123 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS. 



The fact is, I was too much surprised to see so apparent- 

 ly helpless a man so far from any house or even public 

 highway. 



" Stranger about here ?" he repeated ; " not exactly, 

 for I was here some five years ago, and had a bit of a 

 lark in that dead wilier yonder. You see, I don't foller 

 the land, but the water," and he pointed to a neat cedar 

 boat, with one oar resting at the stern. " That's my 

 home eight months of the year, and I can go from the 

 falls to the sea-shore when o' mind to." 



" But what about this dead willow ?" I asked. 



"It come round this way. 'Long late in October I 

 drifted in here, gettin' stuff for a drug store, fishin' and 

 the like, when up there come the biggest sort of a rain, all 

 of a sudden. I'd no notion of gettin' wet, so I looked 

 round, and seein' the wilier was big and hollow it wa'n't 

 kivered with weeds then thought I'd creep in and wait 

 for the rain to stop. 'Twan't no easy job fur me, but I 

 made it out and sort o' chuckled to myself as I heerd 

 the rain a pitter-patter agin' the tree, and felt the wind 

 shakin' it clean to the roots. But 'tisn't a red apple 

 that's always the sweetest, you know. The rain sort o' 

 gathered overhead and poured a stream down my back. 

 That riled a swarm o' black ants, and they took refuge 

 in my coat and tickled worse than a flea's bite. Then 

 the bio win' came on in airnest. One puff opened a big 

 crack in the wilier and my wooden leg slipped through, 

 and was held like a rat in a steel trap. There I w T as, 

 and gettin' desprit, I tell you, when luck turned a little, 

 and a puff o' wind opened the crack agin and let me 

 go. I got out, spite o' the dark, and left fur hum." 



