"Who is that sorry-looking man that always sits on the bench at the
store, Samanthy?"
"That's David Milliken."
"Why does he look so sorry, Samanthy?"
"Oh, he's all right. He likes it fust-rate, wearin' out that hard bench
settin' on it night in 'n' night out, like a bump on a log! But, there,
Timothy, I've gone 'n' forgot the whole pepper, 'n' we're goin' to
pickle seed cowcumbers to-morrer. You take the lard home 'n' put it in
the cold room, 'n' ondress Gay 'n' git her to bed, for I've got to call
int' Mis' Mayhew's goin' along back."
It was very vexatious to be obliged to pass David Milliken a second
time; "though there warn't no sign that he cared anything about it one
way or 'nother, bein' blind as a bat, 'n' deef as an adder, 'n' dumb as
a fish, 'n' settin' stockstill there with no coat on, 'n' the wind
blowin' up for rain, 'n' four o' the Millikens layin' in the churchyard
with gallopin' consumption." It was in this frame of mind that she
purchased the whole pepper, which she could have eaten at that moment as
calmly as if it had been marrow-fat peas; and in this frame of mind she
might have continued to the end of time had it not been for one of those
unconsidered trifles that move the world when the great forces have
given up trying. As she came out of the store and passed David, her eye
fell on a patch in the flannel shirt that covered his bent shoulders.
The shirt was gray and (oh, the pity of it!) the patch was red; and it
was laid forlornly on outside, and held by straggling stitches of carpet
thread put on by patient, clumsy fingers.
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