leeping-room for John
C. Percival. The Governor's lady has no nursemaid. She does her own
housework, her own washing and ironing, and she takes care of her own
baby. (There is no such thing on Trigger Island as a servant. More
than one woman who reads this tale will sigh and murmur something about
Paradise.) Ruth still teaches in the little school. Though she is the
first lady of the land, she supports herself, she earns her daily bread.
It is the law irrevocable. There are no distinctions. Nor would she have
it otherwise.

The "Mansion," as it was universally called, stands alone at the upper
end of the Green, facing the meeting-house. The nearest hut is at least
two hundred yards away. Work on its construction was begun the day
after the wedding. For weeks men had toiled eagerly, enthusiastically,
voluntarily, and in the first gay days of spring it was completed.
Since then, the same hands, the same thoughts, the same interests were
constantly employed in improvements,--not only to the house itself but
to the grounds about it. The Governor's "Mansion" became the plaything
of the people. Percival's protests were received with amiable grins.

"It's our house, boss,--not yours," explained Buck Chizler, whose spare
time was largely expended in the development,--you might almost say,
the financing,--of a flower-bed on the lawn. It was to be the finest
flower-bed of them all, he swore. "This is government property and we,
the people, are going to do what we please with it."

"That's all very fine, Buck, but don't you think you ought to be
spending your spare hours with your wife, instead of puttering around
here?"

"Do you know who the boss of this job is? My wife. I'm nothing but an
ordinary day-laborer, a plain Mick, a sort of a Wop, obeying orders.
Good gosh, you don't think I've got brains enough to design this
flower-bed, do you? No, sirree! It takes an artist to think up a design
like this. When I get all these rocks in place according to plans you'll
see what I mean. It'll be a hum-dinger, A. A. This here thing running
off this way is the tail. Come over here and look at it from this
side,--it's upside down from where you're standin'."

"Tail? Tail of what?"

"Tail of a horse. This is going to be a horse when it's finished."

"My God!"

Buck was not above being irritated by the dismay in Percival's voice.

"Minnie's got her heart set on it, A. A.," he explained. "It's going to
be a sorrel horse, you see,--