"
"Who are the fishermen?" I inquired.
"They board up to Emily's," said Grandma. "They come from Providence and
around, and they stay here, off and on, a week or two to a time, along
through the winter, some of 'em. They fish pickerel on the river, and
sometimes they're blue-fishin' out in the bay, and quite generally
they're just kitin' round as young men will, I suppose. Sometimes they
have vittles sent to 'em and Emily she cooks for 'em.'"
"Why, they're off on a spree, that's all," said Grandpa Keeler,
comprehensively, giving me another significant glance; "they're off on a
spree, and ye see they think this 'ere is jest a right fur enough out the
way place for 'em. This 'ere red-haired one that was in here this
evenin', Rollin his name is, he's a dreadful rich one, I suppose,
dreadful rich! I've heered all about him. He's an old bachelder, I
reckon, that is, he keeps mighty spruce, but I reckon he's hard on to
thirty. Emily's got a cousin that works for some o' them big folks down
to Providence, and she's heered all about him, this red-haired one, and
how he keeps a big house down thar', and sarvants enough, massy! and half
the time he's hither and yon, and a throwin' out money like water.
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