"Made any this evenin'?" he inquired. "Ain't? well, I guess
you'll never come across a more inspirin' night," he said, with some
disappointment. "I expected likely you'd have some you could say right
off. Fer a plain farmer, I don't s'pose there's anybody fonder'n I am of
verses," he said, musingly. "I b'lieve I told ye 'twas in our family. I
wish you could have met my uncle, Mis' Marriot, died on his
ninety-second birthday, and had writ a long piece on each birthday for a
matter of forty year. That ther man was talented, I tell ye. There
wasn't no occasion he couldn't write a piece onto. Why, the night Ma and
me was married (we was married in Ma's sister's parlor) we hadn't more'n
turned 'round from the minister, 'n before anybody had a chance t'
congratulate us, uncle, he steps right up in front of us, an' sez he:
'Now you are married, an' man an' wife
May you live happy this mortial life,
An' when your days on this earth is o'er
May you both meet together on the evergreen shore.'
"It come to him, jus' come to him that minute, like a flash," said the
old man, reflectively, the pathos of his sweet, tremulous voice lending
unspeakable melody to the preposterous stanza.
Mr. Hopper had evidently settled himself for the remainder of the
evening, and after a time Mr. Longworth bade us good-night, and went
across to the Bangs homestead.
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