I didn't like city children, but I let 'em
come. I took 'em in, and did what I could to make it pleasant for 'em.
Poor little fellers, all as thin as corn-stalks and pale as ghosts,
and as dirty as you.
"I took 'em in and let 'em ride the horses, and swim in the river, and
shoot crows in the cornfield, and eat all the cherries they could
pull, and what did the city send me in return for that? It sent me
this thieving, rascally scheme of this man Perceval's, and it turned
my boy's head, and lost him to me. I saw him poring over the note and
reading it as if it were Gospel, and I suspected nothing. And when he
asked me if he could keep it, I said yes he could, for I thought he
wanted it for a curiosity, and then off he put with the black bag and
the $200 he's been saving up to start housekeeping with when the old
Deacon says he can marry his daughter Kate." The old man placed both
hands on his knees and went on excitedly.
"The old Deacon says he'll not let 'em marry till Abe has $2,000, and
that is what the boy's come after. He wants to buy $2,000 worth of bad
money with his $200 worth of good money, to show the Deacon, just as
though it were likely a marriage after such a crime as that would ever
be a happy one.
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