S'pose he offered us a new brick meetin'-house--or a fancy
gate to the cemet'ry! Or s'pose he had it in mind to fill in that low
land, so 't we could bury there! Why, he could bring the town right up!
Or, take it t'other way round; he could put every dollar he's got into
Sudleigh."
Nicholas Oldfield groaned, but in the stress of voices no one heard
him. He slipped about from one group to another, and always the
sentiment was the same. A few smiled at Old War-Wool Eaton, who desired
so urgently to be remembered, when no one was likely to forget him; but
all agreed that it was, at the worst, a harmless and natural folly.
"Let him be remembered," said one, with a large impartiality. "'T won't
do us no hurt, an' we shall have the clock an' bell."
Just as the meeting was called to order, Nicholas Oldfield stole away,
and no one missed him. The proceedings began with some animated
discussion, all tending one way. Cupidity had entered into the public
soul, and everybody professed himself willing to take the clock, lest,
by refusing, some golden future should be marred. Let Old Eaton have
his way, if thereby they might beguile him into paving theirs. Let the
town grow. Talk was very full and free; but when the moment came for
taking a vote, an unexpected sound broke roundly on the air.
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