JOHN B. PENNEPACKER
vun of dese enchineers vinks at olt Dafy and say to him, ‘You go ofer dere and puy dat varm from Hiestand.’ Hiestand vas de feller vat owned it, and he blanted dem abble drees. Dat vas enough. Chust ven de sun vas up olt Dafy valked ofer de pridge and he say to Hiestand: ‘You vant to sell diese varm diese long time—now you has a chance. I vill gif you seven dousand tollars for diese varm.” John made a long pause in silence and then continued: “Dere vas somesing vat happened. De fery day vat de enchineers goes avay de chypsies comes along de Berkiomen wiss dere vagons and dere horses and dey gamps in de meadows and steals chickens. Wiss dese chypsies vas an ugly olt voman vat dells vortunes. Dat night Hiestand goes to de gamp and he pays diese olt voman to dell his vortune and how he vill make money. She dells him:
“ ‘Dere is a man coming ofer to puy your varm. Don't sell it to him, and you vill make lots of money.' Sure enough, along comes olt Dafy. Hiestand says to him: “ ‘You needn't come ofer here tryin' to puy no varms. I likes diese varm all right. I vill chust keep it.’
“And den,” said John, concluding with a touch of philosophy, “de Pennsylfany Railroat didn't lay out any new roat and Hiestand, he lost money on his varm, and de vink vat dat enchineer gif and de vortune vat dat olt voman dell, dey vas bose alike and vas no goot.”
“You knew James Pennypacker, who lived near Schwenksville at the time of the family reunion, very well, did you not?”
This was a query put to John as I pondered over the huge folio Bible of Peter and his son Samuel, with its family records and its notes of deep colonial snows and the coming of the Continental Army. I had bought this Bible from James, now long dead. Nearly forty years ago I wandered with satchel and staff up into the Perkiomen Valley, then to me a strange land, in the search for information. Finding
