As we drove into the yard,
the old Squire came out, smiling. "Was it a little dark up where you
were blackberrying a while ago?" he asked.
"Well, _just_ a little dark, sir," Addison replied, with a smile as
droll as his own. "But I suppose it was all because of that rainbow in
the morning that you told us to look out for."
CHAPTER XXIII
WHEN I WENT AFTER THE EYESTONE
A few evenings ago, I read in a Boston newspaper that, as the result of
a close contest, Isaac Kane Woodbridge had been elected mayor of one of
the largest and most progressive cities of the Northwest.
Little Ike Woodbridge! Yes, it was surely he. How strangely events work
round in this world of ours! Memories of a strange adventure that befell
him years ago when he was a little fellow came to my mind, and I thought
of the slender thread by which his life hung that afternoon.
The selectmen of our town had taken Ike Woodbridge from the poor-house
and "bound him out" to a farmer named Darius Dole. He was to have food,
such as Dole and his wife ate, ten weeks' schooling a year, and if he
did well and remained with the Doles until he was of legal age, a
"liberty suit" of new clothes and fifty dollars.
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