We drove to Potsdam on that sad errand and what a time we had getting there and back in deep mud and sand and jolting over corduroys! "Bart," my uncle said the next evening, as I took down the book to read.
"I guess we'd better talk things over a little to-night.

These are hard times.

If we can find anybody with money enough to buy 'em I dunno but we better sell the sheep." "If you hadn't been a fool," my aunt exclaimed with a look of great distress--"ayes! if you hadn't been a fool." "I'm just what I be an' I ain't so big a fool that I need to be reminded of it," said my uncle.
"I'll stay at home an' work," I proposed bravely.
"You ain't old enough for that," sighed Aunt Deel.
"I want to keep you in school," said Uncle Peabody, who sat making a splint broom.
While we were talking in walked Benjamin Grimshaw--the rich man of the hills.

He didn't stop to knock but walked right in as if the house were his own.

It was common gossip that he held a mortgage on every acre of the countryside.