A few old elm trees still remained in the village, to protect it from the summer sun; and still lived also an occasional pioneer, gnarled and rugged like the old elms, to sigh and shake his head at the new civilization, and shelter whom he might from the power of its stroke.
One of these ancient fathers meandered across the main street and into a grocery store. He plucked a semi-petrified prune from its sticky environment and drew a stool up to the counter.
"Well, Dad," greeted the grocer, "what's new in the old town?"
The old gentleman worried the stolen morsel into one cheek and replied:
"Our boys keep a-leavin' on us, John; keep a-goin'."
While the grocer stood wondering whether the "keep a-goin'" referred to himself or "our boys," a customer entered.
"How d'you do, Mrs. Arling," he smiled, leaving the old man to his quid-like mouthful.
But, in the case of a lady shopper, where business interferes with the telling of a story—or anything—postpone business.
"Ah yes, Grandpa Newman," she sighed, "the town will soon be deserted."
The grey-haired man looked at her as much as to ask: "Pray, how did you manage to overhear what I was saying?" What he did ask was: