' 'Oh,' said I, 'I understand now, my man;
these folks had too many irons in the fire you see, and some on 'em
have got burnt.' 'I never heerd tell of it,' says Bluenose; 'they
might, but not to my knowledge;' and he scratched his head, and
looked as if he would ask the meanin' of it, but didn't like too.
Arter that I axed no more questions; I knew a mortgaged farm as far
as I could see it. There was a strong family likeness in 'em all--the
same ugly features, the same cast o' countenance. The "black knob"
was discernible, there was no mistake: barn doors broken off, fences
burnt up, glass out of windows; more white crops than green, and both
lookin' poor and weedy; no wood pile, no sarse garden, no compost,
no stock; moss in the mowin lands, thistles in the ploughed lands,
and neglect every where; skinnin' had commenced--takin' all out and
puttin' nothin' in--gittin' ready for a move, SO AS TO HAVE NOTHIN'
BEHIND. Flittin' time had come. Foregatherin', for foreclosin'.
Preparin' to curse and quit. That beautiful river we came up today,
What superfine farms it has on both sides of it, hain't it? it's a
sight to behold. Our folks have no notion of such a country so far
down east, beyond creation most, as Nova Scotia is. If I was to draw
up an account of it for the Slickville Gazette, I guess few would
accept it as a bona fide draft, without some 'sponsible man to
indorse it, that warn't given to flammin'.
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