As it was, she considered that some of the neighbours she knew very well. There was Aunt Ardelia Dodge and her husband, Uncle Smith Dodge, an elderly couple whose place adjoined the Balls' on the north. The Dodges owned an old carryall, and when it was known that Edna was coming, Mrs. Cameron borrowed this vehicle to bring her husband and the little visitor from the landing, Barzilla's buckboard having but a single seat. As the ancient vehicle had not been in use for some time, it must first be backed down into the "tughole" behind the Dodge barn for the wheels to soak a couple of days, or the spokes might have rattled out of the rims and hubs. The tughole was a shallow patch of black water where the ducks and geese played. It was not a natural pond, but one of those innumerable artificial pools made by the cutting of peat for fuel in the old days before coal was brought in any quantity to the island. There is no wood for fuel on Block Island save what may be cast on the beaches by the tides. There are few trees, and those mostly of stunted growth. Heavily timbered when the first settlers came, their unwisdom and thriftlessness made of the beautiful if rocky island almost a barren waste. Carolyn learned what the little black pools were, and why they were called "tugholes." She knew what peat was. Papa Cameron had told her all about the age-long growth of coal, and peat was coal which had not been put under sufficient pressure to make it hard. "Them old fellers," said Uncle Smith Dodge, who was old enough himself in all good conscience, Carolyn thought, "called it 'tug,' 'cause they had ter tug it out'n them hollers an' up to the houses on stone drags. Oh, I can 'member when some of 'em still cut an' stacked tug, an' ev'rybody had a tughouse instead of a coalshed." However, they soaked the wheels of the old carryall so the spokes would not rattle, washed the top and cushions, and otherwise made the vehicle presentable. On Saturday afternoon they harnessed Beppo between the shafts, and Mrs. Cameron and Carolyn drove over to meet Papa Cameron and Carolyn's little friend. All the farms they passed were cut up into small fields with stone fences between--everywhere stone walls and heaps of stones which were turned up by the plough each spring. "Where _do_ all the stones come from?" wondered Carolyn May. Some of the walls were broad and so well built that one might have driven an ox-team on them; others were only windrows of stone seemingly thrown together to get them out of the open, more than for any other purpose. There were some post-and-wire barriers supplementing the stone walls, especially around the sheep pastures; for sheep will breach if they can; and where one sheep goes the whole silly flock will follow--even if it is over a cliff into the sea.