Uncle William: the man who was shif'less by Jennette Barbour Perry Lee
page 41 of 170 (24%)
page 41 of 170 (24%)
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Andy had not relinquished the letter. "I can read it for ye," he
volunteered. "I can read it all right now, Andy, thank ye." Uncle William reached out a hand for it. Andy's fingers relaxed on it grudgingly. He had once or twice been allowed to open and read the letters in the temporary absence of Uncle William's spectacles. He found them more entertaining than when Uncle William read them. He privately suspected him of suppressing bits of news. Uncle William looked up from the lines with pleased countenance. "Now, that's good. He's finished up five on 'em." "Five what?" "Picters," responded Uncle William, spelling it out slowly. "There's one of my house,"--lofty pride held the voice,--"and one of the cove down below, and two up by the end of old Bodet place, and one on the hill, this side of your place. Now, that's quite a nice lot, ain't it?" "What's he going to do with 'em," asked Andy. "There's a kind of exhibit goin' on." Uncle William consulted the letter. "'The Exhibition of American Artists'--suthin' like a fair, I take it. And he's goin' to send 'em." "Thinks he'll take a prize, I s'pose." Andy's tone held fine scepticism. |
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