the
stove. It is May. But it is the Captain's habit to warm his feet there
when he is in the house at night, and he never fails to put them upon
the fender and go through his evening routine. First it is his paper;
then it is his feet; then it is his apple, and finally a formal
discussion of what they will have for breakfast, with the Captain always
voting for hash, and declaring that there are potatoes enough left over
and meat enough unused to make hash enough for a regiment. But before he
gets to the hash question, the Captain this evening leads off with this:

"Curious thing about spring." The world of education, reading its
examination papers, concurs in silence. The worlds of fashion and of the
fine arts also assenting, the Captain goes on: "Down in South Harvey
to-day; kind o' dirty down there; looks kind of smoky and tin cannery,
and woe-begone, like that class of people always looks, but 'y gory,
girls, it's just as much spring down there as it is up here, only more
so! eh? I says to Laura, looking like a full bloom peach tree herself in
her kindergarten, says I, 'Laura, it's terrible pretty down here when
you get under the smoke and the dirt. Every one just a lovin',' says I,
'and going galloping into life kind of regardless. There's Nate and
Anne, and there's Violet and Hogan, and there's a whole mess of fresh
married couples in Little Italy, and the Huns and Belgians are all broke
out with the blamedest dose of love y' ever see! And they's whole rafts
of 'em to be married before June!' Well, Laura, she laughed and if it
wasn't like pouring spring itself out of a jug. Spring," he mused,
"ain't it curious about spring!"

Champing his apple the Captain gesticulates slowly with his open pocket
knife, "Love"--he reflects; then backs away from his discussion and
begins anew: "Less take--say Anne and Nate, a happy couple--him a lean,
eagle-beaked New England kind of a man; her--a little quick-gaited,
big-eyed woman and sping! out of the Providence of Goddlemighty comes a
streak of some kind of creepy, fuzzy lightning and they're struck dumb
and blind and plumb crazy--eh?"

He champs for a time on the apple, "Eighteen sixty-one--May,
sixty-one--me a tidy looking young buck--girl--beautiful girl with
reddish brown hair and bluest eyes in the world. Sping! comes the
lightning, and melts us together and the whole universe goes pink and
rose-colored. No sense--neither of us--no more'n Anne and Nate, just one
idea. I