myself for putting up those bars to please
Mrs. Sparrowgrass. I put them up, not to keep people in, but to keep
people out.

I laid my cheek against the ice-cold barriers and looked out at the sky;
not a star was visible; it was as black as ink overhead. Then I thought
of Baron Trenck and the prisoner of Chillon. Then I made a noise. I
shouted until I was hoarse, and ruined our preserving kettle with the
poker. That brought our dogs out in full bark, and between us we made
night hideous. Then I thought I heard a voice and listened--it was Mrs.
Sparrowgrass calling to me from the top of the staircase. I tried to
make her hear me, but the infernal dogs united with howl, and growl, and
bark, so as to drown my voice, which is naturally plaintive and tender.
Besides, there were two bolted doors and double-deafened floors between
us; how could she recognize my voice, even if she did hear it? Mrs.
Sparrowgrass called once or twice and then got frightened; the next
thing I heard was a sound as if the roof had fallen in, by which I
understood that Mrs. Sparrowgrass was springing the rattle! That called
out our neighbor, already wide awake; he came to the rescue with a
bull-terrier, a Newfoundland pup, a lantern, and a revolver. The moment
he saw me at the window he shot at me, but fortunately just missed me. I
threw myself under the kitchen table and ventured to expostulate with
him, but he would not listen to reason. In the excitement I had
forgotten his name, and that made matters worse. It was not until he had
roused up everybody around, broken in the basement door with an ax,
gotten into the kitchen with his cursed savage dogs and shooting-iron,
and seized me by the collar, that he recognized me--and then he wanted
me to explain it! But what kind of an explanation could I make to him? I
told him he would have to wait until my mind was composed, and then I
would let him understand the whole matter fully. But he never would have
had the particulars from me, for I do not approve of neighbors that
shoot at you, break in your door, and treat you, in your own house, as
if you were a jailbird. He knows all about it, however--somebody has
told him--_somebody_ tells everybody everything in our village.--_The
Sparrowgrass Papers._

LOVE IN A COTTAGE

They may talk of love in a cottage,
And bowers of trellised vine----
Of nature bewitchingly simple,
And milkmaids half divine;
They may talk of the pleasure of sleep