by Ernest Glanville (Author)

Riding over one warm afternoon, I found him leaning over a water-butt examining the little lively and red worms therein, which would soon hatch out into livelier mosquitoes. "Well, Uncle, how d'ye fare?" "Porly, lad, porly; pumpkins is scarce." Uncle Abe took a very old pipe from his pocket, and showed the emptiness of it by placing a very gnarled little finger into the black bowl. I held out my pouch.

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