"wall, i swanny!" was the farmer's exclamation, as he stared at the strange-looking outfit invading his shores. "who be ye? and where did ye come from?"
they began to tell him, and at every sentence his "wall, i swanny!" was thrown in, to show the astonishment with which he listened. at last he seemed to recollect himself.
"ye mus' be drea'ful tired—nigh about beat out—and cold, too. come into the haouse and git suthin' to eat. there ain't nobody to hum, but i guess i can find ye suthin'."
something! why, my dear reader, they found, in the buttery and milk-room and cellar of that little house on the shore, a dinner the like of which, for goodness, they believed never was equalled. they ate and ate, laughing and almost crying by turns over their good fortune, the happiness of feeling safe and warm again taking off their hearts a load, whose weight they had not appreciated until it was removed. meanwhile the old gentleman gossiped on in a pleasant strain.
"my wife," he told them, "has gone down to the port to see da'ter an' her husband, for a day or two. my son, he runs on the lake shore railroad in the winter, and so i'm alone. they wanted me to go down to the port, too, but i don't think any great things of the feller samanthy married, and i told mother i 'lowed i'd be more comf'able stayin' home 'long with the cow and the chickens."
"what is this port you speak of, sir?" aleck asked him.
"what? why, port linton, to be sure—don't ye know where that is? oh, i forgot, ye're lost, ain't ye. he! he! wall, port linton is a town on the railroad, and also on the shore, to the west'ard o' here, or, leastways, to the suthard, 'cause we're out on a pint here, and the port is up at the head of the bay, behind the big ma'sh. ye could see it if 'twan't for them big sycamores. 's about five mile 'cross the water."
"can you let us stay with you to-night, and to-morrow we'll go on to the port?"
"oh, yes, ye can stay, an' welcome. if mother was home i'd hitch up and take ye in, but i ain't got no horse to-day, so i s'pose that's the best thing ye can do. but you'll have to double up some, 'cause i ain't got four beds."
their rich supper and deep sleep and full breakfast made a new crew of them, and next morning they were eager to get on. it seemed as though ages had passed since they had been in civilization, and tug began to wonder whether he would recognize a railway car when he saw it. when they were ready to go, aleck heartily thanked the kind old farmer for his hospitality, and asked how much he should pay him for their entertainment.
"'wa'al, i declare!'"
"oh, i don't want nothin'—nothin' at all," he said. "you're what they might call mariners in distress, and i just helped you as well as i could. i ain't done nothin', an' i don't want no money."
"oh, but we have eaten so much, and made you so much trouble. i shall not feel right unless you let us pay you."
"wall, if you're so earnest about it, i 'low a dollar would be about right. i reckon ye didn't hurt me mor'n about that's worth."
surely this was small enough, but the farmer was entirely satisfied, and said he was sorry to say good-bye.
they had swung along over the ice in good style after leaving the farmer's cottage, and the buildings and ice-bound shipping of the village, which in summer was a busy port, but in winter was sleepy enough, were now in plain view.
there was to be the end of their troubles so far as the present scrape was concerned, but they were not a great deal nearer cleveland than when they started; and their minds, relieved of present anxieties, began to be crowded with thoughts of the future, and how they were going to accomplish their purpose any better now than before they had started.
they were to be aided, in this respect, in a way they had not suspected, however, and the help was now approaching in the shape of a skater who came on towards them with swift, strong strides.
