berry pie."

Blessed soul! it was not she; it was my arm that was scattering the
contents of the pie.

"You know I board 'Blind Rodgers,'" she went on, still deeper to bury
my regret and confusion. I had heard of him; his sightless, gentle
ambition it was to live without making "spots."

"Wal, we had blueberry pie for dinner yesterday--and I wonder if them
rich parents in New York 't left him with me jest because he was blind,
and hain't for years took no notice of him 'cept to send his board--I
wonder if they could 'a' done what he done? I made it with a lot o'
sweet, rich juice, and I thought to myself, 'I know Blind Rodgers'll
slop a little on the table-cloth to-day,' and I put on a clean
table-cloth, jest hopin' he would. But where I set, with seein' eyes,
there was two or three great spots on the cloth; and he et his pie, but
on his place at table, when he got up, ye wouldn't 'a' known anybody'd
been settin' there, it was so clean and white!"

Some tears coursed down her cheeks at the pure recollection--we, who
have seeing eyes, make so many spots! I felt the tears coming to my
own eyes, for we were as close in sympathy as in other respects.

Meanwhile the ancient horse was taking quite an unusual pace over the
road.

"Another sail on ahead there somewhere," said Captain Pharo; "hoss is
chasin' another hoss. It 's Mis' Garrison's imported coachman, takin'
home some meal, 'cross kentry. He'll turn in to'ds the Neck by'n'by.
Poo! poo! Mis' Garrison wanted Fluke to coach for her; he was so
strong an' harnsome; an' she was tellin' him what she wanted him to do,
curchy here, and curchy there. 'Mis' Garrison,' says Fluke, 'I'll
drive ye 'round wherever ye wants me to, but I'll be d--d if I'll
curchy to ye!' So she fetched along an imported one."

Whatever the obsequious conduct of this individual toward Mrs.
Garrison, his manners to us were insolent to a degree. Having once
turned to look at us, he composed his hat on one side, grinned,
whistled, and would neither turn again nor give us room to pass, nor
drive out of a walk, on our account.

"Either fly yer sails, or cl'ar the ship's channel there," cried
Captain Pharo at last, snorting with indignation.

The wicked imported coachman continued the same.

It was now that our horse, who had been meanwhile going through what
quiet mental processes we knew not, solved the apparent difficulty of
the situation by a judicious selection of expedients. He l