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Updated: May 25, 2025
Of timberlands, whose cut logs must go down Coldriver Valley to reach a market, Scattergood's maps showed him there were probably a quarter of a million acres mostly spruce. Estimating with rigid conservatism, this would run eight thousand feet to the acre, or twenty billion feet of timber and this did not take into consideration hardwood. In Scattergood's secret heart he wanted it all.
His arm was substituted for Scattergood's, his breast for Scattergood's and Sarah made no complaint. "I wouldn't.... I wouldn't.... You thought I did," she murmured. "I thought that," said Bob, brokenly. "How can you ever forgive me?... I But I love you, Sarah. Won't that make up for it?" "You believed it," she repeated, and Scattergood grinned.
When I was a gal we wouldn't have been allowed to have so much freedom where the young fellers was consarned." Janice was quite used to Mrs. Scattergood's sharp tongue; but it was hard to bear her strictures on this occasion. "I hope it is not wrong for me to show my friend that I trust and believe in him," she said firmly, and nodding good-bye, turned abruptly away.
"Don't look to me to be the same color all the way through. Looks like silver or suthin' inside." Mr. Bowman snatched the shaving, scrutinized it, and uttered language in a loud voice. He snatched Scattergood's knife and tested all three ingots. "Lead!" he said, savagely. "Nothing but lead! We've been swindled!" "You mean it hain't gold a-tall?" "It's lead, I tell you."
That they were accurate he knew, because he had set down on them most of the facts they showed. They were valuable, for, in Scattergood's rude printing, one could read upon them the owner of every piece of timber, every farm, the acreage in each piece of timber, with a careful estimate of the amount of timber to the acre also its proportions of spruce, beech, birch, maple, ash.
It had been years since any local sensation approached this high moment.... At half past six Pliny Pickett, Scattergood's right-hand man and general errand boy, was seen to approach Homer on the street and to whisper to him. Pliny always enshrouded his most matter-of-fact errands with voluminous mystery. "Scattergood wants you sh'u'd see him right off," he said, and tiptoed away.
Pliny Pickett, stage driver, was a frequent caller at Scattergood's store, first as an employee, but more importantly as a dependable representative who could carry out an order without asking questions, especially when no definite order had been given. "Pliny," said Scattergood, "know Marvin Towne, don't you? Brought up with him, wasn't you?" "Know him like the palm of my hand."
What are you interfering for?" "Kind of a habit with me," said Scattergood, "and my wife hain't ever been able to cure me, even puttin' things in my coffee on the sly.... G'-by, Homer. And don't go lickin' nobody. G'-by." The habit of obedience to Scattergood's customary dismissal was strong in Coldriver.
He went over the cash carefully, and totaled the sums he set down on a bit of paper.... He found the amount to be inadequate by exactly three thousand dollars. "Huh!" said Scattergood to himself. "Ovid hain't no hawg." One might have thought the young man had dropped in Scattergood's estimation.
Scattergood's attitude on the matter was widely different, depending on whether he talked with Baptist or Congregationalist. One might almost say that both sides were coming to him for advice on how to conduct its campaign to carry the town meeting and one would have been right. The matter had developed into the hottest political issue Coldriver had ever seen.
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