ng pigs and he'd feed 'em and we'd go halves.

But I will not take you through my entire picture-gallery, as I have two
good stories to tell you before saying good-by.

Depressing remarks have reached me about my "lakelet," which at first
was ridiculed by every one. The struggle of evolution from the "spring
hole" was severe and protracted. Experts were summoned, their estimates
of cost ranging from four hundred to one thousand dollars, and no one
thought it worth while to touch it. It was discouraging. Venerable and
enormous turtles hid in its muddy depths and snapped at the legs of the
ducks as they dived, adding a limp to the waddle; frogs croaked there
dismally; mosquitoes made it a camping ground and head center; big black
water snakes often came to drink and lingered by the edge; the ugly horn
pout was the only fish that could live there. Depressing, in contrast
with my rosy dreams! But now the little lake is a charming reality, and
the boat is built and launched. Turtles, pout, lily roots as big as
small trees, and two hundred loads of "alluvial deposit" are no longer
"in it," while carp are promised me by my friend Commissioner Blackford.
The "Tomtoolan"[2] is not a large body of water--one hundred and fifty
feet long, seventy-five feet wide--but it is a delight to me and has
been grossly traduced by ignorant or envious outsiders. The day after
the "Katy-Did" was christened (a flat-bottomed boat, painted prettily
with blue and gold) I invited a lady to try it with me. Flags were
fluttering from stem and stern. We took a gayly colored horn to toot as
we went, and two dippers to bail, if necessary. It was not exactly
"Youth at the prow and Pleasure at the helm," but we were very jolly and
not a little proud.

[Footnote 2: Named in honor of the amateur engineers.]

A neglected knot-hole soon caused the boat to leak badly. We had made
but one circuit, when we were obliged to "hug the shore" and devote our
entire energies to bailing. "Tip her a little more," I cried, and the
next instant we were both rolled into the water. It was an absurd
experience, and after scrambling out, our clothes so heavy we could
scarcely step, we vowed, between hysteric fits of laughter, to keep our
tip-over a profound secret.

But the next time I went to town, friends began to smile mysteriously,
asked me if I had been out on the lake yet, made sly and jocose
allusions to a sudden change to Baptistic faith, and if I cordially
invited