"And a safe time the poor simple soul will have," said Grandma
Padgett, making her spectacles glitter at the landlord, "gettin'
through the creek that nigh drowned us. I suppose, _you_ have a
ford that you don't keep for movers."
"Oh, yah!" said the landlord. "Te fort ist goot."
"How dared you send a woman and two children to such an empty,
miserable shell as this?"
[Illustration: J. D. MATTHEWS RUNS AWAY.]
"I don't keep moofers to mine tafern," said the landlord, putting
his abundant charge into his pocket. "Chay-Te, he always stops here.
He coes all ofer te countries, Chay-Te toes. His headt ist pat."
"But his heart is good," said the grandmother. "And that will count
up more to his credit than if he was an extortioner, and ill-treated
the stranger within his gate."
"Oh, Chay-Te ist a goot feller!" said the Dutch landlord
comfortably, untouched by any reflections on his own conduct.
Grandma Padgett could not feel placid in her mind until the weeds
and hill hid him from sight.
Mr. Matthews arose so sound from his night's slumber, that he was
able after pumping a prodigious lot of water over himself, and
blowing with enjoyment, to help her get the breakfast, and put the
kettles in travelling order afterwards.
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