This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1916 edition. Excerpt: ... Fuller's Store For a fortnight, Fuller's store gave the go-by to political wranglings in order to gossip over Elizabeth ...Read MoreThis historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1916 edition. Excerpt: ... Fuller's Store For a fortnight, Fuller's store gave the go-by to political wranglings in order to gossip over Elizabeth Dodge Stedman Kinney's marriage, husband, and visit. Edmund, perched on the counter, dealt out details gloryingly. "My mother," he boasted, "why, my mother could have married a lot of men. But it is against the United States to marry more than one man at a time. My mother could have married all the men in New Jersey, if it had not been for the United States. There was one gentleman named 'Esquire' -- I know that he was in love with her. I heard my Uncle James say it. But he died, so she married Mr. Kinney. Mr. Kinney is real nice. When my mother says to him, 'Pick up my thimble that I have dropped, ' he gets down on his knees and searches till he finds it. My Aunt Abby makes her curls with quince seeds, but God curled my mother's hair. My mother's hair is like the sun when it begins to shine through the trees before you are out of bed in the morning, and you squint at it. If you pull a curl of hers out straight and then let go the end of it, it will wind around your finger in teeny, teeny, golden curls, ever so many of them, -- millions of them, I guess. My mother's curls cling just like babies' ringers; but they look like gold. I shouldn't be surprised if they were some kind of soft gold like the gold that the angels have in heaven. The streets in heaven are gold, and there is no weeping there nor any tears. If an angel slipped down, a little young girl-angel that could not fly very well, she would hurt herself if the streets were hard, and she could not help crying just a little. So I suspect that God makes the gold soft like moss. My father left me a fortune. I heard our Joab say to Sambo, 'I swan, the Jedge is making...Read Less
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