Wouldn't you call Aaron Boynton a turrible larned man, Timothy?"
Timothy Grant, the parish clerk, had just entered the store on an
errand, but being directly addressed, and judging that the
subject under discussion was a discreet one, and that it was too
early in the evening for drinking to begin, he joined the group
by the fireside. He had preached in Vermont for several years as
an itinerant Methodist minister before settling down to farming
in Edgewood, only giving up his profession because his quiver was
so full of little Grants that a wandering life was difficult and
undesirable. When Uncle Bart Cole had remarked that Mis' Grant
had a little of everything in the way of baby-stock now,--black,
red, an' yaller-haired, dark and light complected, fat an' lean,
tall an' short, twins an' singles,--Jed Morrill had observed
dryly: "Yes, Mis' Grant kind o' reminds me of charity."
"How's that?" inquired Uncle Bart.
"She beareth all things," chuckled Jed.
"Aaron Boynton was, indeed, a man of most adhesive larnin',"
agreed Timothy, who had the reputation of the largest and most
unusual vocabulary in Edgewood. "Next to Jacob Cochrane I should
say Aaron had more grandeloquence as an orator than any man
we've ever had in these parts.
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