ah Flint, wrote every which way, but
as plain as the nose on yer face. 'It won't make no odds, dear,'
whispered my wife, peekin' over my shoulder. 'Guess it won't!' sez I,
aout laoud; 'I'm glad on't, and it ain't a cent more'n yeou derserve.'

"That pleased aunt. 'Riz me, Hiram,' sez she; an' when I'd got her
easy, she put her old arms raound my neck, an' tried to say, 'God
bless you, dear--,' but died a doin' of it; an' I ain't ashamed
tew say I boohooed real hearty, when I laid her daown, fer she was
dreadf'l good tew me, an' I don't forgit her in a hurry."

"How's Bewlah?" asked Dick, after the little tribute of respect all
paid to Aunt Siloam's memory, by a momentary silence.

"Fust-rate! that harum-scarum venter er mine was the best I ever made.
She's done waal by me, hes Bewlah; ben a grand good housekeeper, kin
kerry on the farm better 'n me, any time, an' is as dutif'l an' lovin'
a wife as,--waal, as annything that _is_ extra dutif'l and lovin'."

"Got any boys to brag of?"

"We don't think much o' boys daown aour way; they're 'mazin' resky
stock to fetch up,--alluz breakin' baounds, gittin' intew the paound,
and wurryin' your life aout somehaow 'nother. Gals naow doos waal;
I've got six o' the likeliest the is goin', every one on 'em is the
very moral of Bewlah,--red hair, black eyes, quiet ways, an' a mold
'side the nose. Baby's ain't growed yet; but I expect tew see it in a
consid'able state o' forrardness, when I git hum, an' wouldn't miss it
fer the world."

The droll expression of Flint's face, and the satisfied twang of his
last words, were irresistible. Dick and Phil went off into a shout of
laughter; and even Thorn's grave lips relapsed into a smile at the
vision of six little Flints with their six little moles. As if the
act were an established ceremony, the "paternal head" produced his
pocket-book, selected a worn black-and-white paper, which he spread in
his broad palm, and displayed with the air of a connoisseur.

"There, thet's Bewlah! we call it a cuttin'; but the proper name's a
silly-hoot, I b'leeve. I've got a harnsome big degarrytype tew hum,
but the heft on't makes it bad tew kerry raound, so I took this. I
don't tote it abaout inside my shirt, as some dew,--it ain't my way;
but I keep it in my wallet long with my other valleu'bles, and guess I
set as much store by it as ef it was all painted up, and done off to
kill."

The "silly-hoot" was examined with interest, and carefully stowe