. Zigzag journeys in the White city. With visits to the neighboring metropolis . thing in the end. I will keep the covenant. It was Susan that gave me achance in life. I can hear the old folks that are dead callin, Come home,come home; seems as though I could. Grandfather, have you any spare money? What makes you ask that, child? Could nt you buy the old place and give it to her? To Susan ? To Susan ? Why, bless your heart, thats just what I ve just beenthinking! If I ought to — and a man ought to do what he ought, or he 11 feeljust as he had nt ought to, and I feel that way now. No, Susan, no
. Zigzag journeys in the White city. With visits to the neighboring metropolis . thing in the end. I will keep the covenant. It was Susan that gave me achance in life. I can hear the old folks that are dead callin, Come home,come home; seems as though I could. Grandfather, have you any spare money? What makes you ask that, child? Could nt you buy the old place and give it to her? To Susan ? To Susan ? Why, bless your heart, thats just what I ve just beenthinking! If I ought to — and a man ought to do what he ought, or he 11 feeljust as he had nt ought to, and I feel that way now. No, Susan, none of thoseauction-attending folks shall eat my sister Susans turkeys this year. Well getready and go. You never saw the sea, did you? No ; nor old houses with ghost-rooms. It all seems like a story. Nor rocks, nor walls, nor great apple-orchards, nor woods of old oak-trees? No, nor a Thanksgiving — a real true one, grandpa. Well, child, you shall see a real old New England Thanksgiving this year,and I think it will be one well worth seeing. We 11 roast those turkeys our-. THE LAST SONG OF THE ROBIN. 29 selves. They re saying quit, quit to the mortgage now. I in going to keepmy covenant. It makes me happy to think of it. But, as I said, we will notlet them know that we are coming. And, Susan, Susan, you maybe will hearthat last song of the robin. The old man paced the piazza, and hummed, in a broken voice,— • How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood,When fond recollection presents them to view ,The orchard, the meadow, the deep tangled wildwood,And every loved spot which my infancy knew ! I used to know the man that made that song, he said. He was a son ofa Revolutionary soldier who lived at Scituate. He went to live in New that people will go to live so far away ! I used to hear the boys sing itduring the war, he added, absently, when they would get Thanksgiving boxesfrom home. Seems as though I could hear it now in the air: there are somesongs
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890, booksubjectworldsc, bookyear1894
