see things for the
first time. An' somehow he never could join in. When he walked up to a
flock o' men, he stood _side_ of 'em, an' not with 'em. An' he shook
hands sort o' loose an' temporary like he meant somethin' else. An' he
just couldn't bear not to agree with you. If he let out't the sky was
blue an' you said, No, pink, he'd work around till he'd dyed _his_ sky
pink, too. That man would agree to things he never heard of. Let Peleg
Bemus be tellin' one o' his eastern janitor adventures, an' Eb'd set an'
agree with him, past noddin' an' up to words, all about elevators an'
Ferris boats an' Eyetalians an' things he'd never laid look to. He
seemed to hev a spine made mostly o' molasses. An' sometimes I think
your spine's your soul.

"Eb hed been lonelyin' 'round the village a month or so when Sum
Merriman, that run the big rival business to the post-office store, an'
was fire chief besides, took him an' his peddler's pack into the dry
goods end--an' Eb was tickled. He went down first mornin' in his best
clo'es, a-wearin' both collar an' cuffs. But when somebody remarked on
the clo'es, he didn't hev backbone enough to keep on wearin' 'em--he
slimpsed right back to his peddler duds an' done his best to please. An'
he did please--he made a rill first-rate merchant clear up till June o'
the year. An' then Sum Merriman, his employer, he went to work an' died.

"Sum died a Tuesday, an', bein' it never rains but it pours, an' piles
peelin's on ashes, or whatever it is they say, it was the Tuesday that
the poorhouse burnt down--just like it knew the fire chief was gone. The
poorhouse use' to be across the track, beyond the cemetery an' quite
near my house. An' the night it burnt I was settin' on the side stoop
without anything over my head, just smellin' in the air, when I see a
little pinky look on the sky beyond the track. It wasn't moon-time, an'
they wa'n't nothin' to bonfire that time o' year, an' I set still,
pretendin' it was rose-bushes makin' a ladder an' buildin' a way of
escape by night. It was such a nice evenin' you couldn't imagine
anything rilly happenin' bad. But all at once I heard the fire-engine
bell poundin' away like all possessed--an' then runnin' feet, like when
they's an accident. I got to the gate just as somebody come rushin'
past, an' I piped up what was the matter. 'Poorhouse's afire,' s'e.
'Poorhouse,' s'I. 'My land!' An' I out the gate an' run alongside of
him, an' he sort o' slowed down for m