d shirred or
gathered or reefed in at the waist, they looked singularly like the
typical "Dutchman's breeches." I might have worn them as one of
Hendrik Hudson's crew in "Rip Van Winkle"--which was, even in those
days, the most popular play in which Joseph Jefferson appeared. You
can see how long ago it was from that.

Well, I put them on in bitterness of heart. How the other boys greeted
me until they got used to them--which it seemed to me they never would!
Unfortunately for them, anyway, they had only one day, one brief day,
in which to make game of me; for the first time I wore them something
happened.

There was a pond on a farm near our house called, from its owner,
"Duffy's Pond." The water drained into a shallow low depression in a
large meadow, and made a mudhole, a cattle wallow. Little boys have a
fondness for water, when it is exposed to the air--that is, when it is
muddy, when it is dirty--which is in adverse ratio to their zest for
nice, clean water in a nice clean tub. To bathe and be clean does not
seem instinctive with boys. And how careful we were not to wet the
backs of our hands and our wrists except when in swimming! And how
hard did our parents strive to teach us to distribute our ablutions
more generally!

{318} Well, Mr. Duffy did not allow boys to swim in his pond, which
made it all the more inviting. It was a hot August day when I first
put on those cream-colored pants. Naturally, we went in swimming.
Having divested ourselves of our clothing--and with what joy I cast off
the hideous garment!--we had to wade through twenty or thirty yards of
mud growing deeper and more liquid with every step, until we reached
the water. We were having a great time playing in the ooze when Mr.
Duffy appeared in sight. He was an irascible old man, and did not love
his neighbors' children! He had no sympathy at all with us in our
sports; he actually begrudged us the few apples we stole when they were
unripe and scarce, and as for watermelons--ah, but he was an unfeeling
farmer!

Fortunately, he had no dog with him that morning, nothing but a gun--an
old shotgun with the barrels sawed off at half their length, loaded
with beans or bacon, or pepper or sand, I don't remember which--they
were all bad enough if they hit you. The alarm was given instantly,
and we made a wild rush for the tall grass through that mud. You can
fancy how dirty we became, splashing, stumbling, wallowing in it. Mr.
Duffy