But to get back to my
story.
"Miss," sais I, "I can't just at this present moment call to mind a
story to please you. Some of them are about hosses, or clocks, or
rises taken out of folks, or dreams, or courtships, or ghosts, or what
not; but few of them will answer, for they are either too short or too
long."
"Oh," says Catherine Fraser, "tell us a courtship; I dare say you will
make great fun of it."
"No, no," says Jessie, "tell us a ghost story. Oh! I delight in them."
"Oh," said Janet, "tell us about a dream. I know one myself which came
out as correct as provin' a sum."
"That's it, Miss Janet," said I; "do you tell me that story, please,
and it's hard if I can't find one that will please you in return for
it."
"Yes, do, dear," said Jessie; "tell Mr Slick that story, for it's a
true one, and I should like to hear what he thinks of it, or how he
can account for it."
"Well," said Janet, "you must excuse me, Mr Slick, for any mistakes I
make, for I don't speak very good English, and I can hardly tell a
story all through in that language.
"I have a brother that lives up one of the branches of the Buctouche
River in New Brunswick. He bought a tract of land there four or five
years ago, on which there was a house and barn, and about a hundred
acres of cleared land. He made extensive improvements on it, and went
to a great expense in clearing up the stumps, and buying stock and
farming implements, and what not.
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