It was simply a petition--wrought out of whose brain I know not, but most
curiously inscribed in Aunt Patty's own hand, and signed by all the
Wallencampers, with "CAPTAIN SARTELL," at the head, and "b. lot" at the
foot--to the effect that it was their desire that my labors might be
longer continued among them.
Only one, who, having made a play-day of life, turns, at last, to attempt
some earnest work, and fails, as he believes, utterly, and then catches a
glimpse of unexpected light in the darkness, can understand the impulse
given me by that dirty little scroll. It was such happiness as I had
never felt before. It made me strangely weak.
"You'll stay," said the Turkey Mogul, at length, "another term, or we'll
consider this term extended, if you please."
"I'll stay a few more weeks, anyway," I said, and the Turkey Mogul must
have marvelled at the childish faith and joy with which I clung to this
new-found rock of my salvation; "but I hadn't thought of it before," I
added, a little faintly, thinking of home.
"You're tired!" said the Turkey Mogul, almost sympathetically; "and
hungry!" he subjoined, quickly, in a different tone.
I knew by this time that the Turkey Mogul's eyes were dangerously prone
to have twinkles in the corners of them, yet I believe I met their
derisive questioning with a simple seriousness in my own.
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