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Updated: May 26, 2025
If I meet two, I'll get my little chance to climb out of this hole. If I meet three, it's me for the open and the big chance to make good. And if I don't meet any at all why, I'll be nobody but Riverton Peter Champneys."
So you'll just have to forgive me." "I do," said the old lady, mollified. After all, Maria Champneys's boy couldn't be altogether trifling! "Is what I hear true, that you're going away from Riverton? Folks say you've got a job in the city." "Yes 'm, I'm going away." "I reckon it's just as well. You'll do better away from Riverton. You'll have to." "Yes 'm, I'll have to," agreed Peter.
"Certainly, sir," and Percival left the pavilion, returning in a few minutes with a copy of the Riverton paper in his hand. The doctor compared the verses in both and found them to be identical, saying with a puzzled look: "The one in the News is the same as this other, but it is not signed. The other is signed Sadie May. Do you use that as a nom de plume, Sheldon?"
And she said that when he had become a great man in the big world, one of these days, he wasn't to forget that she'd prophesied it, and had been allowed to play her little part in his career. Then she kissed Peter as nobody had ever kissed him except his mother. And so she left him. He was turning fifteen then, and getting too big for the penny jobs Riverton had in pickle for him.
Set down en eat yo' bittles. You ain't called on to hab no hard feelin's 'bout dis chicken. 'T ain't none o' ours, nohow." Peter resumed his chair and waived cross-examination. Mr. Champneys having come, so to speak, between dark and daylight, Riverton knew nothing about his visit, for Peter hadn't thought to inform them.
These and other rumours were afloat, but none of them came to an anchor. It was on a quiet summer's evening in July that Mary Stansfield was walking leisurely homeward along the highroad which passed through the Riverton estate and skirted the park. Miss Stansfield was the orphan child of an officer who had perished, with his wife and other children, in the Indian Mutiny.
Now I'm going to see her." "Oh!" said Peter, still more thunderstruck. "I'll wire you when you're to come," said his uncle, briskly, and got into dust-coat, cap, and goggles. A few minutes later, before the little town was well awake, he vanished in a cloud of dust down the Riverton Road.
On Sundays she cooked for Peter, old homely Riverton dishes, and waited on him while he ate. Peter had been reading the Bible to old darkies all his life, and he accepted it as a matter of course that he should take the long climb, and give up a part of his Sundays, to save Emma Campbell from being disappointed now.
Bridgepath had from time immemorial been under the special supervision of the proprietors of Riverton Park, the whole hamlet being a portion of the property. The parish to which it belonged was extensive, and the parish church some five miles distant, Bridgepath being just on the borders of the next parish, in which parish the Park itself was situated.
What he seemed chiefly to remember was the underlying kindness and good humor of the folk back there in Riverton; if they had ever failed to be kind, it was because they hadn't understood, he thought. There was no resentment in him. Why, they were his own folks! His mother's grave was one of their graves, his name one of their names, their traditions and heritages were part and parcel of himself.
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