He called back, however, that
he would keep a good lookout for us to-morrow.
Mrs. Carson soon made her appearance, and, very naturally, was
somewhat surprised to see visitors with their baggage standing on
her little porch. She was a plain, coarsely dressed woman, with an
apron full of chips and kindling wood, and a fine mind for detail,
as we soon discovered.
"Jist so," said she, putting down the chips, and inviting us to
seats on a bench. "Dave Dutton's folks is all moved away. Dave
has a good farm on the other side o' the mountain, an' it never did
pay him to keep that tavern, 'specially as he didn't sell liquor.
When he went away, his son Al come there to live with his wife, an'
the old man left a good deal o' furniter and things fur him, but
Al's wife aint satisfied here, and, though they've been here, off
an' on, the house is shet up most o' the time. It's fur sale an'
to rent, both, ef anybody wants it. I'm sorry about you, too, fur
it was a nice tavern, when Dave kept it."
We admitted that we were also very sorry, and the kind-hearted
woman showed a great deal of sympathy.
"You might stay here, but we haint got no fit room where you two
could sleep."
At this, Euphemia and I looked very blank. "But you could go up to
the house and stay, jist as well as not," Mrs. Carson continued.
"There's plenty o' things there, an' I keep the key. For the
matter o' that, ye might take the house for as long as ye want to
stay; Dave 'd be glad enough to rent it; and, if the lady knows how
to keep house, it wouldn't be no trouble at all, jist for you two.
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