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Updated: June 4, 2025
"What time?" "It vas Sunday morning I seen heem, talkin' mit her." "With whom was he talking?" "Oh, he talk mit Ballards' girl Mees Betty. Down by der spring house I seen heem go, und he kiss her plenty I seen heem." "You are sure it was the prisoner you saw? You are sure it was not Peter Craigmile, Jr.?" "Sure it vas heem I saw. Craikmile's son, he vas lame, und valk by der crutch all time.
At what time of the day was it?" "It vas by der night I seen heem." "On Monday night?" "Yas." "Late Monday night?" "No, not so late, bot it vas dark already." "Tell the court exactly where you saw him, when you saw him, and with whom you saw him, and what you heard said." "It vas by Ballards' I seen heem.
His destiny was now in the lap of the gods. Everything had been carefully arranged. The Ballards, elder and younger, were to take him to the new house in town where Christopher would look after him. At first Jerry would not listen to the arrangement. I had for so long been his guide and philosopher I must continue his friend. He wanted me with him in New York. But to this I demurred.
Two whip-poor-wills were uttering their insistent note, hidden somewhere among the thick foliage of the maple and basswood trees that towered above the spring down behind the house where the Ballards lived. The sky in the west still glowed with amber light, and the crescent moon floated like a golden boat above the horizon's edge.
He was thinking he would go out to the Ballards' in spite of the rain. The dinner hour passed without constraint. In these days Peter Junior would not allow the long silences to occur that used often to cast a gloom over the meals in his boyhood. He knew that in this way his mother would sadly miss him.
It was winter. The snow was blowing past the windows in blinding drifts, and the road in front of the Ballards' home was fast filling to the tops of the fences.
He came in upon them, saying he had left his father asleep, exhausted after the day's emotion, and that he had come home to the Ballards to get a little supper. Then it was all to be done over again, and Peter was jumbled up among outstretched arms, and shaken and pounded and hugged, and happy he was to be taken once more thus vociferously into the home that had always meant so much to him.
These weeks were few and short, and soon Richard was back in the army. Peter Junior, envying him, still lay convalescing and only able with much difficulty to crawl to the carriage for his daily drive. His mother always accompanied him on these drives, and the very first of them was to the home of the Ballards.
As for worldly possessions, the Ballards had started out with nothing at all but their own two hands, and, as assets, well-equipped brains, their love for each other, a fair amount of thrift, and a large share of what Mary Ballard's old Grannie Sherman used to designate as "gumption."
"They have such a load I wish Clara could ride with us," said Betty. "Peter Junior, won't you get out and fetch her?" So they all stopped and there were greetings and introductions and much laughing and joking, and Peter Junior obediently helped Clara Dean down and into the Ballards' wagon. "Clara, Mr. Thurbyfil can whistle as loud as a train, through his fingers, he can. Do it, Mr.
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