husband here, Mr. Tombstone—I mean Mr. Touchtone—I b'lieve you said that was your name, didn't you?—than by just makin' free of every blessed corner of it. But dear, dear! If I'd only been to home."
"Yes, it's queer luck! Wife an' I've both been over on shore. We had to go across to Chantico to the funeral of a nephew of ours, that died very sudden. We stuck fast there by my bein' sick. The very time that such a thing as this came straight up to our doors!"
"Queer luck?" repeated the farmer's wife. "You'd better just say queer Providence, Obed! It's been awful unhandy for you, Mr. Touchtone—made things so much harder for you an' the little boy. But I guess if Providence could save you both bein' dashed overboard with those poor souls in that boat, he could help you to get along with a lot o' my stale stuff to eat, an' not a hand to help you to any thing better. Our house wide open, was it? Well, I don't know where you'd 'a' got in if't been us left it last! But," she continued, turning in sudden vexation to her husband, "that's the very identical good-bye time old
