I didn't dialate on Aaron's goin's-on
in Effingham an' Portsmouth, cause I dassay 't was nothin' but
scandal. Them as hates the Cochranites'll never allow there's any
good in 'em, whereas I've met some as is servin' the Lord good
an' constant, an' indulgin' in no kind of foolishness an'
deviltry whatsoever."
"Speakin' o' Husshons," said Bill Dunham from his corner, "I
remember--"
"We wa'n't alludin' to no Husshons," retorted Timothy Grant. "We
was dealin' with the misfortunes of Aaron Boynton, who never fit
valoriously on the field o' battle, but perished out in Ohio of
scarlit fever, if what they say in Enfield is true."
"Tis an easy death," remarked Bill argumentatively. "Scarlit
fever don't seem like nothin' to me! Many's the time I've been
close enough to fire at the eyeball of a Husshon, an' run the
resk o' bein' blown to smithereens!--calm and cool I alters was,
too! Scarlit fever is an easy death from a warrior's p'int o'
view!"
"Speakin' of easy death," continued Timothy, "you know I'm a
great one for words, bein' something of a scholard in my small
way. Mebbe you noticed that Elder Boone used a strange word in
his sermon last Sunday? Now an' then, when there's too many
yawnin' to once in the congregation, Parson'll out with a reg'lar
jaw-breaker to wake 'em up.
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