m on an ant-bed. That's jest what's happenin'
to me here in Smyrna, and my thutty thousand dollars that I've worked
hard for and earnt and saved is the honey. You've lived among them
here all your life, Louada Murilla, and I s'pose you've got more or
less wonted to 'em. But if I hadn't squirmed and thrashed round a
little durin' the time I've lived here, after marryin' you and
settlin' down among 'em, they'd have et me, honey, money, hide, and
hair. As it is, they've got their little lunch off'm me. I haven't
thrashed round enough till--till yistiddy."

He wriggled the toe in the centre of the rose, and grunted.

"I was in hopes we wouldn't have any more trouble in the family, only
what we've had with brother Gideon since we've been married," she
said mildly. "Of course, Marengo Todd is only a second cousin of mine,
but still, he's in the family, you know, and families hang together,
'cause blood--"

"Blood is what they want, blast 'em!" he bawled, angrily. "I've used
Marengo Orango, there, or whatever you call him, all right, ain't
I? I've let him do me! He knowed I was used to sea ways, and wa'n't
used to land ways, and that he _could_ do me. I lent him money, first
off, because I liked you. And I've lent him money sence because I
like a liar--and he's a good one! I've used all your relatives the
best I've knowed how, and--and they've turned round and used me! But
I've put a dot, full-stop, period to it--and I done it with that toe,"
he added, scowling at the pathetic heart of the red rose.

"I wish it hadn't been one of the family," she sighed.

"It couldn't well help bein' one," snarled the Cap'n. "They're about
all named Todd or Ward round here but one, and his name is Todd Ward
Brackett, and he's due next. And they're all tryin' to borry money
off'm me and sell me spavined hosses. Now, let's see if they can take
a hint." He tentatively wriggled the toe some more, and groaned. "The
Todds and the Wards better keep away from me."

Then he suddenly pricked up his ears at the sound of the slow rumble
of a wagon turning into the yard. The wagon halted, and they heard
the buzzing twang of a jew's-harp, played vigorously.

"There's your Todd Ward Brackett. I predicted him! 'Round here to
sell ye rotten thread and rusted tinware and his all-fired Balm o'
Joy liniment."

"It's good liniment, and I need some more for your toe, Aaron,"
pleaded his wife, putting her worsted out of her lap.

"I'll chop that toe off a