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Sometimes I wake up nights dreamin' we're all back at the old place an' pore again. That ends my sleepin'. You see, Allie's a lady now, an' she's used to silk stockin's, an' Buddy's been out in the world spendin' money on women, an' Ma's gettin' old. I could go back to corn bread, but it would kill them. Worst of it is, the black lime ain't holdin' up, an' our wells will give out some day."

Among the ploughs we see a small old-fashioned one made of wood, used by Daniel Webster when he wuz a poor farmer boy. Workin' hard at his humble work but his boyish mind, most probable, sot on sunthin' fur above, lookin' at the hard soil ahead on him that he must break up, with them wonderful, sad, eloquent eyes of hisen, and seein' visions, no doubt, and dreamin' dreams.

"You must send me some of the cake, Mr. Bickford." "Just wait, Joe. The thing ain't got to that yet. I tell you, Joe, I shall be somebody when I get home to Pumpkin Hollow with that pile of money. The boys'll begin to look up to me then. I can't hardly believe it's all true. Maybe I'm dreamin' it. Jest pinch my arm, will you?" Joe complied with his request. "That'll do, Joe.

"I mean does the world always be sure when the person comes, it 's the one it dreamed of? Mebbe I'd be dreamin' of some one who was beautiful, and mebbe the real one would n't look like what I thought, and I 'd let her go by." "Ah, little Lawrence, the world has failed so too. It has let its beloved ones go by; and then, when it was too late, it has called after them in pleading to return.

"You've stood a-lookin' up into the sky for a good ten minutes!" said he. "And what if I have?" "Nothin," said the Pedler, "nothin' at all though if the moon 'ad been up, a cove might ha' thought as you was dreamin' of some Eve or other; love-sick folk always stares at the moon leastways, so they tell me.

You be only a dreamin' about 'em. That's why I've shook you up." "I'm glad you have waked me. Oh! it was a frightful dream! I thought they had done it, Ben." "Done what, Will'm?" "What they were going to do." "Dash it, no, lad! they an't ate you yet; nor won't, till they've first put an end o' me, that I promise ye."

It was gey slow wark for Sandy though, an' I think he had gotten tired, for the laddies roond aboot me began to say, "There was thirteen ba's i' that lest over; I think Sandy Bowden's dreamin'," an' so on. I think mysel' Sandy had been doverin', for the ba' hut Batchy's wicket, an' every ane o' the loons playin' gae a yowl at the same meenit "How's that?"

But nobody knows jest where he is now. Stone's gone, an' th' ground's all level that end. He wus on'y a Frenchman. But th' admiral, now you're talkin'! He pays cash, an' don't make no bargain rates, when he wants a job done. Go wan, y' ol' nag; what y' dreamin' of?" "There might be history in that corner of the graveyard," said Breitmann. "Who knows?

I guessed everything I could think of, from cookies to beefsteak, and gave up. 'Gingerbread, said he, soberly, at length. 'Thought ye said bears couldn't talk, I objected. 'Wall, the boy 'd fell asleep an' he'd only dreamed o' the bear, said Uncle Eb. 'Ye see, bears can talk when boys are dreamin' uv 'em. Come daylight, the boy got up 'n ketched a crow. Broke his wing with the cross-gun.

"I kinder guess yer 've ben asleep an' dreamin', ha'n't yer?" So I had. Never a moose came down to cool his clumsy snout in the water and swallow reflections of stars. Never a moose abandoned dry-browse in the bitter woods for succulent lily-pads, full in their cells and veins of water and sunlight. Till long past midnight we paddled and watched and listened, whisperless. In vain.