I was in a new country, a much richer one than that of a few miles farther north; the farms were nearer together, and prosperity was plain on the face of the earth. The damp morning mists that hung over the brown new-ploughed ground smelled of growing things, and the buds on the trees, as they opened to the warmth of morning, scattered their scents lavishly.
I had signalled out at the bottom of a hill a house at which I intended stopping and getting a meal if I could; but as I went by a pasture I saw a man driving some cows through an opening in the fence. He saw me also, and hurrying about his work, he came walking toward me. I now perceived that my costume was a pass-word to people's hearts.
"Good-mornin', lad," hailed the farmer, who was a man past middle age. "Goin' off to sea again, be ye?"
"Yes," I replied, stepping to the fence. "Am I on the right road for Stonington?"
"Air ye in the navy?" he asked, without replying to my question.
"No; but I'm to ship aboard the Young Eagle below."
"Oh, privateersman, eh? More money in it, I reckon. But there's no lack of glory in the sarvice. I have a son aboard the Constitution. He was in her when she fit the Guerrière. When I think of it, I allus feel like cheerin'."
And then and there the farmer took off his hat and gave three lusty cheers—in which, despite myself, and not knowing anything about the subject, I joined.
"My name is Prouty," the old farmer went on. "And my son's name is Melvin Prouty. Ye'll hear tell on him afore long. He's got promoted already. He's a quartermaster."