'Ther's one thing I hate,' Uncle El continued. 'That's the idee o
hevin' the woodshed an' barn an' garret full o' them infernal wash
bilers. Ye can't take no decent care uv a hoss there 'n the stable'
they're so piled up. One uv 'em tumbled down top o' me t'other
day. 'Druther 'twould a been a panther. Made me s'mad I took a
club an' knocked that biler into a cocked hat. 'Tain't right! I'm sick
o' the sight uv 'em.
'They'll make a good bonfire someday,' said Hope.
'Don't believe they'd burn,' he answered sorrowfully, 'they're tin.
'Couldn't we bury 'em?' I suggested.
'Be a purty costly funeral,' he answered thoughtfully. 'Ye'd hev if
dig a hole deeper n Tupper's dingle.
'Couldn't you give them away?' I enquired.
'Wall,' said he, helping himself to a chew of tobacco, 'we ve tried
thet. Gin 'em t'everybody we know but there ain't folks enough'
there's such a slew o'them bilers. We could give one if ev'ry man,
woman an' child in Faraway an' hex enough left t'fill an acre lot.
Dan Perry druv in t'other day with a double buggy.
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