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McCutcheon, George Barr, 1866-1928

"The Daughter of Anderson Crow"

"Have her come on to stop a while with you, Ede. It will be a
great treat for her and, by George, I'm inclined to think it maybe
somewhat beneficial to us."
"Your enthusiasm is beautiful, Wicker," said his mother, perfectly
unruffled. "I have no doubt you think Boston would be benefited, too."
"Now, you know, mother, it's not just like you to be snippish," said he
easily. "Besides, after living a while in other parts of the world, I'm
beginning to feel that population is not the only thing about Boston
that can be enlarged. It's all very nice to pave our streets with
intellect so that we can't stray from our own footsteps, but I rather
like the idea of losing my way, once in a while, even if I have to look
at the same common, old sky up there that the rest of the world looks
at, don't you know. I've learned recently that the same sun that shines
on Boston also radiates for the rest of the world."
"Yes, it shines in Tinkletown," agreed his mother serenely. "But, my
dear--" turning to her daughter--"I think you would better wait a while
before extending the invitation. There is no excuse for rushing into the
unknown. Let time have a chance."
"By Jove, mother, you talk sometimes like Anderson Crow. He often says
things like that," cried Wicker delightedly.
"Dear me! How can you say such a thing, Wicker?"
"Well, you'd like old Anderson.


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