'It's genuwine silver,' said he proudly.
I took his old hand in mine and raised it reverently to my lips.
'Hear'n 'em tell 'bout goin' t' the village, an' I says t' myself, "Uncle
Eb," says I, "we'll hev t' be goin'. 'Tain' no place fer you in the
village."'
'Holden,' said David Brower, 'don't ye never talk like that ag'in. Yer
just the same as married t' this family, an' ye can't ever git away
from us.'
And he never did until his help was needed in other and fairer
fields, I am sure, than those of Faraway - God knows where.
Chapter 19
Tip Taylor was, in the main, a serious-minded man. A cross eye
enhanced the natural solemnity of his countenance. He was little
given to talk or laughter unless he were on a hunt, and then he only
whispered his joy. He had seen a good bit of the world through the
peek sight of his rifle, and there was something always in the feel
of a gun that lifted him to higher moods. And yet one could reach a
tender spot in him without the aid of a gun. That winter vacation I
set myself to study things for declamation - specimens of the
eloquence of Daniel Webster and Henry Clay and James Otis and
Patrick Henry.
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