THE FANTASIES OF FERNS 215 



down last week. But it ain't six yet, because the 

 sawmill whistle ain't blew nor the carrier come 

 with the mail, and he allus jogs along about half- 

 past five," was the answer we received. 



"Did you ever? And a post-office, too !" ejacu- 

 lated Flower Hat. 



Presently we asked a man who passed along the 

 road with a load of straw. He squinted at the sun 

 and "calkerlated it was all of four o'clock" ! 



The next people we met were a couple in an 

 ancient rockaway, the back seat of which over- 

 flowed with sturdy children. They all nodded and 

 grinned, but did not understand our question, 

 evidently being a Hungarian family who had lately 

 come to wrestle with an abandoned Lonetown farm. 



In desperation we stopped at the second house 

 on the main road after crossing the river, as it 

 looked more neatly kept than any of its neighbors. 

 Flowers blossomed in two straight borders on either 

 side of the walk and a thrifty poultry -house united 

 the barn and cow-shed. 



"The time, mem?" queried a pleasant -faced 

 woman, curtseying as she opened the door. * 'Alf 

 hafter five hexactly; my good man is a watch- 

 maker 'imself and works over town. Yes, we be 

 strangers in these parts, moved in last boxing day. 



