under a squirrel and killed him without raising a hayr.
Last Christmas eve I fotched a jug of moonshine from the Cliff House
Still and hid it in the loft. You know that boy found out whar I hid her
and when I went after hit, hit was nigh gone. He was snoozing away on
the hay. When he come to, his head didn't hurt narry bit. That once I
shore split his pants for him with a hame strop. He's got to leave my
licker alone; that's one thing he can't put over on his paw,--no not
yit. Down the crick at the mines is a dago, a fur-reen-er and his folks
from Bolony. He's got a boy, Luigi Poggi, about fourteen but not as big
as Caleb. That boy spends all his time with Caleb. He had jest gone home
when you rid up. He talks dago to Caleb and Caleb gives him back jest
plain straight Crick talk. If he's larnin as much United States as Caleb
is dago, he'll make circit rider preacher in a few years. Caleb talk
dago to the men."

Whereupon the boy stepped directly in front of Mr. Rogers and said;
"Buona sera, Rogers avete tabacco meliore di questo?" (Good evening,
Rogers, have you any tobacco better than this?--holding out a plug of
long green.)

To which Mr. Rogers understanding him, replied:

"Caro ragazzo, voi mi annoiati oltre mode, buono notte." (My dear boy,
you annoy me considerably, good night.)

"Ma non debbo ancora." (But I am not going yet.)

"Well you speak dago too, he's a great boy aint he, jest like his paw."

"What mought yer bissiness be, Mr. Rogers?"

"I am secretary of the Pittsburgh Coal & Coke Company."

"Yaah, that's the new crowd what's come in hayr buying out the old
settlers. I hearn you bought that old Boyd Dickinson survey. Well you
didn't git much. They've been trying for nigh forty year to locate the
beginning corner. The first time Cal Hurst and them surveyor men came
prowlin' round hayr, we got two on them. How's that trial with the Davis
heirs comin' on? Old Milt Yungthank at Pineville has looked ater their
bissiniss fer nigh twenty year. He had Sim and some of the boys up thayr
with Winchesters about two year ago."

"Young feller, what's yer name?"

"My name is Cornwall."

"Ever been up heyr before? I was in yer town onct. I rid down to
Livingston on the old gray mare, then took the train thar, toting my
saddle bags on my arm. When I got off the train at the dee-pot, a nigger
steps up and says ter me: 'Boss, give me yer verlisse.' He didn't get
them saddle bags, you bet. I was too sharp for th