62 NORTH SHORE BREEZE and Reminder 
MARK TWAIN-ING ON THE YANKEE COAST 
(Continued from page 13) 
difference to Jones if an article was cut short on page 
one and continued to page three; he read the rest of it 
when he got to it. Once in a long while Jones would 
take the train and go to Lyndon to see a cousin who 
lived there. He didn’t go very often because it cost 
a heap of money, and Jones didn’t make much at this 
odd-jobbing. One day Jones dressed himself up in his 
store clothes and set out for the station. Just as he 
got in sight of it the train pulled out. Jones started 
lickety-klip aftér the train. About a hundred yards east 
of the station was a trestle. When he reached it Jones 
tripped and somehow managed to ‘fall into {he Scat: 
When the bridge tender got to him with a boathook and 
pulled his head out of the water, Jones was half-drowned 
but quite collected. 
“Wh-when does the next train go?” he sputtered. 
Explaining the Red Sea Drive 
Talking of reading the papers reminds me of old 
lob Serviss. Job was a painter by trade and a Bible 
student by occupation. Mostly he didn’t let his trade 
interfere with his occupation. However, he was a bache- 
lor, and it didn’t matter so much. He liked above all 
else to get some of the young fellows in his cottage on a 
Sunday afternoon and read and expound the Scriptures 
to them. One day he had been reading aloud about the 
miracles performed by Moses, and had had a hard time 
explaining them to the satisfaction of his audience. When 
he came to the passage of the Red Sea one of his hearers 
said: 
“Well, Uncle Job, maybe I can understand about the 
rlagues and all that, but I don’t see how it was the 
waters of the Red Sea could be driven back like that 
to let those folks get through.” 
“Ye don’t, eh?” said Uncle Job, getting a dit im- 
patient at last, and peering over the top of his spectacles. 
“Well, it was done by the grace of God, damn ye! Can 
you understand that?” 
Had a “Bird” 
Then there was Deacon Hutchins. The deacon was 
a pillar of the church and a total abstainer at a time when 
a slight indulgence in liquor was thought no ill of. The 
deacon’s closest crony was George Wade, and George 
was neither a pillar of the church nor an abstainer; no, 
sir, not by a jugful! The deacon kept a bottle of rum 
in his closet for purposes of hospitality only, and when 
George Wade called it was the deacon’s custom to say 
after a while: 5 
“George, I be goin’ out to the kitchen for a drink 
o’ water. In that closet there’s a bottle of rum, but 
I forbid ye to tech it!” 
Squire Cyrus Weldon, who lived over the line in 
Millville, was very fond of his glass, and made no bones 
of it. In fact, the squire, a genial, big-hearted man of 
sixty-odd, was wont to declare emphatically that a little 
liquor was necessary to the maintenance of health and 
snorality. The squire’s wife was well aware of his views, 
and, while not sharing them, treated them and his in- 
frequent lapses from the straight and narrow path leni- 
ently. On one occasion the squire arrived home very 
late for supper, and being assisted from his buggy by 
his man, walked bravely, if unsteadily, into the house. 
“Cy, where you been?” asked his wife. 
‘“Shootin’.” 
“Shooting what, Cy?” 
“Swallows,” 
Aug. 4, 1916. 
The Squire’s Sabbath 
There’s one story they tack to the Squire that I don’t 
believe belongs there. I guess someone wanted to tell it 
and just credited it to the Squire to give it a sort of 
local interest. Anyway, here it is. The Squire, they say. 
was met by a neighbor one Saturday afternoon driving 
into Old Neck in his side-bar buggy. The neighbor pulled 
up and the Squire pulled up and they passed the tine of 
day and talked about the hay crop, and finally the neigh- 
bor asked the Squire where he was going. 
“Goin’ to The Neck,” answered the Squire. “Just 
discovered awhile ago that I was out of liquor, and to- 
~orrow’s the Sabbath. Got to have a little something 
in the house to observe the Sabbath on, you know.” 
“That’s so, but tain’t like you to be out o’ liquor, Cy. 
How’d it happen?” 
“Oh, I got a little back there; about a pint,” replied 
the Sauire hopefully. “Was you thinkin’ of droppin’ 
around ?” 
“No, I got to get back, Cy. But it seems like you 
could observe the Sabbath on a pint, Cy, don’t it? 
The Squire studied a moment. ‘“We-ell,” he said 
finally and doubtfully, “I suppose I might, but—” dis- 
gustedly—‘what kind of an observation would it be?” 
Always a Favorite 
There’s one story, though, that I can vouch for. The 
incident happened not so very long ago, when the hotel 
over at the lake wanted a telephone put in, and the only 
way they could get it was by setting up poles in one ot 
the Sauire’s meadows. The Squire didn’t think much 
of telephones, anyway, and besides didn’t want his meadow 
“strung full o’ wires.” So he refused his consent and the 
case went to the General Court. The court issued an 
order favorable to the telephone company, and the Sauire 
learned of it. When the workmen appeared the Sauire 
ordered a young bull turned into the field. An hour 
later the Souire wandered over that way. The workmen 
were seated in a tree and the bull was pawing and bellow- 
ing about underneath. The foreman of the gang pulled 
out a paper and waved it irately at the Squire. 
“Tey, call off your bull!” he demanded. “I got an 
order here.” 
“What sort of an order?” asked the Sauire politely. 
“An order from the General Court of Massachusetts 
giving tne permission to set up poles and string telephone 
wires across this land!” 
“Well,” drawled the Squire as he turned to walk 
away, “why don’t you show it to the bull?” 
Then there was old Henry> Silas Sommers. Henry 
was our best carpenter and builder in those days. After 
his wife died he employed Mrs. Hattie Phillips to keep 
house for him. He was a tall, thin old chap and very 
precise and exact. One day a new workman came to him 
and announced : 
“Mr. Sommers, we need-another twelve-foot two-by- 
four to finish that job.” 
“Two by four what?” demanded the old gentleman. 
“Heet 2” 
“Why, no, sir, inches!” 
“Then why don’t you say so? What you want is 
a piece o’ joisting two inches by four inches and twelve 
feet long. Go and fetch it.” 
Henry kept hens. Once one of his flock got broody, 
and to cure her Henry took her into his cellar and im- 
prisoned her under a wooden wash tub. It happened 
that he had an unexpected call to Portsmouth, New Hamp- 
shire, and it wasn’t until he had been there a day that 
he re~embered the broody hen. So he sent a telegram 
home to the housekeeper. Mrs. Hat, as she was called, 
