Why dinna ye, or some other mon, fly like
that? There's living roots, and seeds, and insects, and worms by
the million wherever ye are setting foot. Why dinna ye creep into
the earth and sleep through the winter, and renew your life with
the spring? The trouble with ye, Jimmy, is that ye've always
followed your heels. If ye'd stayed by the books, as I begged ye,
there now would be that in your heid that would teach ye that the
old story of the Rainbow is true. There is a pot of gold, of the
purest gold ever smelted, at its foot, and we've been born, and
own a good living richt there. An' the gold is there; that I
know, wealth to shame any bilious millionaire, and both of us
missing the pot when we hold the location. Ye've the first
chance, mon, fra in your life is the great prize mine will
forever lack. I canna get to the bottom of the pot, but I'm going
to come close to it as I can; and as for ye, empty it! Take it
all! It's yours! It's fra the mon who finds it, and we own the
location."
"Aha! We own the location," repeated Jimmy. "I should say we do!
Behold our hotbed of riches! I often lay awake nights thinkin'
about my attachmint to the place.
"How dear to me heart are the scanes of me childhood,
Fondly gaze on the cabin where I'm doomed to dwell,
Those chicken-coop, thim pig-pen, these highly piled-wood
Around which I've always raised Hell.
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