Mr. Tufts seems to have held to heroic practices in matters dietetic; he is reported to have said that the reason why mince-pies hurt people was because they did not make them rich enough.
The sidewalk in front of Mr. Turell Tufts' house used to be our favorite resort for a game of marbles.
We found a pleasant shade under the two mighty buttonwoods, and the ground was smooth and hard.
Here on a pleasant day might have been seen Parson Stetson's sons, the Halls, Lawrences, Clisbys, Sam Gregg, Charley Ballou, John Burrage, and others who shall be nameless.
Charles Ballou was a dead shot at marbles, and when he aimed at your alley, six feet off, it was a good plan to say good-by to it. When the play became noisy, Mr. Tufts would sally out from his front door, wildly flourish his cane, and order us off. So David Copperfield's Aunt Betsey Trotwood used to rush out to drive the intrusive donkey from her green.
We obeyed, but the retreat was only temporary; we went back as soon a