One Monday morning, there was an unusual call at Uncle Boardman’s.
“Jotham Barney, I do declare!” said Aunt Lydia, looking out of a kitchen window into the yard. “Here he comes up to the back door. I wonder what he wants here.”
A lifting of the outside door latch was now heard, and a heavy step was planted on the floor of the little entry. Then the inside door swung open, and the keeper of the life saving station entered Aunt Lydia’s sanctum.
“Good mornin’, Mis’ Blake.”
“That you, Jotham? Set down, do.”
“Much obleeged, but I’m in a bit of a hurry. Where’s your husband?”
“He’s down in the mash field clearin’ up.”
“I s’pose I could see him, and I’ll go down.”
“He will be glad to see you, Jotham; but I guess you’ll have to go down, for Boardman’s that kind, he wouldn’t leave his work, for the king.”
“That is all right, and that’s why he is so forehanded.”