United States or Norway ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
While, folded in each other's arms, we waited in almost breathless anxiety for the coming of our tyrants, let me give the reader a few necessary particulars in regard to our antecedents and surroundings. Torrentville, where the story opens, is situated in the south-western part of Wisconsin, though, for obvious reasons, it will not be found on the map.
"Where will you go?" "To New Orleans." I will not pause to detail the arguments by which I convinced her that it was best for us to leave Torrentville at once. In the morning the constable would be sent for; and, while those who were left as my protectors were really my enemies, I could not hope to escape their malignity. This was the reasoning of a boy.
"I wish to explain it fully," interposed the senator, very much to my surprise. "Since this event, I have been elected president of a total abstinence society. I took the pledge two months ago, on my return home from Torrentville." "What has this to do with the case?" demanded the justice, impatiently. "I will explain," resumed the senator.
After the blows of Captain Fishley, I felt that Torrentville was no place for me and for my poor sister. The six months which were to intervene before the coming of Clarence, and the end of my misery, looked like so many years to me. If it had not been for Flora, I would not have remained another hour in the house of my tyrants. I would have fled that moment.
It appeared that I was generally known in Torrentville as the mail robber, who had run away to escape the consequences of his crime. The reflection galled me; but the day of redemption was at hand. I did not quite like it that the postmaster had sent word of my presence in Riverport to my tyrants; for I did not wish to be taken up before the arrival of my most important witness.
If I did wrong, she wept and prayed for me; and I am sure she saved me from many an evil deed by the sweet influence of her pure and holy life. If I had drank in more of her gentle spirit, the scene between Ham and myself could not have transpired. I reached the post-office in Riverport, and took the mail-bag for Torrentville into the wagon, leaving the one I had brought down.
But he was dissatisfied with Torrentville; there was not room enough for a young man of his ability to expand himself. He had no taste for farming, and for two years had been a clerk in Captain Fishley's store. He wanted to go to New Orleans, where he believed he could make his fortune. About a year after the death of his father, he decided to try his luck in the metropolis of the south-west.
I did not care to be recognized by any one from Torrentville; but as this boy did not know me, I ventured to go up and pat my friend the black horse on the neck. The old fellow seemed to know me, and whether he enjoyed the interview or not, I am sure I did. While I was caressing the horse, the new boy came out of the office with the mail-bag in his hand.
If we had not been wet in the beginning, we should have been soaked to the skin long before we reached Torrentville. The squire suffered so much from cold that I advised him to get out, take hold of the back of the wagon, and walk or run a mile or so to warm up his blood. He took my advice, and improved his condition very much. But the cold was by no means the greatest of his troubles.
He was going to a party at Crofton's, and had already dressed himself as sprucely as the resources of Torrentville would permit. He was seventeen years old, and somewhat inclined to be "fast." He was rather a good-looking fellow an exceedingly good-looking fellow in his own estimation.
Word Of The Day