It was our boarder's night out (when he was detained in town by his
business), and Pomona was sitting up to let him in. This was
necessary, for our front-door (or main-hatchway) had no night-
latch, but was fastened by means of a bolt. Euphemia and I used to
sit up for him, but that was earlier in the season, when it was
pleasant to be out on deck until quite a late hour. But Pomona
never objected to sitting (or getting) up late, and so we allowed
this weekly duty to devolve on her.
On this particular night I was very tired and sleepy, and soon
after I got into bed I dropped into a delightful slumber. But it
was not long before I was awakened by the fact that:
"Sa rah did not fl inch but gras ped the heat ed i ron in her un in
jur ed hand and when the ra bid an i mal a proach ed she thr ust
the lur id po ker in his--"
"My conscience!" said I to Euphemia, "can't that girl be stopped?"
"You wouldn't have her sit there and do nothing, would you?" said
she.
"No; but she needn't read out that way."
"She can't read any other way," said Euphemia, drowsily.
"Yell af ter yell res oun ded as he wil dly spr rang--"
"I can't stand that, and I won't," said I. "Why don't she go into
the kitchen?--the dining-room's no place for her."
"She must not sit there," said Euphemia. "There's a window-pane
out. Can't you cover up your head?"
"I shall not be able to breathe if I do; but I suppose that's no
matter," I replied.
The reading continued.
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