil,” said she, “that there moon looks to me like an oyster with a candle behind it, and as smooth and slippery as if I could jest swallow it down. You may think it is queer for me to think such things as that, Phil, but since I’ve come to know myself jest as I am, me, I’ve found out feelin’s—”
“Mrs. Perkenpine,” said Matlack, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, “there’s a good many things besides moons that I can’t swallow, and if it’s all the same to you, I’ll go to bed.”
“Well,” she exclaimed, looking after him, “his individdlety is the snapshortest I ever did see! I don’t believe he wants to know hisself. If he did, I’m dead sure I could help him. He never goes out to run a camp without somebody to help him, and yet he’s so everlastin’ blind he can’t see the very best person there is to help him, and she a-plumpin’ herself square in front of him every time she gits a chance.” With that reflection she rose and walked away.
“I tell you, Harriet,” said Mr. Archibald, when he and his wife had returned from their walk and were about to enter the cabin, “something must be done to enable us to spend the rest of our time here in peace. This is our camp, and we want it for ourselves. If a good companionable fellow like the bishop or that young Clyde happens along, it is all very well, but we do not want all sorts of people forcing themselves upon us, and I will not submit to it.”
“Of course we ought not to do that,” said she, “but I hope that whatever you do, it will be something as pleasant as possible.”
“I will try to avoid any unpleasantness,” said he, “and I hope I may do so, but—— By-the-way, where is Margery?”
“I think she must be in bed,” said Mrs. Archibald; then stepping inside, she called, “Margery, are you there?”
“Yes, Aunt Harriet,” replied Margery, “I am here.”
“She must have found it dreadfully stupid, poor girl!” said Mr. Archibald.