Page:Collected poems Robinson, Edwin Arlington.djvu/193

 "Now, Archibald," said Isaac, when we stood Outside again, "I have it in my mind That I shall take a sort of little walk To stretch my legs and see what you are doing. You stay and rest your back and tell the boy A story: Tell him all about the time In Stafford's cabin forty years ago, When four of us were snowed up for ten days With only one dried haddock. Tell him all About it, and be wary of your back. Now I will go along." I looked up then At Archibald, and as I looked I saw Just how his nostrils widened once or twice And then grew narrow. I can hear to-day The way the old man chuckled to himself Not wholesomely, not wholly to convince Another of his mirth — as I can hear The lonely sigh that followed. But at length He said: "The orchard now's the place for us; We may find something like an apple there, And we shall have the shade, at any rate." So there we went and there we laid ourselves Where the sun could not reach us; and I champed A dozen of worm-blighted astrakhans While Archibald said nothing merely told The tale of Stafford's cabin, which was good, Though "master chilly" after his own phrase Even for a day like that. But other thoughts Were moving in his mind, imperative, And writhing to be spoken : I could see The glimmer of them in a glance or two, Cautious, or else unconscious, that he gave Over his shoulder:. . . "Stafford and the rest But that's an old song now, and Archibald And Isaac are old men. Remember, boy,