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She's as handsome as a pictur', but 't ain't an ordinary look she has neither; she seems a contented little thing; but what makes her eyes always look so kind o' wishful?" "Wa'n't her mother always a-longin' and a-lookin' to sea, and watchin' the ships, afore she was born?" said Miss Roxy; "and didn't her heart break afore she was born? Babies like that is marked always.
And that was just the way mother took everything. At first we couldn't sell the farm. It was down at the foot of Torringford Hill, two good miles from meetin', and a mile from the school-house; most of it was woodsy, and there wa'n't no great market for wood about there.
There wa'n't any painter by trade in the village, and I mixed it myself. Well, sir, that tavern's got that coat of paint on it yet, and it hain't ever had any other, and I don't know's it ever will.
I can hear you without that, and we don't want anybody else to hear. What am I goin' to do? Stevie, I don't know exactly. I ain't made up my mind yet." "Well, it's time you did!" "Yes, I guess likely 'tis. As for my not comin' to see you, you know the reason for that. I'd have come quick enough, but I wa'n't sure I'd be welcome.
"Do you s'pose she tumbled, or did she put her foot through it a-purpose?" But Heman is sure to conclude the discussion with a glowing tribute to Brad Freeman, his genius and his kindliness. "I never shall forgit that o' Brad," he announces. "There wa'n't another man in the State o' New Hampshire could ha' mended it as he did. Why, you never'd know there was a brack in it!"
"The Dead Hole 'ain't got any bottom." Jake laughed. "That's a darned lie," said he. "I helped drag it myself once, forty year ago; a girl by the name of 'Lizy Ann Gooch used to live 'bout a mile below here on the river road, was missin'. She wa'n't there; found her bones an' her straw bonnet in the swamp two years afterwards, but, Lord, we dragged the Dead hole scraped bottom every time."
"What do you know 'bout Injuns?" demanded the other. "What do I know 'bout 'em!" snorted Single. "My third wife was a half-breed." "Gosh, Single!" another puncher broke in. "I knew you'd had plenty o' wives, but I never knew you'd had no half wives." "Th' wa'n't nothin' halfway 'bout her," Single replied bitterly, "'cept th' breed."
Well, as you know, Pyramid Gordon wasn't the man to eat his own words." "No," says I, "that wa'n't his fav'rite diet. So he made Gerald the goat, eh?" "Precisely!" says Steele. "Called him in before the indignant delegation, headed by old Reamur himself, and demanded of poor Webb what he meant by sending out such a letter.
"I come past his place this mornin'," whispered Old Man Jordan to his neighbor on the settee, "and he was out shovelin' snow off'm the front walk, and when I asked him if he wa'n't comin' to town meetin', he said that a run of the seven years' itch and the scurvy was pretty bad, but he reckoned that politics was wuss. I should hate to be the one that has to break this news to him."
He commenced to laugh, and I thought he'd never stop. "What's the joke?" I asks, after a year or so of this foolishness. "Let me in, won't you? Thought you wa'n't funny to-night." He stopped long enough to ask one more question. "Tell me, for the Lord's sake!" says he. "Did she know who he was?" "Sartin," says I. "So did every other woman round the place. You'd think so if "
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