certainly not always to blame for its stubbornness. I can remem-
ber several times seeing it rowed home from a fishing trip because
the motor refused to start, not on account of any mechanical
defect but because the gasoline tank was empty - and all this in spite
of the fact that there was a spare can of gasoline aboard!
One morning during our first summer at The Dump my
mother asked me to out oil in the automobile, and as I had never done
such a thing before, i assumed that filling it meant giving it all it
would take without overflowing. the motor started all right but within a
very few seconds smoke began pouring out from every crack and cranny
until the whole vehicle was wreathed in a great blue cloud. After a few
minutes the cloud dissipated and the motor became functional again, but
an excessive amount of carbon was left inside the cylinders and spark
plugs which required a professional cleaning job.
Another memory of our first years at Orleans was our cook, Delia,
who was a real character. She was short and stocky with a will of her
own, and you could tell instinctively from her harsh voice and perpetual
scowl that she stood for no funny business. She began each sunny day by
going out to the back yard, facing the sun and sneezing explosively in
order to clear her head. One day when several of us were in the
kitchen, I got up the courage to ask her what she would do if a burglar
come into her room at night.
"I'll fix any buggler that comes my way," she growled.
"What would you do?" I asked.
"I'll show you what I'd do," she replied, and going into her bedroom
which adjoined the kitchen, she reached under her pillow and pulled out
a piece of iron pipe about eighteen inches