NEW TENANTS AND OLD FRIENDS. 455 



ho, ho ! Now, den, dat row's done, and de pan's 

 boout full. Take 'cm oft^ to Sary Ann. Mebbe she 

 want's 'em for bug soup ! Hi ! House warmin' ? 

 Yes, sail ! I reckon ole Dan'll give dese yur gemmin a 

 reglar old-fashioned one ; no mistake boout dat !" 



As he shuffled along, he gazed into the pan with a 

 radiant look, and skimmed the edges with his gray, 

 knobby hand to push back the crawling insects. Thus 

 busied he was passing me quite unnoticed. 



"Hello, there!" I called. 



Dan looked up suddenly, then hobbled up to the 

 fence, laid down the pan, and reaching out both hands 

 gave me a hearty greeting. But the reader will not be 

 concerned with our talk, and I shall only state the issue 

 of the conflict with the beetles before bidding Dan 

 good-by. 



"I sold a thousand bushels of potatoes off that field," 

 said Penn Townes, whom I met in the city one day the 

 next winter. " If it hadn't been for old Dan's deter- 

 mined fight, I wouldn't have got as many as I 

 planted." 



The old man is living yet, and, for aught I know, is 

 fighting potato beetles on the Old Farm even while I 

 write these lines. 



There is one more friend Avhose memory craves a 

 passing word. I drove one Sabbath day this summer 

 to the Marple Church. The birds were warbling in the 

 trees that skirt the churchyard ; the gi-asshoppers were 

 shrilling from the waving verdure that grows rank 

 among the graves ; little children were wandering 



