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Hobart herald. (Geneva, N.Y.) 1879-1942, April 01, 1907, Image 8

Image and text provided by Hobart and William Smith Colleges

Persistent link: http://nyshistoricnewspapers.org/lccn/np00050002/1907-04-01/ed-1/seq-8/


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212 The Hobart Herald you hear, is my mare feeding in yonder pasture. I have her haltered to a tombstone.” “Is your horse gray?” asked the parson in a whistled voice. “A y e ,‘death ever rides a gray mare.’ When you die, parson,” he chuckled and took a long puff at his pipe, ‘‘when you die, you’ll have to rent a side saddle!” The parson rubbed his cold hands together without any reply. It was no place for repartee, but for very careful con­ versation, he reminded himself. Tim scratched another match on the stone to relight his pipe. He turned impressively. “Parson,” he said in a different tone, “we might as well out with it. We're both watin’ for the same girl, I guess.” “For the same girl— ?” The parson leapt up, and paced the grass, thrusting his hands in his pockets. “For the dearest girl as has ever graced God’s green earth! I went by there, and heard her voice. I wasna going to stop. But man, I couldn’t help it. She was singing ‘The bonny, bonny, banks of Loch Lomond,’ I stopt the mare to listen, by and by I wms up to the window, a-looking in. She came and saw me,” he said, “ and I thought she was agoing to fall, but she sang on,— ‘Ah the bonny, bonny, banks— ’ ” he stopt. “ Sometimes her voice is a trifle awry,” added the parson who was gaining confidence, and felt as if he could thrash Tim, spectre or no spectre. “ Awry? God man!” Tim ejaculated. “ Pretty soon,” he went on “ pretty soon, I saw her at the old spring, drawing a pitcher o’ -water. ‘Tim’ says she, ‘meet me in the kirkyard this e’en.’ And she looked up at me so swreet and pretty, I— I— ” Tim grinned broadly. “ W hat?” asked the parson, hoarsely. “ Why, I just condescended.” He cleared his throat. “ So here I am.” “And i t ’s a year ago you were killed, Tim?” Tim coughed. “ Yes— oh— oh— yes, so I was, by the freshets

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