Karaguen
wanted a new lace to his coat, and he reckoned I hadn't long to
live; so he put me down as "discharged sick."
'I like Toby,' said Una.
'Who was he?' said Puck.
'Apothecary Tobias Hirte,' Pharaoh replied. 'One Hundred
and Eighteen, Second Street - the famous Seneca Oil man, that
lived half of every year among the Indians. But let me tell my tale
my own way, same as his brown mare used to go to Lebanon.'
'Then why did he keep her in Davy Jones's locker?' Dan asked.
'That was his joke. He kept her under David Jones's hat shop in
the "Buck" tavern yard, and his Indian friends kept their ponies
there when they visited him. I looked after the horses when I
wasn't rolling pills on top of the old spinet, while he played his
fiddle and Red Jacket sang hymns. I liked it. I had good victuals,
light work, a suit o' clean clothes, a plenty music, and quiet,
smiling German folk all around that let me sit in their gardens.
My first Sunday, Toby took me to his church in Moravian Alley;
and that was in a garden too. The women wore long-eared caps
and handkerchiefs. They came in at one door and the men at
another, and there was a brass chandelier you could see your face
in, and a nigger-boy to blow the organ bellows.
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