"I fear I was more to
blame than you. But we can't help the past; let us make amends for the
future. I hope we shall have many a merry Christmas together in this
world and the next. Perhaps Uncle Nathan can settle our land-quarrel
better than any jury in Worcester county."
Mr. Smith, the Know-nothing representative, was struck with the bright
face of one of the little girls who wore a school-medal, and asked her
name. "Bridget O'Brien, your honor," was the answer. "Well, well," said
he, "I guess Uncle Nathan is half right; 'it's all prejudice.' I don't
like the Irish, _politically_. But after all, the Pope will have to
make a pretty long arm to reach round Aunt Kindly, and clear through the
Union School-house and spoil Miss Bridget,--a pretty long arm to do all
that."
So it went on all round the room. "That is what I call the Christian
Sacrament," said Deacon Jackson to Captain Weldon. "Ah, yes," replied
the blacksmith; "it is a feast of love. Look there; Colonel Stearns and
John Wilkinson have not spoken for years. Now it is all made up. Both
have forgotten that little strip of Beaver-gray meadow, which has
cost them so much money and hard words and in itself is not worth the
lawyer's fees.
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