“Father,” said Mary, “you haven’t told the boys who is married.”
“Indeed, their questions follow each other so fast, I lose my reckoning. Joe Griffin.”
“Joe!” cried John. “Where does he live?”
“Right on the shore, between Pleasant Point and Uncle Isaac’s, in a log house.”
“Then he’ll be close to me,” said Charlie.
“Yes, only two lots between. They say he’s raised the biggest crop of wheat that was ever raised in this town, and has got the handsomest crop of corn growing.”
“Then Sally mustered up courage to marry him?”
“Marry him! She may thank her stars she got him. Let them talk as much as they like about his being a harum-scarum fellow. There’s not a smarter, better-hearted fellow in this place, nor a man of better judgment. He showed a good deal more sense than our Ben, who, folks think, is all sense.”
“How, father?”
“Why, Ben built his house, and then set his fire, and liked to have burned up his house, baby, and all the lumber that went into his vessel, and did scorch his wife; but this harum-scarum fellow burnt his land over first, and put something in the ground to live on.”