s.

"Your feet are in a very bad way, my man," he said sadly.

"Yes, durn 'em," said Shorty impatiently. "I don't seem to git 'em well
nohow. Must've got 'em pizened when I was runnin' through the briars."

"Probably some ivy or poison-oak, or nightshade among the briars.
Poison-oak is very bad, and nightshade is deadly. I knew a man once
that had to have his hand amputated on account of getting poisoned by
something that scratched him--nightshade, ivy, or poison-oak. I'm afraid
your feet are beginning to mortify."

"Well, you are a Job's comforter," thought Shorty.{124}

"You'd be nice to send for when a man's sick. You'd scare him to death,
even if there was no danger o' his dyin'."

"My friend," said the man, turning to his wagon, "I've here a nice pair
of home-made socks, which I will give you, and which will come in nicely
if you save your legs. If you don't, give them to some needy man. Here
are also some valuable tracts, full of religious consolation and advice,
which it will do your soul good to peruse and study."

Shorty took the gift thankfully, and turned over the tracts with
curiosity.

"On the Sin of Idolatry," he read the title of the first.

"Now, why'd he give that? What graven image have I bin worshipin'? What
gods of wood and stone have I bin bowin' down before in my blindness?
There've bin times when I thought a good deal more of a Commissary
tent then I did of a church, but I got cured of that as soon as I got a
square meal. I don't see where I have bin guilty of idolatry.

"On the Folly of Self-Pride," he read from the next one. "Humph, there
may be something in that that I oughter read. I am very liable to git
stuck on myself, and think how purty I am, and how graceful, and how
sweetly I talk, and what fine cloze I wear. Especially the cloze. I'll
put that tract in my pocket an' read it after awhile."

"On the Evils of Gluttony," he next read. "Well, that's a timely tract,
for a fact. I'm in the habit o' goin' around stuffin' myself, as this
says, with delicate viands, and drinkin' fine wines--'makin' my belly
a god.' The man what wrote this must've bin{125} intimately acquainted
with the sumptuous meals which Uncle Sam sets before his nephews. He
must've knowed all about the delicate, apetizin' flavor of a slab o' fat
pork four inches thick, taken off the side of the hog that's uppermost
when he's laying on his back. And how I gormandize on hardtack baked in
the first place for the Rev