Mrs. Bacon, from Boston, stayed there one night
in November and she pretty nigh famished with the cold, to say nothin'
of havin' to eat huckleberry preserves for supper two nights runnin'.
Course they had plenty of other things in the closet, but they'd opened
a jar of huckleberries, so they had to be et up afore they spiled.
That's the way they run THAT hotel. And Mrs. Bacon is eastern
Massachusetts delegate from the State Grange. She's Grand Excited
Matron. Just think of treatin' her that way! Well, where've you been all
the forenoon?"
The question was addressed to her brother, who entered the house by the
side door at that moment. Kenelm seemed a trifle confused.
"I--I been lookin' for that umbrella, Hannah," he explained. "I knew I
must have left it somewheres 'cause--'cause, you see I--I took it out
with me last night and--and--"
"And come home without it. It wouldn't take a King Solomon to know that.
Did you find it?"
Kenelm's embarrassment appeared to increase.
"Well," he stammered, "I ain't exactly found it--but--"
"But what?"
"I--I'm cal'latin' to find it, Hannah."
"Yes, I know. You're cal'latin' to get to Heaven some time or other,
I s'pose, but if the path is as narrow and crooked as they say 'tis I
should be scared if I was you. You'll find a way to lose it, if there is
one. Oh, dear me!" with a sudden change to a tone almost pleading. "Be
you goin' to smoke again?"
Kenelm's reply was strange for him. He scratched a match and lit his
pipe with calm deliberation.
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