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Updated: May 3, 2025
"Mis' Boynton had a spell, I guess!" suggested the storekeeper, peering through the door into the darkness. "'T ain't like Ivory to be out nights and leave her to Rod." "She don't have no spells," said Abel Day. "Uncle Bart sees consid'able of Ivory an' he says his mother is as quiet as a lamb. Couldn't you git no kind of a certif'cate of Aaron's death out o' that Enfield feller, Peter?
"The school-teaching bee?" laughed the girl. "Yep. He'd been for his certif'cate. He's been writin' to the Poketown committee." "But but he isn't much more than a boy himself, is he?" "They tell me he's been through college. Must be a smart youngster for, as you say, he's nothin' but a kid." "I didn't say that!" cried Janice, in some little panic, for she knew Dexter's proneness to gossip.
Jenks Hollis sat on the fence. He slowly turned the quid of tobacco in his cheek, and lifting up his voice spoke with an oracular drawl: "Ef he kin take the certif'cate it's the mos' ez he kin do. He ain't never a-goin' ter git no premi-um in this life, sure 's ye air a born sinner." And he relapsed into silence.
A qualm as of deadly sickness seized Dr Pendle, and he started from his chair with a pale face and a startled eye. 'What do you you you mean, man? he asked again. Mosk laughed scornfully, and lugging a packet of papers out of his pocket flung it on the table. 'That's what I mean, said he; 'certif'cate! letters! story! Yer wife ain't yer wife; Gabriel's only Gabriel an' not Pendle at all!
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