"I callate we wuz a dern sight better orf every way under the King, 'n
we be naow. The Tories wuz right, arter all, I guess. We'd better a
let well nuff l'one, an not to a jumped aouter the fryin-pan intew the
fire," said Peleg, gloomily.
As he ended speaking, a medium sized man, with a pasty white, freckled
complexion, bristly red hair, a retreating forehead and small, sharp
eyes, came forward from the dark corner near the door. His thin lips
writhed in a mocking smile, as he stood confronting Peleg and Abner,
and looking first at one and then at the other:
"Ef I don' furgit," he said at length, "that's 'baout the way I talked
wen the war wuz a goin on, an if I rekullec, ye, Peleg, an ye, Abner
Rathbun and Meshech Little, thar on the floor, tuk arter me with yer
guns and dorgs caze ye said I wuz a dum Tory. An ye hunted me on
Stockbridge mounting like a woodchuck, an ye'd a hed my skelp fer
sartin ef I hadn't been a durn sight smarter 'n ye ever wuz."
"Jabez," said Abner, "I hope ye don' hev no hard feelin's. Times be
changed. Let by gones be by gones."
"Mos' folks ud say I hed some call to hev hard feelin's. Ye druv me
ter hide in caves, an holes, fer the best part o' tew year.
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