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Updated: June 10, 2025
They won't enjoy tramping over to Cottonton for kerosene and molasses." The store was lighted by kerosene lamps resting on brackets. It was Mr. Strout's custom to take them down, blow them out, and replace them on the brackets. One was always left burning, as Mr. Strout said "so burglars could see their way round." Mr.
She now felt that man was but Abel Strout's tool. "Oh! As to that, I have nothing to say," said the curly-haired lawyer, smiling in a way Janice did not like at all. "I merely represent my client. The property has been claimed by several people, I believe, and may have been sold a dozen times. That will not invalidate my client's claim."
"We'll fix you up very soon. I'll get you an artificial leg from New York. You'll be able to walk all right but you mustn't do any heavy lifting." "Guess I shan't have no chance to lift anything now Strout's got the store." "Don't worry about that, Hiram. There are towns that have two stores in them. How's Mandy?" "Gettin' along all right. Mr.
Tom, I'm glad to see you back safe and sound but that picter Tom, when I die, you just put that picter in the coffin with me, won't you? I want your grandfather to see that the old place was looked after when he was gone." Tom promised. A dark featured, dark haired man entered Mr. Strout's store. The proprietor knew he was a stranger perhaps just moved into town, and a prospective customer.
Mr. Strout's ire was kindled when Hiram described the presents his children had received from Quincy. "Thank the Lord I've got money enough to buy my children's presents myself without dependin' on second-hand things that other folks don't want." "So've I," said Hiram, "but what I save that way I puts in the bank, for I'm bound to own the old Pettingill Place some day."
Leave your trunk at station. Something important. As they were leaving the office Quincy met Tobias Smith, father of Abbott and Ellis Smith, and Wallace Stackpole. "Glad to see you, Guv'nor," said 'Bias. "You remember Mr. Stackpole that we gave Strout's job of tax-collector to he's held it ever since. We're mighty glad Strout lives in Fernborough.
Hardman has in his showcase in the face, I mean." "In the face of the showcase?" giggled Amy. "Or the face of the cheese?" asked Janice demurely. "Now, say, you girls go too far," complained Gummy, yet good-naturedly. "I mean Strout's face. It looks like the cheese, for he's all speckled. And the cheese is called Rockyford and tastes funnier than it looks."
If the turpentine don't work, I'll try French chalk, magneshy, and warm suds. If they fail, father shall run over to Strout's and borry some of the stuff Marthy got in Milltown to take the currant pie out of her weddin' dress." "I ain't got to understandin' this paintin' accident yet," said uncle Jerry jocosely, as he handed Rebecca the honey.
At the end of the second month Mr. Strout resigned his position as organist and the gentleman who led the orchestra that played during the evening at the hotel was chosen in his stead. At the end of the third month a red flag was seen hanging at the door of Mr. Strout's store and Mr.
Bow your head in prayer; sing all the hymns, but not too loud and bold; ask after Mis' Strout's boy; tell everybody what awful colds we've got; if you see a good chance, take your pocket handkerchief and wipe the dust off the melodeon before the meetin' begins, and get twenty-five cents out of the sittin' room match-box in case there should be a collection." Rebecca willingly assented.
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