story of the Tower of
Babel is true, it is the names of the towns in Injy."

It seemed to me that perhaps from the viewpoint of the East Indian, the
same thing might be said of our "villes" and "burgs," and I was about
to raise my voice in behalf of the maligned heathen, when my host
resumed his discourse.

"When you come in, I was readin' about a poor missionary woman in
Baller--Baller--Ballerraderad--whose Sunday-school had been largely eat
up by taggers. Her name was Flora Martin, Brother Matthias says, and
she was one of the saintliest women he ever seen. He tells how the
month before he come to Baller--Baller--Baller-daddad--an extry large
tagger had been sneakin' around the mission-house, a-watchin' for
scholars, and how one day, when, according to Brother Matthias, this
here Flora Martin, armed only with a rifle and girded about with the
heavenly sperrit--how this here Flora----"

There was a ponderous knock on the door, and then the knob began to
rattle violently. The bolt had been shot, so Luther had to rise in
haste to admit the new-comer, leaving Flora Martin with nothing but the
rifle and the heavenly spirit.

Perry Thomas stepped in.

"I just happened to be passin' and thought I'd drop in for a spell," he
said, with a profound bow to Mary, who arose to greet him.

This apology of Perry's was as absurd as mine had been, for he lived a
mile on the other side of the village; and as the next house was over
the ridge, a good three miles away, it was odd that he should be
wandering aimlessly about thus. Besides, he had on his new Prince
Albert, and there was a suspicion of a formal call in the smoothly
oiled hair and tallowed boots. He carried his fiddle, too. There was
to my mind every evidence that the visit had been preconceived, and to
this point had been carried out with an eye on every detail. Had the
contrary been true, there would have been no cause for Perry to glare
at me as he did. The he-ro in blue was anything but welcome now.
Indeed, it seemed that could Perry's wish have been complied with, I
should be back on the "lead-strewn fields of Cuby."

Mary was most cordial. She seized his fiddle and his hat and stowed
them carefully away together, while Luther, pushing the latest visitor
to a place at his side on the settee, told him how fortunate he was to
drop in just at that time, as he would hear a few interesting things
about the famine in India.

Perry was positively ungrateful.