"Those Pickberrys are intermarried so that they don't know the degrees of cousin any more. Why, this Susie's father and mother was closly related. I remember, for I married them." "I suppose," put in Aunt 'Mira, "Mr. Middler must make quite a bit out o' his merriage fees. He's been havin' a string of 'em lately." The elder fairly snorted and his beard seemed to bristle. "That's the way with all you folks," he said, plain disgust in his tone. "Because a minister don't work with his hands you say he must make his livin' easy. And you calculate him makin' from five to twenty dollars ev'ry time a bridal couple raps on his door. Huh! I've had the groom borrow money of me before he got out o' the house." Marty giggled. "That girl certain sure got a hot one, then. If he'd got the girl without money, I should think he'd calculated to keep her without money." Elder Concannon was laughing reflectively. "Do you remember old Deacon Blodgett, Jason?" "Huh?" grunted Mr. Day. "Not very well. But I remember his darter--she't taught the school here. I went to school to her myself for a while. And a right _se_-vere old maid she was." "Yes. Beulah Blodgett was severe," agreed the elder, his eyes still twinkling. "She used to wallop the boys somethin' awful," added Uncle Jason, rubbing his horny palm on his trouser leg and then looking at it as though the sting of Miss Blodgett's ruler had not even at this late day entirely departed from his memory. "I remember," agreed the elder. "Not many ever got the start of Beulah Blodgett." "Only Cale Hotchkiss." Uncle Jason halted in his speech and a positive grimace of pain seized upon his features for the moment. "Oh, well! Caleb wasn't like his son turned out to be, ye know," he muttered. "True enough," said the elder, with sympathy in his tone. "Speakin' of Cale and Miss Blodgett," Mr. Day hurried to add, "you know Cale was a great feller for rhyming--makin' po'try, you know. Why, he had lots o' pieces printed in the 'Poet's Corner' of the Middletown _Courier_. Mostly about folks that had died, you know. "Howsomever, Cale got cotched once in school writin' po'try. Miss Blodgett come up behind him, looked over his shoulder, and had him out 'on the line' purty prompt. She told him school was no place for sech as that. She had a fierce eye an' a arm like a blacksmith," Uncle Jason continued. "She'd stand on the aidge of her platform and how she _would_ bring down her ruler on a feller's hand! Whew! "Well, this pertic'lar time she says to Cale Hotchkiss: 'You're sech a smartie at makin' up rhymes, make one now b'fore I hit ye. Hold out your hand!' And by ginger!" chuckled Uncle Jason, "he done it." "What did he say, Dad?" asked Marty, eager for the particulars of any mischief. "Cale sings out: "'Here I stand before Miss Blodgett; She's goin' to strike an' I'm goin' to dodge it!'"