an' waggin wot I'm a-drivin' now to
boot. Werry good. I got aboard my new waggin, and h'isted my whip, an'
whistled the 'Star-Spangled Banner,' and sez I, 'Thar, gol bust ye,
you're in commission, ye wall-sided hooker,' sez I. Then I got under way
fur my fust cruise. It were plain sailin' gittin' out o' the harbor,
an', as the weather were fair with a stiddy wind, I let the colt go
along under plain sail. Waal, I hadn't gone more'n a couple o' cable
lengths w'en ole Widdy Moriarty she comes down to the sea-wall on her
place, an' sings out to me. So I hove the colt to, an' I axes her,
'Wot's up, mate?' An' she says she wants me fur to take a box o' heggs
down to the Fraser Bellew's grocery store. So I filled away on the colt,
an' luffed up alongside o' the sea-wall, an' made him fast to a pile wot
were stickin' up. I got the heggs, an' stowed 'em right forrard in the
forepeak o' the waggin. I got aboard, an' filled away on my course
ag'in.

"Werry good. Nex' I war hove to by Pete Maguff, a cullud man, who put a
bar'l o' maple syrup aboard. Then Jim Penn he puts in a bar'l o' flour
fur me to take back to ole man Bellew 'cos 'twarn't the right kind. Them
two bar'ls pooty nigh filled up the whole waist o' the waggin.
Howsumever, w'en Hank Mosher axed me to take a bar'l o' apples aboard I
carkilated I could git her under the break o' the tailboard, an' I did.
Pussonally, I war now usin' the box o' heggs fur a bridge, an' were
a-steerin' the colt from there. Bein' loaded right down to the
Plimsoll's mark, I didn't go to crackin' on sail, but let the colt go
along under his lower tops'ls like. All right, sez you. But allus keep a
bright lookout fur squalls, sez I. Werry good. I hadn't logged off
more'n half a knot w'en Farmer Powley's ten-acre pasture were on my
starboard hand, an' his black-an'-white bull, Napoleon Bonyparty, were
standin' plum in the middle o' the same. Now w'en that 'ere bull seed
that 'ere red waggin he knowed it warn't the ole merchant hooker wot
he'd seed me a-steerin' up an' down that road so long. Nope; he med up
his mind it were a foreign cruiser, an' sez he to hisself, 'This are
where I shows 'em wot kind o' a coast-defense ram I are.' So he blowed
one whistle, hooked on, an' come down the field under forced draught,
turnin' up a mos' terrible starn wave o' dust on account o' the pasture
bein' werry shallow water. I hailed him, an' told him it war me, but he
couldn't hear nothin'. All he could do war