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"Four pages, an' six columns to a page?" asked Cotting scornfully. "Sounds to me more like a newspaper, folks!" There was a moment's silence, during which they all stared at the speaker fearfully. Then said Skim Clark, in his drawling, halting way: "Ef thet's the case, an' there's goin' ter be a newspaper here in Millville, we may as well give up the struggle, fer the town'll be ruined!"
He considered, holding open the door while he thoughtfully regarded the silent but interested group of villagers that eagerly hung upon every word that passed. "Cotting," called Mr. Merrick, "how do they run the paper mill at Royal?" "'Lectricity! 'Lectricity, sir!" answered half a dozen at once.
He would, of course, call on the nabob, presently, and render an account of the money he had received. Sam Cotting, the store-keeper, gazed after the livery team with a sour countenance, he resented the fact that five big-boxes of groceries had been forwarded from the city to the Wegg farm.
Here she paused and sighed. "Your situation," replied Dora, "is indeed one of earnest duty and responsibility; but the abundant grace provided for our utmost need is found, I trust, sufficient for you." Mrs. Cotting bowed, and Dora continued: "We will not take your time, madam, which must be fully occupied. We called to inquire respecting a family called Graffam, living upon the plain."
"I think," said the former, "that we had better ride around by 'Snow-Hill, and inquire at Mr. Cotting's respecting this family." Mr. Cotting was the minister, and his wife was considered a very active woman, and such in truth she was. Sewing circles, Sunday-school exhibitions, donation parties, &c., had been quite unknown to that community until Mrs. Cotting came.
Motley! her husband allows Graffam to take up the most of his wages in rum, I suppose. It was evident that this Mrs. Graffam was no subject for charity she was too ungrateful and too insolent; so we came away, bringing the things with us. The child died, and they would not have Mr. Cotting to attend the funeral. Graffam went for old Mr.
"Wall, I'll be plunked," finally exclaimed the blacksmith. "Looks like the feller's rich, don't it?" "Ef he's rich, what the tarnation blazes is he comin' here for?" demanded Nib Corkins, the dandy of the town. "I was over t' Huntingdon las' year, 'n' seen how the rich folks live. Boys, this h'ain't no place for a man with money." "That depends," responded Cotting, gravely.
Dis time I 'llowed I'd jes take de odder way; an' so I tuk up all de orders on de sto' dat de boss man would let me hev, kase I 'llowed ter git what I could ez I went 'long, yer know. So, atter de cotting wuz all picked, an' de 'counts all settled up, dar warn't only jest one little bag ob lint a comin' ter Berry.
"Peggy," said Joe, "when I went away, three years ago, I gave you a letter for Miss Ethel. What did you do with it?" Peggy's bulging eyes stared at his blue foot, which he turned first one side and then the other to examine the red stripes. "It's this way, Joe," he replied; "there wa'n't no postige stamp on the letter, an' Sam Cotting said it couldn't be posted no way 'thout a stamp."
Then follows "two combs" he was going to keep slicked up also earthenware, indigo, "cotting," and more scanes of silk, mainly for Sarah, no doubt, and so on to the end, when the account is closed and underneath is written: This day made all even betwixt Ezekial Jackson and myself. Captain Ben's accounts close in 1829, but the shoemaking records had long since begun.
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