"You don't know! Hang you, none of yous knows! Well--because he ain't
there when anysing occurs--always a little late!"
They agreed with him by a series of sage nods.
"But, fellers, the worst is about courting. It's no way to be always
late. Everybody else gits there first, and it's nossing for the
fastnacht but weeping and wailing and gnashing of the teeth. And mebby
the other feller gits considerable happiness--and a good farm."
There was complaint in the old man's voice, and they knew that he meant
his own son Seffy. To add to their embarrassment, this same son was now
appearing over the Lustich Hill--an opportune moment for a pleasing
digression. For you must be told early concerning Old Baumgartner's
longing for certain lands, tenements and hereditaments--using his own
phrase--which were not his own, but which adjoined his. It had passed
into a proverb of the vicinage; indeed, though the property in question
belonged to one Sarah Pressel, it was known colloquially as
"Baumgartner's Yearn."
And the reason of it was this: Between his own farm and the public road
(and the railroad station when it came) lay the fairest meadow-land
farmer's eye had ever rested upon.
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