122 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 blowin' 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 was, 

 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." 



