They shall have 'em back an' welcome. You're real whole-hearted, Mis'
Trimble. I expect Ann'll be sayin' that her father's child'n wa'n't
goin' to be left desolate, an' that all the bread he cast on the
water's comin' back through you."
"I don't care what she says, dear creatur'!" exclaimed Mrs. Trimble.
"I'm full o' regrets I took time for that installation, an' set there
seepin' in a lot o' talk this whole day long, except for its kind of
bringin' us to the Bray girls. I wish to my heart 't was to-morrow
mornin' a'ready, an' I a-startin' for the selec'_men_."
* * * * *
A Native of Winby
I.
On the teacher's desk, in the little roadside school-house, there was
a bunch of Mayflowers, beside a dented and bent brass bell, a small
Worcester's Dictionary without any cover, and a worn morocco-covered
Bible. These were placed in an orderly row, and behind them was a
small wooden box which held some broken pieces of blackboard crayon.
The teacher, whom no timid new scholar could look at boldly, wore her
accustomed air of authority and importance. She might have been
nineteen years old,--not more,--but for the time being she scorned the
frivolities of youth.
The hot May sun was shining in at the smoky small-paned windows;
sometimes an outside shutter swung to with a creak, and eclipsed the
glare. The narrow door stood wide open, to the left as you faced the
desk, and an old spotted dog lay asleep on the step, and looked wise
and old enough to have gone to school with several generations of
children.
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