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Updated: August 10, 2024
Among those who sometimes came to listen to little Lib's allegories was Mary Ann Sherman, a tall, dark, gloomy woman of whom I had heard much. She was the daughter of old Deacon Sherman, a native of the village, who had, some years before I came to Greenhills, died by his own hand, after suffering many years from a sort of religious melancholia.
He'd been follerin' that cryin' so fur and so long that he'd got into a diff'ent section o' country, and he'd got a diff'ent view, oh! a terr'ble diff'ent view, and he never went back. Diff'ent Kind o' Bundles Everybody in Greenhills knew "Stoopin' Jacob," the little humpbacked boy who lived at the north end of the village.
The tinier creatures, such as butterflies, bees, ants, beetles, even caterpillars, downy or smooth, were his friends, or seemed so. He knew them, watched them, studied their habits, and was the little naturalist of Greenhills village, consulted by all, even by older and wiser people.
I had heard of her for two or three summers in my visits to Greenhills. The village folk had talked to me of the little lame girl who told such pretty stories out of her own head, "kind o' fables that learnt folks things, and helped 'em without bein' too preachy." But I had no definite idea of what the child was till I saw and heard her myself.
I d'know. Might 'a' been lots o' things, but I feel pretty certin sure he got it, and he was glad he hadn't gi'n up b'leevin' 't would come. For you 'member, all the time when Billy 'most knowed it wasn't, Jack 'most knowed 'twas. The Plant that Lost its Berry It was a sad day in Greenhills when we knew that Susan Holcomb's little Jerusha was dead.
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