is chair to a level
with a bang and planting a hand on each knee. "Why, thet's my county,
an' thar ain't another lak it on the livin' airth. Cynthy Ann," he
called, striding to the back door, "you an' Dink skeer up somethin'
extry fur suppah, can't you? This young feller's frum Culpeper
County.--Hi, thar, Eph, give the gentleman's hoss a rubbin' down an' a
extry good feed, an' let him have the best stall--Whut you say? Dandy
an' Roan in the best stalls? Turn 'em out, then. Don't stand thar
scratchin' yer haid an' grinnin' lak a 'possum, but stir yer stumps
'bout thet hoss!" Returning to his chair and resuming his former
attitude, he said in a milder tone: "I 'low you b'long to the
lawyer-makin' class o' schoolmarsters; all the teachers we've had yit
b'longed to one o' two kinds. Either they wuz jes' school-keepers, kaze
they wuz too 'tarnal lazy to do anythin' else, or they wuz ambitious
young fellers whut aimed to mek the schoolmarster's desk a
steppin'-stone to the jedge's bench. Now, you don't look lak one o' the
lazy kind; so I reckon you air a sproutin' lawyer, hey?"

"No, sir, I've no ambition of that kind. My intention is to look about,
while teaching, for a good tract of land. I want to settle in Kentucky,
not as a lawyer, but as a farmer."

"Now you're talkin' sense! Lawyers an' perfessionals air gittin' ez
thick in Bourbon an' Fayette ez lice in a niggah's haid. Ev'ry othah
young fellah you see, ef he hez any book-l'arnin', thinks he's a second
Patrick Henry or John Hancock. But whut we need hain't more lawyers an'
sich lak, but more farmahs an' carpentahs an' shoemakahs. An', ez fur
land, thar's a track uv 'bout three hundurd acres back thar on Hinkson
Crick whut ole man Lucky, I heah, will sell fur one dollah an' two bits
a acre--lays well, is well watered an' well timbered, an' the sile
fairly stinks with richness. All it needs is cl'arin' up. I've been
castin' longin' eyes on it myse'f, but I couldn't manidge no more land
jes' now, I reckon. So my advice fur you is to buy uv Lucky right away.
An', I tell you whut, ef you hain't got money 'nough by you jes' now,
I'll lend it to you, an' tek a morgitch on the land. I tell you this is
the fines' country in the univarse--healthy climit, sile thet'll grow
anything, an', to cap all, the fines' grazin' in the world. Nevah seed
nothin' lak it! Talk 'bout yer roses an' honeysuckles! they can't hold
a candle to the grass 'roun' heah. It has a sortah glisten to it a