"Oh! it's only me, don't mind me, you know," said a sharp, little weasel-eyed man gliding through the opening; "yes, I see, preparing for the husking frolic. All right, just the thing, labor gives value to everything--of course corn is worth more with the husks off." At first uncle Nathan seemed a little startled by this abrupt entrance, and Mary came down the ladder with an anxious look, for this man was the village constable, and with a vague sense of debts that they did not comprehend, both the old man and girl received him with something like apprehension. But he clasped both hands under his coat behind, and looked so complacently first at the corn-stalks, then at uncle Nathan, that it quite assured the old man; though Mary, who had glided down the ladder, and stood close by his side, still bore an apprehensive look in her eyes. "Fine corn!" said the constable, breaking off an ear, and stripping the husk carelessly from the golden grain, "the rows are even as a girl's teeth, the grain plump and full as her heart I say, uncle Nathan, why didn't you invite me to the husking? I'm great on that sort of work." "Didn't Hannah invite you?" answered uncle Nat, blushing at this implied charge of inhospitality. "If she didn't, I'll do it now, of course we should be glad to have you come--why not?" "Of course--why not? If I can't dance like some of the young fellows at a regular strife, I'll husk more corn than the best on 'em. See if any of 'em has as big a heap as I do after the husking. Oh, yes, I'll come!" "What are you coming for?" inquired Mary, in her low, quiet way, fixing her clear eyes on his face. "To dance with you, of course and to drink the old man's cider--what else should I come for, little bob-o'-link?" "I don't know," answered Mary, with a faint sigh, which uncle Nat did not hear, for he was busy gathering himself up from his low seat on the bundle of stalks. "Won't you step in and take a drink of cider now?" said the kind old man to his visitor. "No, thank you; but this evening, you may depend on it, I'll be among you." As he said this, constable Boyd put on his hat, settled it a little on one side, and thrusting a hand into each pocket of his coat, walked with a great dignity toward the door. A yoke of oxen, fat, sleek, Old Homestead animals, lay in the grass a little distance from the barn. "Fine yoke of cattle," said the constable, sauntering toward them, "fat enough to kill a'most, ain't they?" "I fed them myself," answered uncle Nathan, patting a white star on the forehead of the nearest animal, as he lay upon his knees half buried in the rich aftergrowth. "Isn't he an old beauty?" "Kind in the yoke?" questioned the constable. "I should think so!" answered uncle Nat, with a mellow laugh. "Come go in and see how the women folks get along." "No, thank you, I'll just take a short cut across the garden; but you may depend on me to-night--good day."