"Carry them to the house there." "What house?" "Mrs. Wyllys's, to be sure," replied Uncle Dozie, boldly. "What is the use of carrying vegetables to Mrs. Wyllys? She has a garden of her own" said his brother, very innocently. "Miserable garden--poor, thin soil," muttered Uncle Dozie. "Is it? Well, then, I can understand it; but you might us well send them by the gardener." Uncle Dozie made no reply, but proceeded to arrange his vegetables in the basket, with an eye to appearances; he had gathered them all up again, but another object which had fallen on the grass lay unnoticed. "What is that--a book?" asked his brother. Uncle Dozie turned round, saw the volume, picked it up, and thrust it in his pocket. "Did you drop it? I didn't know you ever carried a book about you," replied his brother, with some surprise. "What is it?" "A book of poetry." "Whose poetry?" "I am sure I've forgotten," replied Uncle Dozie, taking a look askance at the title, as it half-projected from his pocket. "It's Coleridge's Ancient Mariner," he added. {"Coleridge's..." = "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" (1798) by the English poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834). A number of chapter epigraphs in "Elinor Wyllys" are taken from this famous poem} "What in the world are you going to do with it?" said his brother, with increasing surprise. "I wanted a volume of poetry." "You--Jem Hubbard! Why, I thought Yankee-Doodle was the only poetry you cared for!" "I don't care for it, but she does." "She!--What SHE?" asked Uncle Josie, with lively curiosity, but very little tact, it would seem. "Mrs. Wyllys," was the laconic reply. "Oh, Mrs. Wyllys; I told her some time ago that she was very welcome to any of our books." "It isn't one of your books; it's mine; I bought it." "It wasn't worth while to buy it, Jem," said his brother; "I dare say Emmeline has got it in the house. If Mrs. Wyllys asked to borrow it, you ought to have taken Emmeline's, though she isn't at home; she just keeps her books to show off on the centre-table, you know. Our neighbour, Mrs. Wyllys, seems quite a reader." "She doesn't want this to read herself," observed Uncle Dozie. "No?--What does she want it for?" "She wants me to read it aloud." Uncle Josie opened his eyes in mute astonishment. Uncle Dozie continued, as if to excuse himself for this unusual offence: "She asked for a favourite volume of mine; but I hadn't any favourite; so I bought this. It looks pretty, and the bookseller said it was called a good article." "Why, Jem, are you crazy, man!--YOU going to read poetry aloud!" "Why not?" said Uncle Dozie, growing bolder as the conversation continued, and he finished arranging his basket. "I believe you are out of your head, Jem; I don't understand you this morning. What is the meaning of this?--what are you about?" "Going to be married," replied Uncle Dozie, not waiting for any further questions, but setting off at a brisk step towards Mrs. Wyllys's door.