"Great lubberly fellow like you, 'busin' that poor babby all the time!
Come, Joey! come to granny, poor chile!"
It was a sorry-looking lion that issued whimpering from the cage,
limping, and rubbing his eyes. His borrowed hide--namely, Bill's
coat--had been twisted into marvellous shapes in the scuffle; and,
being wet, it was almost white with the dust and lint that adhered to
it. Bill threw up his arms in despair; while Joe threw his, great
sleeves and all, around granny's neck, and found comfort on her
sympathizing bosom.
"Silence, now," said Mr. Williams, "so's we can go on with the reading."
Order was restored. Bill hung up his coat, and sat down. Joe nestled in
the old woman's lap. And now the storm was heard beating against the
house.
"Say!" spoke up Fessenden's, "can I stop here over night?"
"You don't suppose," said Mr. Williams, "we'd turn you out in such
weather as this, do you?"
"Wal!" said Fessenden's, "nobody else would keep me."
"Don't you be troubled! While we 've a ruf over our heads, no stranger
don't git turned away from it that wants shelter, and will put up with
our 'commodations.
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