Adventure Magazine Cover — page 163: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The Fenceless Meadows in the kitchen, they sat down to a “shore- going’”’ supper, as Nance called it. Dowser asked for the news. News of interest to Nelson he had none, and the talking was all on Nelson’s side. Talking slowly and with great deliberation he told them how the country had changed im- mensely since they had gone away, and that, new settlers having come in in great numbers, where there had been but one neighbor before there were now half a dozen. The country had been subdivided and cut up into small farms of ten, twenty and forty acres. The town had grown; boasting two new creameries and a milk factory. Real estate was booming, and real - estate men calling frequently at the farm to inquire if it were for sale. Next morning, at sunrise, Nance hoisted the numbers of the Fancy Nan to the peak of the tall flagstaff before the house, the morning breeze fluttering the bright flags, and their gay colors shining in the sun. From their farmyards and doorways the neighbors, seeing the flags, wondered what was going on at the River Bottom farm. The place had always been a mystery to them; for the old Swede foreman would never satisfy their curiosity by telling them his owner’s business. That afternoon one or two of the most inquisitive went over and, finding a bald- headed man wandering amongst the stock, with a young girl beside him, became more than ever curious; finding it impossible to draw either into any conversation other than remarks upon the weather—the farm- er’s invariable theme—a subject completely ignored by sailors ashore. Going away puzzled, thev sent their women, who needed no sending. The women, meeting at the door an old man, with a long white beard, who, muttering, “‘skipper’s on deck,’ shut the door upon them, were scandalized. Seeing a voung woman strolling among the flowers, they addressed themselves to her; to be met with polite replies that gave them no satis- faction. Their curlosity whetted, they went home as perplexed as their men had been before them. “C’ain’t be his wife; she’s too young,” said one. “Ef it’s his wife, then it’s a scandal an’ a shame; she’s that young,”’ said another. ‘‘Ain’t she the homeliest thing?’’ queried 155 an angular woman with a red mole on the starboard side of her nose. “Ef it’s his daughter ’tain’t not right fer no young woman ter live alone with a lot, of old men,’’ said another. The grown folk having met with no suc- cess, it devolved upon the young people to solve the mystery of the Bottom farm; and they dropped over, in twos and threes and singly. Meeting Dowser, the boys would raise their hats. ‘“‘Want something, boy?” he would ask. “No, sir—I just dropped over:”’ Dowser, reared in the hard rearing of the sea, with little use for young men with idle time on their hands, would reply— “Maybe you’d better be dropping back, eh?” Girls, meeting him, found a different greeting. ‘Hello, sis, looking for some one?” ‘““Why, I just heard there was a lady over here, sir. I thought maybe she was lone- some.” ‘Well, it’s kind of you to come over. My girl isn’t much given to the lonesome idea, I guess. You'll find her somewhere about the place.” Meeting Nance, they found a girl who was quite disinterested in hats or dresses; who appeared to know as much, if not more, of housekeeping than did their own mothers; and appeared to be perfectly able to amuse herself with no assistance. Little by little the curiosity of the neigh- borhood died away; the immediate neigh- bors becoming to some extent gradually acquainted with Dowser. The young men of the countryside were deeply interested in Nance. Her father being a sea captain meant something which they were unable to put into words; giving her a halo of romance quite apart from any fascination about herself. Every one in the district realized that Dowser was “well fixed” and naturally every parent was anxious that his son should win Nance Dowser. Most of the farmers were struggling against debt—which was evidently not a bugbear on the River Bot- tom farm. Old Nelson paid good wages, seeing that he got good help in return, of course; and himself working indefatigably, month in and month out, in the fields beside the men. ‘Nelson, you ought to have been a sailor,”’ GO IOO (Cc S C@