"
"Who makes strong drink?" asked the Indian, with an ugly look. "Who
takes the Indian's beaver-skins and corn for it? Tell me that,
Captain."
So saying, he put his pack on his back, and calling a poor, lean dog,
that was poking his hungry nose into Madam's pots and kettles, he went
off talking to himself.
NEWBURY, December 6.
We got back from Haverhill last night, Doctor Clark accompanying us,
he having business in Newbury. When we came up to the door, Effie met
us with a shy look, and told her mistress that Mrs. Prudence (uncle's
spinster cousin) had got a braw auld wooer in the east room; and surely
enough we found our ancient kinswoman and Deacon Dole, a widower of
three years' standing, sitting at the supper-table. We did take note
that the Deacon had on a stiff new coat; and as for Aunt Prudence (for
so she was called in the family), she was clad in her bravest, with a
fine cap on her head. They both did seem a little disturbed by our
coming, but plates being laid for us, we sat down with them.
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