Just now he was supposed to be raking the back yard, but the rake was between his knees, his head was tipped back against the shingled wall of the kitchen, and he was sleeping, with the sunshine illuminating his open mouth, “for all the world like a lamp in a potato cellar,” as his wife had said the last time she caught him in this position. She went on to say that it was a pity he wouldn't stand on his head when he slept. “Then I could see if your skull was as holler as I believe it is,” she told him. Lute heard me as I passed him and woke up. The “potato cellar” closed with a snap and he seized the rake handles with both hands. “I was takin' a sort of observation,” he explained hurriedly. “Figgerin' whether I'd better begin here or over by the barn. Oh, it's you, Roscoe, is it! Land sakes! I thought first 'twas Dorindy. Where you bound?” “Up to the village,” I said. “Ain't goin' to the post-office, be you?” “I may; I don't know.” Lute sighed. “I was kind of cal'latin' to go there myself,” he observed, regretfully. “Thoph Newcomb and Cap'n Jed Dean and the rest of us was havin' a talk on politics last night up there and 'twas mighty interestin'. Old Dean had Thoph pretty well out of the race when I hauled alongside, but when I got into the argument 'twas different. 'What's goin' to become of the laborin' men of this country if you have free trade?' I says. Dean had to give in that he didn't know. 'Might have to let their wives support 'em,' he says, pompous as ever. 'That would be a calamity, wouldn't it, Lute?' That wasn't no answer, of course. But you can't expect sense of a Democrat. I left him fumin' and come away. I've thought of a lot more questions to ask him since and I was hopin' I could get at him this mornin'. But no! Dorindy's sot on havin' this yard raked, so I s'pose I've got to do it.” He had dropped the rake, but now he leaned over, picked it up, and rose from the wash bench. “I s'pose I've got to do it,” he repeated, “unless,” hopefully, “you want me to run up to the village and do your errand for you.” “No; I hadn't any errand.” “Well, then I s'pose I'd better start in. Unless there was somethin' else you'd ruther I'd do to-day. If there was I could do this to-morrer.” “To-morrow would have one advantage: there would be more to rake then. However, judging by Dorinda's temper this morning, I think, perhaps, you had better do it to-day.” “What's Dorindy doin'?” “She is dusting the dining-room.” “I'll bet you! And she dusted it yesterday and the day afore. Do you know--” Lute sat down again on the bench--“sometimes I get real worried about her.” “No! Do you?” “Yes, I do. I think she works too hard. Seems's if sometimes it had kind of struck to her brains--work, I mean. She don't think of nothin' else. Now take the dustin', for instance. Dustin's all right; I believe in dustin' things. But I don't believe in wearin' 'em out dustin' 'em. That ain't sense, is it?” “It doesn't seem like it, that's a fact.”