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Bacheller, Irving, 1859-1950

"Darrel of the Blessed Isles"

Of that he had
neither the right nor the heart to tell.
"God only knows what is the next chapter," said he, at last. "It
may rob me of all that I love in this world."
"But not of me," said Polly, whispering in his ear.
"I wish I were sure of that," he answered.


XXVI
The Coming of the Cars
That year was one of much reckoning there in the land of the hills.
A year it was of historic change and popular excitement. To begin
with, a certain rich man bought a heavy cannon, which had roared at
the British on the frontier in 1812, and gave it to the town of
Hillsborough. It was no sooner dumped on the edge of the little
park than it became a target of criticism. The people were to be
taxed for the expense of mounting it--"Taxed fer a thing we ain't
no more need of than a bear has need of a hair-brush," said one
citizen. Those Yankees came of men who helped to fling the tea
into Boston harbour, and had some hereditary fear of taxes.
Hunters and trappers were much impressed by it. They felt it over,
peering curiously into the muzzle, with one eye closed.
"Ye couldn't kill nuthin' with it," said one of them.
"If I was to pick it up an' hit ye over the head with it, I guess
ye wouldn't think so," said another.


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