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I tell you when a man dies the wolves come out o' the woods, pack after pack, to see what they can tear off for themselves; and if that dead man's chuldern ain't on the job, night and day, everything he built'll get carried off. Carried off? I've seen a big fortune behave like an ash-barrel in a cyclone there wasn't even a dust-heap left to tell where it stood! I've seen it, time and again.
There are two inferences to be drawn from this, both extremely interesting. In the first place, that precious egg, for whose future the Bee labours so indefatigably, becomes a valueless, cumbersome, hateful thing when it belongs to another. Her own egg is everything; the egg of her next door neighbour is nothing. It is flung on the dust-heap like any bit of rubbish.
"Well," replied Rinkitink, leaning against an old barrel and looking quite solemn, "the thing is certainly unlucky, any way we look at it. I suppose someone has passed along here and, seeing the shoe upon the dust-heap, has carried it away. But no one could know the magic power the shoe contains and so will not use it against us.
When he had begun his "amour" with her he had meant it to go just as far as should satisfy his own whim and desire, but as he came to know her better, he put a check on himself and hesitated as one may hesitate before pulling up a rose-bush from its happy growing place and flinging it out on the dust-heap to die.
Men join them to-day from all motives, but the religious is the only one to which they may safely be trusted. He has rescued the jewel from the dust-heap of tradition, and holds it up, shining, before our eyes." Alison looked at her companion. "That," she said, "is a very beautiful phrase." Bedloe Hubbell smiled queerly. "I don't know why I'm telling you all this. I can't usually talk about it.
Anything more rural I cannot imagine. But he is anxious to learn, and a fairly wide field is in front of him. I caught him after our breakfast on Sunday calmly throwing everything left over onto the dust-heap. I pointed out to him the wickedness of wasting nourishing food, and impressed upon him that the proper place for victuals was inside us. He never answers.
However, at West Derby this unusual event has occurred, and five years ago the restoration was made. It appears that in the village there was an ancient pound or pinfold which had degenerated into an unsightly dust-heap, and the old stocks had passed into private hands. The inhabitants resolved to turn the untidy corner into a garden, and the lady gave back the stocks to the village.
Because a man does not find the law pure justice, that is no reason why he should fake his gold to a thieves' kitchen; because he does not think the city a sanitary place, why he should pitch his tent on a dust-heap amidst pariah dogs. Because we criticize the old limitations that does not bind us to the creed of unfettered liberty.
I wish, though, it were not so, and that one could be good, and respectable, and sensible without making one's self a guy. Then wild and wicked thoughts come into my heart. I don't want to be good and respectable. Why should we all try to look like ants crawling over a dust-heap? Why shouldn't we dress a little gayly? I am sure if we did we should be happier.
And from that human dust-heap came a quavering wail, "Maharáj! Maharáj!" "What is it, Bishun Singh?" he asked sharply of the sais, trotting at his stirrup. "Only the famine, Hazúr. Not a big trouble this year, they say. But from the villages these come crawling to the city, believing the Maharáj has plenty, and will give." "Does he give?"
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