VI.—THE FATHER'S TEARS.
Pettingill neglected the farm.
He said that it might till itself—he should
manufacture some gorgeous fireworks, and
exhibit them on the village green on the
next 4th of July.
He said the Eagle of Fame would flap
his wings over their humble roof ere many
months should pass away.
“If he does,” said old Mr. Pettingill, “we
must shoot him, and bile him, and eat him,
because we shall be rather short of meat,
my son, if you go on in this lazy way.”
And the old man wept.
He shed over 120 gallons of tears.
That is to say, a puncheon. But by all
means let us avoid turning this romance
into a farce.
