She was a lively child. She jumped out of
windows and tom-boyed around, but everybody liked her. Once I had
some candy and divided fair enough, I thought, but Adeline after she
ate up what she had, said I'd be sorry if I didn't give her more,
because she was going, to die. It worked so well on my feelings that
next time I tried that plan on Adeline's feelings, and told her if
she didn't do something I wanted her to do _she'd_ be sorry; for
I was going to die. She said she knew it; everybody was going to die
some day, and she couldn't help it and wasn't going to be sorry for
any such thing! Poor Adeline: many a year she's been gone, and I'm
movin' further away from the old home."
Grandma Padgett lifted the lines and slapped them on the backs of
old Hickory and Henry. Rousing themselves from coltish recollections
of their own, perhaps, the horses began to trot.
[Illustration: THE LAWYER.]
In Indiana, some reaches of the 'pike were built on planks instead
of broken stone, and gave out a hollow rumble instead of a flinty
roar. The shape and firmness of the road-bed were the same, but the
ends of boards sometimes cropped out along the sides. In this day,
branches of the old national thoroughfare penetrate to every part of
the Hoosier State.
Pages:
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149