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Updated: May 16, 2025
"He he's sitting downstairs in my room with a paper cap on his head and a fire-shovel in his hand, and he he says he's the the Emperor of China." "He? Who?" inquired her husband. "Mr. Sad-Sadler," replied Mrs. Hatchard, almost strangling him. "He made me kneel in front o' him and keep touching the floor with my head." The chair-bedstead shook in sympathy with Mr. Hatchard's husbandly emotion.
"I know a chap wot's met 'im and talked to 'im. She can't marry you while he's alive, can she?" "Certainly not," ses George Hatchard, trembling all over; "but are you sure you 'aven't made a mistake?" "Certain sure," ses Alf. "It's too good to be true," ses George Hatchard. "O' course it is," ses Alf, "but she won't know that.
He had intervened in her behalf with his cousin, and had convinced Miss Hatchard of her merits as a librarian; but that was a simple act of justice, since it was by his own fault that those merits had been questioned.
"And I expect she'd be very much obliged to anybody that told her so," said Mr. Hatchard, clutching at the other's sleeve. Mr. Pett, gazing into space, said that he thought it highly probable. "It wants to be done cleverly, though," said Mr. Hatchard, "else she might get the idea that I wanted to go back." "I s'pose you know she's moved?" said Mr.
Pearce out of the house, and he woke up next morning with it still on 'is mind. Every time he got 'is uncle alone he spoke to 'im about it, and told 'im to pack Mrs. Pearce off with a month's wages, but George Hatchard wouldn't listen to 'im. "She'd 'ave me up for breach of promise and ruin me," he ses.
"Leastways, I don't." "Do you mean to say you bought 'em?" demanded her husband. Mrs. Hatchard nodded. "After all I said to you about wasting my money?" persisted Mr. Hatchard, in amazed accents. Mrs. Hatchard nodded, more brightly than before. "There has got to be an end to this!" said her husband, desperately. "I won't have it! D'ye hear? I won't have it!"
"It's bigamy," ses Joe Morgan. "You'd get six months," ses his wife. "Don't you worry, dear," ses Mrs. Pearce, nodding at George Hatchard; "that man's made a mistake." "Mistake!" ses Bill Flurry. "Why, I tell you I talked to 'im. It was Charlie Pearce right enough; scar on 'is forehead and a wart on 'is left ear and all." "It's wonderful," ses Mrs. Pearce.
The clump of weeping-willows about the duck pond, and the Norway spruces in front of the Hatchard gate, cast almost the only roadside shadow between lawyer Royall's house and the point where, at the other end of the village, the road rises above the church and skirts the black hemlock wall enclosing the cemetery.
She paused on this threat, and saw that it had taken effect. "I want you should get Miss Hatchard and the selectmen to take me at the library: and I want a woman here in the house with me," she repeated. Mr. Royall had grown exceedingly pale. When she ended he stood up ponderously, leaning against the desk; and for a second or two they looked at each other.
He waved to her and sped by, his black shadow dancing merrily ahead of him down the empty moonlit road; and she leaned there watching him till he vanished under the Hatchard spruces. THE Town Hall was crowded and exceedingly hot.
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