ever seed such
bearers: the apples hung in ropes, for all the world like strings of
onions, and the fruit was beautiful. Nobody touched the minister's
apples, and when other folks lost their'n from the boys, his'n always
hung there like bait t' a hook, but there never was so much as a nibble
at 'em. So I said to him one day, 'Minister,' said I, 'how on airth do
you manage to keep your fruit that's so exposed, when no one else can't
do it nohow?' 'Why,' says he, 'they are dreadfully pretty fruit, ain't
they?' 'I guess,' said I, 'there ain't the like on 'em in all
Connecticut.' 'Well,' says he, 'I'll tell you the secret, but you
needn't let on to no one about it. That are row next the fence, I
grafted it myself: I took great pains to get the right kind. I sent
clean up to Roxberry and away down to Squawneck Creek.' I was afeard he
was a-goin' to give me day and date for every graft, bein' a terrible
long-winded man in his stories; so says I, 'I know that, minister, but
how do you preserve them?' 'Why, I was a-goin' to tell you,' said he,
'when you stopped me. That are outward row I grafted myself with the
choicest kind I could find, and I succeeded. They are beautiful, but so
etarnal sour, no human soul can eat them. Well, the boys think the old
minister's graftin' has all succeeded about as well as that row, and
they sarch no further. They snicker at my graftin', and I laugh in my
sleeve, I guess, at their penetration.'

"Now, Marm Pugwash is like the minister's apples, very temptin' fruit to
look at, but desperate sour. If Pugwash had a watery mouth when he
married, I guess it's pretty puckery by this time. However, if she goes
to act ugly, I'll give her a dose of 'soft sawder' that will take the
frown out of her frontispiece and make her dial-plate as smooth as a
lick of copal varnish. It's a pity she's such a kickin' devil, too, for
she has good points,--good eye, good foot, neat pastern, fine chest, a
clean set of limbs, and carries a good--But here we are. Now you'll see
what 'soft sawder' will do."

When we entered the house, the travelers' room was all in darkness, and
on opening the opposite door into the sitting-room we found the female
part of the family extinguishing the fire for the night. Mrs. Pugwash
had a broom in her hand, and was in the act (the last act of female
housewifery) of sweeping the hearth. The strong flickering light of the
fire, as it fell upon her tall, fine figure and beautiful face,
reve