"Would'nt it be great," mused Moses as he followed the plough in the field above referred to, "if when Melindy and myself go to town that we would put up at them 'ere Verneses. Golly it would make the Wiggleses eyes stick out furder than ever. They're a jealous lot at the best o' times, and its sich a silly idear for Melindy to be a-naggin' at me for goin' there when I never go nearer than the rickety old gate."
Mr. Spriggins was evidently taking on a few airs for he seemed quite exasperated and ready to battle against such aspersions. Instantly his face became radiant as the noonday sun, and he burst forth in rapturous strains—
"What a man I would be and what sights I would see
If I had but ten thousand a year,"
until the hills and dales in the vicinity of Mill Crossing caught up the refrain and all nature seemed to rejoice.
"What's the use of wishin'? it won't bring the ten thousand any more than I could turn that old millstream yonder tother way. But what's the odds so long as yer happy?" and once more there floated on the breeze—
"If I had but one thousand a year."
"Yes sir, I'd be content," exclaimed Mr. Spriggins, as he finished the last stanza and took a vigorous pull at his pipe as means of reconciliation with his present circumstances.
"And, by-the-bye, I must go up to Ned Joneses to-night and talk him into that business. It aint any sense for Ned and me to be a keepin' up spite 'cause the old folks want ter. No sir, not this child, anyhow."
Between eulogizing and soliloquizing Moses' morning wore into evening and having hitched up the old mare he set off for the post office—a spot doubly endeared to him since Melindy Jane Thrasher went to service, since which time there regularly arrived every Monday evening a suspicious letter addressed:—
MR. MOSES SPRIGGINS,
Mill Crossin',
Kings County, N. B. In haste.