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Bacheller, Irving, 1859-1950

"Darrel of the Blessed Isles"

Ain't eggzac'ly happy less I have holt o'
the ribbons every day or two. Ye know I used t' drive ol' crazy
Jane. She pulled like Satan. All ye had t' do was t' lean back
an' let 'er sail."
"But why do you shout that way?"
"Scares the other hosses," Tunk answered, dropping the reins and
tossing his whip aside. "It's a shame I have t' fool my time away
up here on a farm."
He went to work at the chores, frowning with discontent. Trove
watered and fed his mare and went in to breakfast. An hour later,
he bade them all good-by, and set out for Allen's. A new fear
began to weigh upon him as he travelled. Was this a part of that
evil sum, and had his father begun now to scatter what he had never
any right to touch? Whoever brought him that big roll of money had
robbed him of his peace. Even his ribs, against which it chafed as
he rode along, began to feel sore. Home at last, he put up the
mare and went to tell his mother that he must be off for
Hillsborough.
"My son," said she, her arms about his neck, "our eyes are growing
dim and for a long time have seen little of you."
"And I feel the loss," Trove answered. "I have things to do there,
and shall return tonight.


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