"But gosh all hemlock, Perez, I dunno wat makes me speak o' that naow.
It wouldn' make no odds ef I'd never sot eyes onter ye afore. I'd help
eny feller, 'bout sech a job es this ere, jess fer the fun on't.
Risky! Yes it's risky; that's the fun. I hain't hed my blood fairly
flowin afore, sence the war. It doos me more good nor a box o' pills.
Jerewsalem, how riled deacon'll be!"

The two young men walked slowly back to the village, earnestly
discussing the details of their daring enterprise, and turning up the
lane, leading to the Hamlin house, paused, still conversing, at the
gate. As they stood there, the house door opened, and a young girl
came out, and approached them, while Mrs. Hamlin, standing in the
door, said:

"Perez, this is Prudence Fennell, George Fennell's girl. She heard you
had seen her father, and came to ask you about him."

The girl came near to Perez, and looked up at him with a questioning
face, in which anxiety was struggling with timidity. She was a rosy
cheeked lass, of about sixteen, well grown for her age, and dressed in
coarse woolen homespun, while beneath her short skirt, appeared a pair
of heavy shoes, which evidently bore very little relation to the shape
of the feet within them. Her eyes were gray and frank, and the
childishness, which the rest of her face was outgrowing, still
lingered in the pout of her lips.

"Is my father much sick, sir?"

"He is very sick," said Perez.