e dull face.

"What was that?" Janet asked, thankful for any side path that led away
from the danger point.

"Crullers!" Mark laughed a rattling, unmirthful laugh. "Crullers. I got
thinkin' of Pa's one day; an' I went to a pasty shop an' I says, 'Have
you got crullers?' The gal behind the counter says, 'Yes: how many?' I,
recallin' Pa's, an' feelin' weak in the pit of my stomach frum hunger, I
answered back, 'Three dozen!' The gal leaped back a step; then she
hauled out a bag 'bout the size of a bushel an' begins shovellin' in
round, humpy things, most all hole in the centre but considerable
sizable as t' girth. I was up t' city ways by then, an' I warn't goin'
t' show any surprise if she'd loaded an ister boat full of cakes on me.
So I paid up 'thout a word an' went out of the shop shoulderin' the bag.
It took me 'bout a week t' get rid of them crullers," groaned Mark; "an'
I've told Pa since I come back, that he better learn to make city
crullers fur the city trade this summer. Countin' holes an' puffy air,
they pay better than Pa's solid little cakes."

Janet was laughing merrily.

"Why, Mark!" she said presently, "you've got an idea. Tell your father
to make his crullers for the city trade. He'll make his fortune. Put a
sign on your gate and teach the boarders what crullers really are!"

Mark was not heeding.

"I vum!" he went on presently, "while I was down t' the city, what with
poor food an' not 'nough of it, an' homesickness fit t' kill, I thought
I seed my course clear. I had a job openin' isters; an' I worked, I kin
tell you! 'Bout all the city folks eat isters an' I seed a good bit of
life down at my shop, an' I learned city ways an' badness! Then I got
sick an' come home, thinkin' I was ready t' settle down, an' then I got
t' driftin' an' so it went till now. An' when I heerd 'bout you goin' up
t' the Hills an' knowin' what I do 'bout city ways, I just reasoned out
that I must love you, else I wouldn't mind so much. I ain't no great
shucks, but I can watch you, an' no one sha'n't harm you; an' Pa's
more'n willin' t' see t' the house, an' cook, no matter who comes in as
my wife; an' you kin run wild, an' no one will have the right t' hinder,
an' I'll stand off an' watch, an' that's somethin'!"

"Oh, Mark, please, please don't!" The poor fellow's dumb effort to
protect her was an added heartache to carry to the Hills. "You must not,
Mark, dear. You don't want a woman to watch; you want one to watch with