THE WIDOW'S BANDBOX.
ORDY massy! Stick yer hat into the nor'east, Horace, and see 'f ye can't stop out this 'ere wind. I'm e'eny most used up with it.”
So spake Sam Lawson, contemplating mournfully a new broad-brimmed straw hat in which my soul was rejoicing.
It was the dripping end of a sour November afternoon, which closed up a “spell o' weather” that had been steadily driving wind and rain for a week past; and we boys sought the shelter and solace of his shop, and, opening the door, let in the wind aforesaid.