A big, red-faced, black-bearded, and determined man drove one day into the yard with an immense wagon, in which was standing a stupid, vicious old goat, and almost insisted on leaving it at a most ridiculously high price.
“Heard that the woman that had come to live here wanted most every animal that Noah got into the ark; was sure she’d like a goat.” It was with considerable difficulty that he could be induced to take it away.
Dogs, dogs, dogs—from mastiff to mongrel, from St. Bernard to toy poodle—the yard really swarmed with them just before the first of May, when dog taxes must be paid!
A crow that could talk, but rather objectionably, was offered me.
A pert little boy, surrounded by his equally pert mates, said, after coming uninvited to look over my assortment: “Got most everything, hain’t ye? Got a monkey?”
Then his satellites all giggled.
“No, not yet. Will not you come in?”
Second giggle, less hearty.
A superannuated clergyman walked three miles and a quarter in a heavy rain, minus umbrella, to bring me a large and common pitcher, badly cracked and of no original value; heard I was collecting old china. Then, after making a long call, drew out a tiny package from his vest pocket and offered for sale two time-worn cheap rings taken from his mother’s dead hand. They were mere ghosts of rings that had once meant so much of joy or sorrow, pathetic souvenirs, one would think, to a loving son. He would also sell me his late father’s old sermons for a good sum!
This reminded me of Sydney Smith’s remark to an old lady who was sorely afflicted with insomnia: “Have you ever tried one of my sermons?”