“Hush! here’s Flint.”
“What’s up naow? want me tew address the meetin’, hey? I’m willin’, only the laugh’s ruther ag’inst me, ef I tell that story; expect you’ll like it all the better fer that.” Flint coiled up his long limbs, put his hands in his pockets, chewed meditatively for a moment, and then began, with his slowest drawl:—
“Waal, sir, it’s pretty nigh ten year ago, I was damster daown tew Oldtaown, clos’t to Banggore. My folks lived tew Bethel; there was only the old man, and Aunt Siloam, keepin’ house fer him, seein’ as I was the only chick he hed. I hedn’t heared from ’em fer a long spell, when there come a letter sayin’ the old man was breakin’ up. He’d said it every spring fer a number er years, and I didn’t mind it no more’n the breakin’ up er the river; not so much, jest then; fer the gret spring drive was comin’ on, and my hands was tew full to quit work all tew oncet. I sent word I’d be ’long ’fore a gret while, and byme-by I went. I ought tew hev gone at fust; but they’d sung aout ‘Wolf!’ so often I warn’t scared; an’ sure ’nuff the wolf did come at last. Father hed been dead and berried a week when I got there, and aunt was so mad she wouldn’t write, nor scurcely speak tew me for a consider’ble spell. I didn’t blame her a mite, and felt jest the wust kind; so I give in every way, and fetched her raound. Yeou see I hed a cousin who’d kind er took my place tew hum while I was off, an’ the old man hed left him a good slice er his money, an’ me the farm, hopin’ to keep me there. He’d never liked the lumberin’ bizness, an’ hankered arfter me a sight, I faound. Waal, seein’ haow ’twas, I tried tew please him, late as it was; but ef there was ennything I did spleen ag’inst it was farmin’, ’specially arfter the smart times I’d ben hevin’, up Oldtaown way. Yeou don’t know nothin’ abaout it; but ef yeou want tew see high dewin’s, jest hitch onto a timber-drive an’ go it daown along them lakes and rivers, say from Kaumchenungamooth tew Punnobscot Bay. Guess yeou’d see a thing or tew, an’ find livin’ on a log come as handy as ef you was born a turtle.
“Waal, I stood it one summer; but it was the longest kind of a job. Come fall I turned contry, darned the farm, and vaowed I’d go back tew loggin’. Aunt hed got fond er me by that time, and felt dreadful bad abaout my leavin’ on her. Cousin Siah, as we called Josiah, didn’t cotton tew the old woman, though he did tew her cash; but we hitched along fust-rate. She was ’tached tew the place, hated tew hev it let or sold, thought I’d go to everlastin’ rewin ef I took tew lumberin’ ag’in, an’ hevin’ a tidy little sum er money all her own, she took a notion tew buy me off. ‘Hiram,’ sez she, ‘ef yeou’ll stay to hum, merry some smart girl, an’ kerry on the farm, I’ll leave yeou the hull er my fortin. Ef yeou don’t, I’ll leave every cent on’t tew Siah, though he ain’t done as waal by me as yeou hev. Come,’ sez she, ‘I’m breakin’ up like brother; I shan’t wurry any one a gret while, and ’fore spring I dessay you’ll hev cause tew rejice that yeou done as Aunt Si counselled yeou.’
“Now, that idee kinder took me, seein’ I hedn’t no overpaourin’ love fer cousin; but I brewdid over it a spell ’fore I ’greed. Fin’lly, I said I’d dew it, as it warn’t a hard nor a bad trade; and begun to look raound fer Mis Flint, Jr. Aunt was dreadf’l pleased; but ’mazin pertickler as tew who was goin’ tew stan’ in her shoes, when she was fetched up ag’inst the etarnal boom. There was a sight er likely women-folks raound taown; but aunt she set her foot daown that Mis Flint must be smart, pious, an good-natered; harnsome she didn’t say nothin’ abaout, bein’ the humliest woman in the State er Maine. I hed my own calk’lations on that p’int, an’ went sparkin’ two or three er the pootiest gals, all that winter. I warn’t in no hurry, fer merryin’ is an awful resky bizness; an’ I wan’t goan to be took in by nobuddy. Some haouw I couldn’t make up my mind which I’d hev, and kept dodgin’, all ready to slew raound, an’ hitch on tew ary one that seemed likeliest. ’Long in March, Aunt, she ketched cold, took tew her bed, got wuss, an’ told me tew hurry up, fer nary cent should I hev, ef I warn’t safely merried ’fore she stepped out. I thought that was ruther craoudin’ a feller; but I see she was goan sure, an’ I’d got inter a way er considerin’ the cash mine, so that it come hard to hear abaout givin’ on ’t up. Off I went that evenin’ an’ asked Almiry Nash ef she’d hev me. No, she wouldn’t; I’d shilly-shallyed so long, she’d got tired er waitin’ and took tew keepin’ company with a doctor daown ter Banggore, where she’d ben visitin’ a spell. I didn’t find that as hard a nub to swaller, as I’d a thought I would, though Almiry was the richest, pootiest, and good-naterest of the lot. Aunt larfed waal, an’ told me tew try ag’in; so a couple er nights arfter, I spruced up, an’ went over to Car’line Miles’s; she was as smart as old cheese, an’ waal off intew the barg’in. I was just as sure she’d hev me, as I be that I’m gittin’ the rewmatiz a settin’ in this ma’sh. But that minx, Almiry, hed ben and let on abaout her own sarsy way er servin’ on me, an’ Car’line jest up an’ said she warn’t goan to hev annybuddy’s leavin’s; so daown I come ag’in.
“Things was gettin’ desper’t by that time; fer aunt was failin’ rapid, an’ the story hed leaked aout some way, so the hull taown was gigglin’ over it. I thought I’d better quit them parts; but aunt she showed me her will all done complete, ’sceptin the fust name er the legatee. ‘There,’ sez she, ‘it all depends on yeou, whether that place is took by Hiram or Josiah. It’s easy done, an’ so it’s goan tew stan till the last minit.’ That riled me consid’able, an’ I streaked off tew May Jane Simlin’s. She wan’t very waal off, nor extra harnsome, but she was pious the worst kind, an’ dreadf’l clever to them she fancied. But I was daown on my luck ag’in; fer at the fust word I spoke of merryin’, she showed me the door, an’ give me to understan’ that she couldn’t think er hevin’ a man that warn’t a church-member, that hadn’t experienced religion, or even ben struck with conviction, an’ all the rest on ’t. Ef anny one hed a wanted tew hev seen a walkin’ hornet’s nest, they could hev done it cheap that night, as I went hum. I jest bounced intew the kitchen, chucked my hat intew one corner, my coat intew ’nother, kicked the cat, cussed the fire, drawed up a chair, and set scaoulin’ like sixty, bein’ tew mad fer talkin’. The young woman that was nussin’ aunt,—Bewlah Blish, by name,—was a cooking grewel on the coals, and ’peared tew understan’ the mess I was in; but she didn’t say nothin’, only blowed up the fire, fetched me a mug er cider, an’ went raound so kinder quiet, and sympathizin’, that I found the wrinkles in my temper gettin’ smoothed aout ’mazin’ quick; an’ ’fore long I made a clean breast er the hull thing. Bewlah larfed, but I didn’t mind her doin’ on’t, for she sez, sez she, real sort o’ cunnin’,—
“‘Poor Hiram! they didn’t use yeou waal. Yeou ought to hev tried some er the poor an’ humly girls; they’d a been glad an’ grateful fer such a sweetheart as yeou be.’
“I was good-natered ag’in by that time, an’ I sez, larfin’ along with her, ‘Waal, I’ve got three mittens, but I guess I might’s waal hev ’nother, and that will make two pair complete. Say, Bewlah, will yeou hev me?’
“‘Yes, I will,’ sez she.
“‘Reelly?’ sez I.