“Hem!” Deacon Blodgett snipped off another crumb of cheese, looking around to see the effect on the group.
A woman over behind the sugar-barrel burst out, “He’s awful good, Dr. Fisher is. He cured my Jenny of pneumony, an’ he never took a cent o’ pay for it.” She wiped her eyes with her apron.
“Beats all how he takes care o’ those old-maid sisters o’ his’n,” broke in Farmer Jones. “It’s bad enough to have one old maid fastened on you—but two—” he gave a long whistle, “that’s worse’n pisen.”
“Mebbe th’ Lord’ll let him shift ’em pretty soon—they do say there’s a rich wid’wer over to Stockton shinin’ up to Sarah, an’ that’ll be a chance for th’ Doctor to get free.”
“Hoh! well, Sarah ain’t Laviny, an’ she’s homely as a hedge-fence.”
“Sarah Fisher always said whoever took her, must take Laviny, too. They hain’t never ben separated, an’ they never will be.”
“Hoh!” said Farmer Jones again. “Well, th’ little Pepper gal didn’t go blind, after all.”
Mr. Atkins pounded on the counter with his red fist, so that the group jumped. “Blind!” he roared, “Polly Pepper blind? Well, I guess not. Th’ Lord wouldn’t let sech a thing happen, an’ so He got Dr. Fisher to take care of her eyes. Oh, my soul an’ body! there’s somethin’ in th’ world for that girl to do. I dunno what ’tis, but she’s got to have a pair o’ eyes to do it with.”
“Hem!” said Deacon Blodgett again. “Well, now do tell us how th’ stove got there, Atkins.”
“You’d orter hear Davie tell it,” the storekeeper chuckled with glee, and rubbed his hands together—then chuckled again. “I made him go over it one day—you know he helps me keep store.”