Bones. the April Fool of Harvey's Sluice

Abe Durton's cabin was not beautiful. People have been heard to assert / that it was ugly, and, even after the fashion of Harvey's Sluice, / have gone the length of prefixing their adjective with a forcible / expletive which emphasized their criticism. Abe, however, was a stolid / and easy-going man, on whose mind the remarks of an unappreciative / public made but little impression. He had built the house himself, and / it suited his partner and him, and what more did they want? Indeed he / was rather touchy upon the subject. "Though I says it, as raised it," / he remarked, "it'll lay over any shanty in the valley. Holes? Well, / of course there are holes. You wouldn't get fresh air without holes. / There's nothing stuffy about _my_ house. Rain? Well, if it does let the / rain in, ain't it an advantage to know it's rainin' without gettin' up / to unbar the door. I wouldn't own a house that didn't leak some. As to / its bein' off the perpendic'lar, I like a house with a bit of a tilt. / Anyways it pleases my pard, Boss Morgan, and what's good enough for him / is good enough for you, I suppose. " At which approach to personalities / his antagonist usually sheered off, and left the honors of the field to / the indignant architect.

But whatever difference of opinion might exist as to the beauty of the / establishment, there could be no question as to its utility. To the / tired wayfarer, plodding along the Buckhurst road in the direction of / the Sluice, the warm glow upon the summit of the hill was a beacon of / hope and of comfort. Those very holes at which the neighbors sneered / helped to diffuse a cheery atmosphere of light around, which was doubly / acceptable on such a night as the present.