It is done by a knowledge of SOFT SAWDER and
HUMAN NATUR'. But here is Deacon Flint's," said he; "I have but one
clock left, and I guess I will sell it to him."
At the gate of a most comfortable looking farm house stood Deacon
Flint, a respectable old man, who had understood the value of time
better than most of his neighbours, if one might judge from the
appearance of everything about him. After the usual salutation, an
invitation to "alight" was accepted by Mr. Slick, who said he wished
to take leave of Mrs. Flint before he left Colchester.
We had hardly entered the house, before the Clockmaker pointed to the
view from the window, and, addressing himself to me, said, "if I was
to tell them in Connecticut, there was such a farm as this away down
east here in Nova Scotia, they wouldn't believe me--why there ain't
such a location in all New England. The deacon has a hundred acres of
dyke--"
"Seventy, said the deacon, only seventy."
"Well, seventy; but then there is your fine deep bottom, why I could
run a ramrod into it--"
"Interval, we call it," said the Deacon, who, though evidently
pleased at this eulogium, seemed to wish the experiment of the ramrod
to be tried in the right place.
"Well, interval, if you please (though Professor Eleazer Cumstick,
in his work on Ohio, calls them bottoms), is just as good as dyke.
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