How do you suppose that property
holds out, father? I heard the town was allowing her on it."
"Oh, I guess it'll last her as long as she lives," replied Silas,
gruffly. "Your mother had ought to had her thirds in it."
"I don't know about that," said William. "Aunt Sylvy had a hard time
takin' care of grandmother."
"She was paid for 't," returned Silas.
"Richard Alger treated her mean."
"Guess he sat out considerable firewood an' candle-grease," assented
the old man.
A customer came in then, and Ezra Ray sprang forward. He was all
excited over his brother's wedding, and was tending store in his
place that day. His mother was making him a new suit to wear to the
wedding, and he felt as if the whole affair hung, as it were, upon
the buttons of his new jacket and the straps of his new trousers.
"Guess I might as well go over to Aunt Sylvy's now as any time," said
William.
"Don't see what she wanted you to fetch the horse an' sled for,"
ruminated Silas. "Mother thought most likely she'd give some silver
teaspoons if she give anything."
William went out to the barn, put the horse in the sled, and drove
down the hill towards Sylvia's. When he returned the old thin silver
teaspoons of the Crane family were in his coat-pocket, and Sylvia's
dearly beloved and fondly cherished hair-cloth sofa was on the sled
behind him.
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