Sambo, a sober old dog with gray hairs in his head, sat near, looking at
the horses. Sarah, whose face had begun to show the wear of years full of
loneliness and hard work, was packing the saddle-bags, now nearly filled,
with extra socks and shirts and doughnuts and bread and butter. As the
travelers were saying good-by, Mrs. Lukins handed a package to Samson.
"I heard Philemon Morris readin' 'bout Chicago in the paper," said she.
"I want you to take that money an' buy me some land thar--jest as much as
ye kin. There's two hundred an' fifty dollars in the foot o' that ol'
sock, and most of it shiny gold."
"I wouldn't risk my savings that way," Samson advised. "It's too much
like gambling. You couldn't afford to lose your money."
"You do as I tell ye," the "Colonel's" wife insisted. "I alwus obey your
orders. Now I want you to take one from me."
"All right," the man answered. "If I see anything that looks good to me,
I'll buy it if I can."
As the two men were riding toward the village, Samson said: "Kind o'
makes my heart ache to leave home even for a little while these days.
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