"
These are blessed words. Aleck saw how true they were, and their
influence was electric; her tears ceased to flow, and her great spirit
rose to its full stature again. With flashing eye and grateful heart,
and with hand uplifted in pledge and prophecy, she said:
"Now and here I proclaim--"
But she was interrupted by a visitor. It was the editor and proprietor
of the SAGAMORE. He had happened into Lakeside to pay a duty-call upon
an obscure grandmother of his who was nearing the end of her pilgrimage,
and with the idea of combining business with grief he had looked up
the Fosters, who had been so absorbed in other things for the past
four years that they neglected to pay up their subscription.
Six dollars due. No visitor could have been more welcome. He would
know all about Uncle Tilbury and what his chances might be getting
to be, cemeterywards. They could, of course, ask no questions,
for that would squelch the bequest, but they could nibble around on
the edge of the subject and hope for results. The scheme did not work.
The obtuse editor did not know he was being nibbled at; but at last,
chance accomplished what art had failed in. In illustration of something
under discussion which required the help of metaphor, the editor said:
"Land, it's a tough as Tilbury Foster!--as WE say."
It was sudden, and it made the Fosters jump. The editor noticed,
and said, apologetically:
"No harm intended, I assure you.
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