I know that to be a fact. Old skinflint Reeker over thar
owed two dollars one year to the church, an' he wondered how in the world
he was to git out of payin' it. Durin' the summer a Sunday-school picnic
was held on his place back in his grove, an' fer one of the games the
parson cut down four little beeches about as big as canes. Thar was
thousands of 'em growin' around, an' wasn't worth a postage-stamp. But old
Reeker saw 'im cut 'em, an' the next day he went to the parson an' told
'im how vallable the beeches was--his fancy trees or somethin' like that--
an' charged 'im fifty cents a piece, the amount he owed to the church.
"Wasn't that so, Parson?" sez I, turnin' to 'im.'
"'Yes, yes,' sez he. 'But it ain't worth speakin' about now. I think we
had better have our cup of tea, an' talk no more about the subject.'"
"Dear, good man," and Mrs. Stickles wiped her eyes with the corner of her
apron. "He was kinder upsot at what I said. But not so, Nellie. Her sweet
face jist beamed on me, an' when I went out into the kitchen to help her
she put her arms about me old neck, an' gave me a good big thumpin' kiss.
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