Well, Jill and I had an invitation to Aunt John's this summer, and that
was how we happened to be there.
I'd rather go to Aunt John's than any place in the world. When I was a
little fellow I used to think I'd rather go to Aunt John's than to
Heaven. But I never dared to tell.
She invited us to come on the twelfth of August. It takes all day to get
there. She lives at Little River in New Hampshire, way up. You have to
wait at South Lawrence in a poky little depot, and you get some played
out--at least I don't, but Jill does. So we bought a paper and Jill sat
up and read it. When he'd sat a minute and read along--
"Look here!" said he.
"Look where?" said I.
"Why, there's going to be a comet," said Jill.
"Who cares?" said I.
Jill laid down the paper, and crunched a pop-corn all up before he
answered that, then said he, "I don't see why father didn't tell us. I
suppose he thought we'd be frightened, or something. Why, s'posing the
world did come to an end? That's what this paper says. 'It is pre--'
where is my place? Oh! I see--'predicted by learned men that a comet
will come into con-conjunction with our plant'--no--'our planet this
night.
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