"Ye ain't wuth it. Do you
know what this land is? It belonged to a man that settled in a place
that knows enough to celebrate its foundin', but don't know enough to
prize what's fell to it. Do you know what I was doin' of, when I tolled
that bell? I'll tell ye. I tolled a hunderd an' ten strokes. That's the
age of the bell you're goin' to throw aside to flatter up a man that
made money out o' the war. A hunderd an' twelve years ago that bell was
cast in England; a hunderd an' ten years ago 'twas sent over here."
"Now, how's father know that?" whispered Hattie disparagingly.
"I've cast my vote. Them hunderd an' ten strokes is all the voice I'll
have in the matter, or any matter, so long as I live in this
God-forsaken town, I'd ruther die than talk over a thing like that in
open meetin'. It's an insult to them that went before ye, an' fit
hunger and cold an' Injuns. I've got only one thing more to say," he
continued, and some fancied there came a little break in his voice.
"When ye take the old bell down, send her out to sea, an' sink her; or
bury her deep enough in the woods, so 't nobody'll git at her till the
Judgment Day."
With one descending step, he seemed to melt away into the darkness; and
though every one stood quite still, expectant, there was no sound, save
that of the crickets and the night.
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