I never needed to
take lessons of any carpenter I ever see. And there's my barns.
What do you think o' my barns? Ever see any bigger ones? They
ain't any bigger in this country than Old Toombs's barns. They
don't like Old Toombs, but they ain't any of one of 'em can ekal
his barns!"
He followed me down to the roadside now quite loquacious. Even
after I had thanked him and started to go he called after me.
When I stopped he came forward hesitatingly--and I had the
impressions, suddenly, and for the first time that he was an old
man. It may have been the result of his sudden fierce explosion
of anger, but his hand shook, his face was pale, and he seemed
somehow broken.
"You--you like my hedge?" he asked.
"It is certainly wonderful hedge," I said. "I never have seen
anything like it?"
"The' AIN'T nothing like it," he responded, quickly. "The' ain't
nothing like it anywhere."
In the twilight as I passed onward I saw the lonely figure of the
old man moving with his hickory stick up the pathway to his
lonely house. The poor rich old man!
"He thinks he can live wholly to himself," I said aloud.
I thought, as I tramped homeward, of our friendly and kindly
community, of how we often come together of an evening with
skylarking and laughter, of how we weep with one another, of how
we join in making better roads and better schools, and building
up the Scotch Preacher's friendly little church.
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