"Waal, thar' you've got me," said he, beaming on me in a broadly
complimentary way, as though I had actually circumvented him in some
skilful play at words. "Fact is, thar' ain't never been no survey run
down in that direction that I know on. We call it four miles, more or
less. That's Cape Cod measure--means most anythin' lineal measure.
Talkin' 'bout Cape Cod miles," he continued, with an irresistible air of
raillery; "little Bachelder Lot lives up thar' to Wallencamp, and they
don't have no church nor nothin' thar', so Bachelder and some on 'em they
come up here, once in a while, ter Sunday-school. Deacon Lancy, he'd
rather see the Old Boy comin' into Sunday-school class any time than
Bachelder; for he's quiet, the little bachelder is, but dry as a herrin'.
So the Deacon thought he'd stick him on distances. The Deacon is a great
stickler on distances.
"'How fur, Bachelder,' says he, 'did Adam and Eve go when they was turned
out of the garden of Eden?' says he.
"'Waal,' says Bachelder, coughing a little, so--that's Bachelder's way
o' talking--'we have sufficient reason to eenfer, Deacon, that, in all
probabeelity, they went a _Ceape Cod mile_.
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