When Mary comes! The gate latch clicked and I whistled the
sprightliest air I knew. Down in the field Tim appeared from the maze
of corn-stalks and looked my way beneath a shading hand. There were
foot-falls on the porch. Had they been light I should have kept on
whistling in that careless way; but now I looked up, startled. Before
me stood not Mary, but Josiah Nummler.
[Illustration: Josia Nummler.]
It was kind of Josiah to come, for he is an old man and lives a full
mile above the village, half way up the ridge-side. He is very fat,
too, from much meditation, and to aid his thin legs in moving his bulky
body he carries a very long stick, which he uses like a paddle to
propel him; so when you see him in the distance he seems to be standing
in a canoe, sweeping it along. Really he is only navigating the road.
He had a clothes-prop with him that day, and pausing at the end of the
porch, he leaned on it and gasped. I ought to have been pleased to see
Josiah.
"Well, Mark," he said, "I am glad you're home.
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