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Smith, Francis Hopkinson, 1838-1915

"Peter: a novel of which he is not the hero"

There's a spring above on the hill and sloping
ground for drainage; and shade, and a great sweep of country in
front. I've been hungry for this life ever since I left home; now
I am going to have it."
"It will be rather lonely, won't it?" The engineer's eyes softened
as they rested on the young fellow, his face flushed with the
enthusiasm of his new resolve. He and Ruth's mother had lived in
just such a shanty, and not so very long ago, either, it seemed,--
those were the happiest years of his life.
"No!" exclaimed Jack. "It's only a step to the town; I can walk it
in half an hour. No, it won't be lonely. I will fix up a room for
Uncle Peter somewhere, so he can be comfortable,--he would love to
come here on his holidays; and Ruth can come out for the day,--
she will be crazy about it when I tell her. No, I will get along.
If the lightning had struck my ore beds I would probably have
painted and papered some musty back room in the village and lived
a respectable life. Now I am going to turn savage."
The next day the contracts were signed: work to commence in three
months.


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