"Stiddy thar!" said the farmer, making room for her on the seat beside
him. "Look out for the ile-can, Huldy! Bought out the hull shop, hev ye?
Wal, I sh'll look for gret things the next few days. Huddup thar,
Nancy!" And they went jingling back along the street again.
As they passed the queer little shops, with their antiquated signboards,
the farmer had something to say about each one. How Omnium Grabb here,
the grocer, missed his dried apples one morning, and how he accused his
chore-boy, who was his sister's son too, of having eaten them,--"As if
any livin' boy would pick out dried apples to eat, when he hed a hull
store to choose from!" and how the very next day a man coming to buy a
pair of boots, Omnium Grabb hooked down a pair from the ceiling, where
all the boots hung, and found them "chock full" of dried apples, which
the rats had been busily storing in them and their companion pairs.
How Enoch Pillsbury, the "'pottecary, like t' ha' killed" Old Man Grout,
sending him writing fluid instead of the dark mixture for his
"dyspepsy."
How Beulah Perkins, who lived over the dry-goods store, had been
bedridden for nineteen years, till the house where she was living caught
fire, "whereupon she jumped out o' bed an' grabbed an umbrella an'
opened it, an' ran down street in her red-flannel gownd, with the
umbrella over her head, shoutin', 'Somebody go save my bedstid! I ain't
stirred from it for nineteen years, an' I ain't never goin' to stir from
it agin.
Pages:
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118