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He was makin' such a noise that they had to close the doors of the theatre so's not to disturb the play-actors." "You understand," said Mr. Bixby to Wetherell. Whereupon he gave another shake to Mr. Hartington, who had relapsed into a sort of funereal meditation. "Well," resumed that personage, "there was some more come, hollerin' about the Truro Bill. Not many.
Flint's original character may have been in his long-forgotten youth on the wind-swept hill farm in Truro, his methods of attack lacked directness now; perhaps a long business and political experience were responsible for this trait. "Your mother didn't come down to dinner, I suppose." "No," said Victoria. Simpson tells me the young bull got loose and cut himself badly.
In the course of my many visits to Dyer's Hollow I saw thirty-three kinds of birds, of the eighty-four species in my full Truro list. The number of individuals was small, however, and, except at its lower end, the valley was, or appeared to be, nearly destitute of feathered life.
Worthington didn't understand, and he drew his chair away from Mr. Bixby's. "I don't know anything about it, sir," answered the president of the Truro Railroad, indignantly; "this is neither the manner nor the place to present a bill. I don't want to see it." Mr. Bixby moved his chair up again. "Callate you will want to see this bill, Mr. Worthington," he insisted, not at all abashed.
Guess the fight hain't as hot as we hear about. Jethro hain't had to call out his best men." "I'm a-goin' down if there's trouble," declared Jake, who consistently ignored banter. "Better git up and git," said Lem; "there's three out of the five railroads against Truro, and Steve Merrill layin' low. Bije Bixby's down there, and Heth Sutton, and Abner Parkinson, and all the big bugs.
"When they miss me you can tell them just where I've gone and that I'll be home Saturday night, anyway, or let them hear from me if I don't come." "I do believe you'll find her, Amos," declared Amanda. "Sure!" answered the boy. Amos was so frequently in his boat that no one gave any especial attention when they saw him push off from shore and row steadily in the direction of Truro.
Then they set out for the station, bought their tickets and hurried past the sprinkling of people there. The little train for Truro was standing under the sheds, the hissing steam from the locomotive rising perpendicular in the still air of the morning, and soon they were settled in one of the straight-backed seats.
In seaside towns it could be a mark for for sailors at sea; such was the Truro meeting-house. Then, too, our Puritan ancestors dearly loved a "sightly location," and were willing to climb uphill cheerfully, even through bleak New England winters, for the sake of having a meeting-house which showed off well, and was a proper source of envy to the neighboring villages and the country around.
Then they discovered a man from a Truro boat who, six years before, had been convicted of using a tackle with five or six hooks a "scrowger," they call it in the Shoals. Naturally, he had been christened "Scrowger Jim"; and though he had hidden himself on the Georges ever since, he found his honours waiting for him full blown. They took it up in a sort of firecracker chorus: "Jim! O Jim! Jim!
De Morgan, Professor, writes: "I am perfectly convinced that I have both seen and heard, in a manner that should make unbelief impossible, things called spiritual which cannot be taken by a rational being to be capable of explanation by imposture, coincidence, or mistake." Foote, Samuel, in the year 1740, while visiting at his father's house in Truro, was kept awake by sounds of sweet music.
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