Timothy Grant, the parish clerk, had just entered the store on an errand, but being directly addressed, and judging that the subject under discussion was a discreet one, and that it was too early in the evening for drinking to begin, he joined the group by the fireside. He had preached in Vermont for several years as an itinerant Methodist minister before settling down to farming in Edgewood, only giving up his profession because his quiver was so full of little Grants that a wandering life was difficult and undesirable. When Uncle Bart Cole had remarked that Mis' Grant had a little of everything in the way of baby-stock now,--black, red, an' yaller-haired, dark and light complected, fat an' lean, tall an' short, twins an' singles,--Jed Morrill had observed dryly: “Yes, Mis' Grant kind o' reminds me of charity.” “How's that?” inquired Uncle Bart. “She beareth all things,” chuckled Jed. “Aaron Boynton was, indeed, a man of most adhesive larnin',” agreed Timothy, who had the reputation of the largest and most unusual vocabulary in Edgewood. “Next to Jacob Cochrane I should say Aaron had more grandeloquence as an orator than any man we've ever had in these parts. It don't seem's if Ivory was goin' to take after his father that way. The little feller, now, is smart's a whip, an' could talk the tail off a brass monkey.” “Yes, but Rodman ain't no kin to the Boyntons,” Abel reminded him. “He inhails from the other side o' the house.” “That's so; well, Ivory does, for certain, an' takes after his mother, right enough, for she hain't spoken a dozen words in as many years, I guess. Ivory's got a sight o' book-knowledge, though, an' they do say he could talk Greek an' Latin both, if we had any of 'em in the community to converse with. I've never paid no intention to the dead languages, bein' so ocker-pied with other studies.” “Why do they call 'em the dead languages, Tim?” asked Rish Bixby. “Because all them that ever spoke 'em has perished off the face o' the land,” Timothy answered oracularly. “Dead an' gone they be, lock, stock, an' barrel; yet there was a time when Latins an' Crustaceans an' Hebrews an' Prooshians an' Australians an' Simesians was chatterin' away in their own tongues, an' so pow'ful that they was wallopin' the whole earth, you might say.” “I bet yer they never tried to wallop these here United States,” interpolated Bill Dunham from the dark corner by the molasses hogs-head. “Is Ivory in here?” The door opened and Rodman Boynton appeared on the threshold. “No, sonny, Ivory ain't been in this evening,” replied Ezra Simms. “I hope there ain't nothin' the matter over to your house?” “No, nothing particular,” the boy answered hesitatingly; “only Aunt Boynton don't seem so well as common and I can't find Ivory anywhere.” “Come along with me; I'll help you look for him an' then I'll go as fur as the lane with yer if we don't find him.” And kindly Rish Bixby took the boy's hand and left the store.