Of most winning disposition and genial manners, Mr. Simpson had
not that instinctive comprehension of property rights which
renders a man a valuable citizen.
Abner was a most unusual thief, and conducted his operations with
a tact and neighborly consideration none too common in the
profession. He would never steal a man's scythe in haying-time,
nor his fur lap-robe in the coldest of the winter. The picking of
a lock offered no attractions to him; "he wa'n't no burglar," he
would have scornfully asserted. A strange horse and wagon hitched
by the roadside was the most flagrant of his thefts; but it was
the small things--the hatchet or axe on the chopping-block, the
tin pans sunning at the side door, a stray garment bleaching on
the grass, a hoe, rake, shovel, or a bag of early potatoes--that
tempted him most sorely; and these appealed to him not so much
for their intrinsic value as because they were so excellently
adapted to "swapping." The swapping was really the enjoyable part
of the procedure, the theft was only a sad but necessary
preliminary; for if Abner himself had been a man of sufficient
property to carry on his business operations independently, it is
doubtful if he would have helped himself so freely to his
neighbor's goods.
Riverboro regretted the loss of Mrs.
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