Thar
ain't nothin' in this house to get breakfast on--nothin' fur my poor old
man and the two little children. Work's hard to get up here. And them
fools what comes up here to dig for Mr. Kidd's money eat up what little
we had, and did'nt pay fur it, nither. Go home, like honest men, and get
some honester work than comin' up here thinkin' you kin find Mr. Kidd's
money. Don't believe in Mr. Kidd--I don't!" The woman kept swinging her
broom as she spoke. Then the two children ventured back and peered from
behind her skirts at the strangers. "Don't believe he had any money,
anyhow. If he had he was a mighty fool to come up here and bury it.
People round here would 'a stole every dollar on it long ago. There's a
Yankee and a Dutchman diggin' a big hole a piece above here--expectin'
to find Mr. Kidd's money."
Such was the reception these boatmen met with at the hands of Mrs.
Brophy, whose husband, a short, thick-shouldered, bullet-headed son of
the Emerald Isle, with a short, black pipe in his wide mouth, and in his
shirt and trousers, came to the door and seated himself on the sill.
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