But with morning the storm ceased, and a little before noon the sun,
peering from behind his clouds, seemed to wink with astonishment at
seeing how much had been done in his absence.
Not only the sun, but Mr. Phineas Coffin, guardian of the "town's
poor," in the town of Newport, was astir, and, standing at the door of
the "poor-'us," bent a contemplative eye upon the progress made by two
stout youths who were clearing the snow from the sidewalks and paths
upon his premises.
Mr. Coffin perceived that a trial of skill and speed was going on
between one of his own pioneers and a lad similarly engaged on behalf
of the next estate. About half-way between the rapidly approaching
competitors stood a rough-hewn block of stone, marking the boundaries
of the two estates.
To first reach this, the winning-post, was evidently the emulous desire
of each. As they approached near and nearer, the snow flew from their
shovels with a force and velocity which would certainly have reminded
Mr. Coffin of a steam snow-plough, had he ever seen or heard, of such a
thing, which he most assuredly never had.
Each boy performed prodigies of skill and valor. The "poor-'us" lad
evidently gained, and his patron did not conceal a wide smile of
satisfaction; the rival looked up, saw it, was stung with generous
rage, threw himself with fury upon his shovel, and in three enormous
plunges laid bare his own side of the post, before "poor-'us" had come
within a foot of it.
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