"
The boys, laughing at this quickly invented announcement, ran off after
a hand-organ. The old man stood perfectly still, or as nearly so as the
feebleness of his legs would permit.
That evening Pop was missing from the town. And when Abraham Wesley, who
had often lent his shotgun to the old man, went to look for that weapon,
intending to shoot glass balls in the fairgrounds across the river, the
fowling-piece too was missing.
Pop had gone out to protect his possession. Three nights passed and three
days. The few country folk and others who travelled that way during this
time saw the old man walking about in his field or sitting in front of his
shanty, his shotgun on his shoulders, his eyes fixed suspiciously on all
who might become intruders. Night and day he patrolled his little domain.
At dusk of the third day a lively party was returning to the town in a
wagon from a search for nuts. The full moon was rising and the merrymakers
were singing. One of the girls was thirsty. When she saw the shanty in the
rugged field, she asked a young man to get her a glass of water at the hut.
The wagon stopped and the youth climbed astride the rail fence.
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