Thankfuls Inheritance | Page 3

remove, alter or modify the etext or this "small print!"
statement. You may however, if you wish, distribute this etext in
machine readable binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form,
including any form resulting from conversion by word pro- cessing or
hypertext software, but only so long as *EITHER*:

[*] The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and does *not*
contain characters other than those intended by the author of the work,
although tilde (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may be used
to convey punctuation intended by the author, and additional characters
may be used to indicate hypertext links; OR
[*] The etext may be readily converted by the reader at no expense into
plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent form by the program that displays
the etext (as is the case, for instance, with most word processors); OR
[*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at no additional
cost, fee or expense, a copy of the etext in its original plain ASCII form
(or in EBCDIC or other equivalent proprietary form).
[2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this "Small
Print!" statement.
[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Project of 20% of the net profits
you derive calculated using the method you already use to calculate
your applicable taxes. If you don't derive profits, no royalty is due.
Royalties are payable to "Project Gutenberg
Association/Carnegie-Mellon University" within the 60 days following
each date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) your annual
(or equivalent periodic) tax return.
WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU
DON'T HAVE TO?
The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, scanning
machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty free copyright
licenses, and every other sort of contribution you can think of. Money
should be paid to "Project Gutenberg Association / Carnegie-Mellon
University".
We are planning on making some changes in our donation structure in
2000, so you might want to email me, [email protected] beforehand.

*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN
ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END*

This etext was prepared by Donald Lainson, [email protected].

THANKFUL'S INHERITANCE
by Joseph C. Lincoln

CHAPTER I
The road from Wellmouth Centre to East Wellmouth is not a good one;
even in dry weather and daylight it is not that. For the first two miles it
winds and twists its sandy way over bare hills, with cranberry swamps
and marshy ponds in the hollows between. Then it enters upon a
three-mile stretch bordered with scrubby pines and bayberry thickets,
climbing at last a final hill to emerge upon the bluff with the ocean at
its foot. And, fringing that bluff and clustering thickest in the lowlands
just beyond, is the village of East Wellmouth, which must on no
account be confused with South Wellmouth, or North Wellmouth, or
West Wellmouth, or even Wellmouth Port.
On a bright sunny summer day the East Wellmouth road is a hard one
to travel. At nine o'clock of an evening in March, with a howling gale
blowing and rain pouring in torrents, traveling it is an experience.
Winnie S., who drives the East Wellmouth depot-wagon, had
undergone the experience several times in the course of his professional
career, but each time he vowed vehemently that he would not repeat it;
he would "heave up" his job first.
He was vowing it now. Perched on the edge of the depot wagon's front
seat, the reins leading from his clenched fists through the slit in the
"boot" to the rings on the collar of General Jackson, the aged horse, he
expressed his opinion of the road, the night, and the job.
"By Judas priest!" declared Winnie S.--his name was Winfield Scott
Hancock Holt, but no resident of East Wellmouth called him anything
but Winnie S.--"by Judas priest! If this ain't enough to make a feller

give up tryin' to earn a livin', then I don't know! Tell him he can't ship
aboard a schooner 'cause goin' to sea's a dog's life, and then put him on
a job like this! Dog's life! Judas priest! What kind of a life's THIS, I
want to know?"
From the curtain depths of the depot-wagon behind him a voice
answered, a woman's voice:
"Judgin' by the amount of dampness in it I should think you might call
it a duck's life," it suggested.
Winnie S. accepted this pleasantry with a grunt. "I 'most wish I was a
duck," he declared, savagely. "Then I could set in three inches of
ice-water and like it, maybe. Now what's the matter with you?" This
last a roar to the horse, whose splashy progress along the gullied road
had suddenly ceased. "What's the matter with you now?" repeated
Winnie. "What have you done; come to anchor? Git dap!"
But General Jackson refused to "git dap." Jerks