I'll tell ye what's the trouble with him,
teacher. He's been tied too long to his mother's apron-strings. He don't
know no more about the world than a chicken. He's thirty odd now, I
guess, and I reckon he ain't never been further away from the beach than
Sandwich te-own."
"I don't know as we'd ought to blame him," said Grandma Keeler; "though
to be sure, Lovell's more quiet-natured than some that likes to be
wanderin' off as young folks will, generally; but he was the only one
they had, and Lovell's allus been a good boy. Pa and me, when we go to
meetin', we most allus come across him a carryin' his Sunday School book
under his arm, and may be," concluded Grandma Keeler, "there'll be
a time when we shall more on us wish that thar' wan't nothin' wuss could
be brought against us than being innocent."
We pondered these suggestive words a few moments in silence; then Grandpa
Keeler boldly interposed:--
"That Lute Cradlebow--he's a handsome boy, teacher. Ah, he's a handsome
one. They're a handsome family, them Cradlebows.
"There's the old grannie, Aunt Sibby they call her. Lord, she's got a
head on her like a picter! They're high-bred, too, I reckon.
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