did not make him feel better to have Wilhelmina whisper, "Oh! but she
_is_ pretty, that Anderson girl--a'n't she, August?"

CHAPTER IX.

THE NEW SINGING-MASTER

"He sings like an owlingale!"

Jonas Harrison was leaning against the well-curb, talking to Cynthy Ann.
He'd been down to the store at Brayville, he said, a listenin' to 'em
discuss Millerism, and seed a new singing-master there. "Could he sing
good?" Cynthy asked, rather to prolong the talk than to get information.

"Sings like an owlingale, I reckon. He's got more seals to his ministry
a-hanging onto his watch-chain than I ever seed. Got a mustache onto the
top story of his mouth, somethin' like a tuft of grass on the roof of a
ole shed kitchen. Peart? He's the peartest-lookin' chap I ever seed. But
he a'n't no singin'-master--not of I'm any jedge of turnips. He warn't
born to sarve his day and generation with a tunin'-fork. I think he's
a-goin' to reckon-water a little in these parts and that he's only
a-playin' singin'-master. He kin play more fiddles'n one, you bet a
hoss! Says he come up here fer his wholesome, and I guess he did. Think
ef he'd a-staid where he was, he mout a-suffered a leetle from
confinement to his room, and that room p'raps not more nor five foot by
nine, and ruther dim-lighted and poor-provisioned, an' not much chance
fer takin' exercise in the fresh air!"

[Illustration: "DON'T BE ONCHARITABLE, JONAS."]

"Don't be oncharitable, Jonas, don't. We're all mis'able sinners, I
s'pose; and you know charity don't think no evil. The man may be all
right, ef he does wear hair on his lip. Charity kivers lots a sins."

"Ya-as, but charity don't kiver no wolves with wool. An' ef he a'n't a
woolly wolf they's no snakes in Jarsey, as little Ridin' Hood said when
her granny tried to bite her head off. I'm dead sot in favor of charity,
and mean to gin her my vote at every election, but I a'n't a-goin' to
have her put a blind-bridle on to me. And when a man comes to Clark
township a-wearing straps to his breechaloons to keep hisself from
leaving terry-firmy altogether, and a weightin' hisself down with pewter
watch-seals, gold-washed, and a cultivating a crap of red-top hay onto
his upper lip, and a-lettin' on to be a singin'-master, I suspicions
him. They's too much in the git-up fer the come-out. Well, here's yer
health, Cynthy!"

And having made this oracular speech and quaffed the hard limestone
water, Jonas hung the clean white gour