kin' you. Don't you?"

"Yas, suh, I feels it; still I's er little skeered o' you. An' whut you
gwine gimme caze I skeered? Ain't it wuth er quarter ter be skeered like
I is? Huh?"

"Here," replied Jim, giving him a piece of money. "It's worth a quarter
to see Satan play his pranks."

A turn in the road, and there was a river, narrow, deep and as blue as
the sky. Wild spice bushes, shedding a sweet perfume, grew upon the
steep banks, and far below they saw a black bass leap to gulp a mouthful
of the sun. The hills stretched away, purple, blue, green; and through
the air shot a red bird, lightening from a cloud of flowers. A gaudy,
wild dragon, zouave-arrayed, stood guard over a violet nodding beside a
rock, and the milk-maidish white clover trembled in fear of the
lust-looking strawberry. Bold upon a high rock, with a fish in his claw,
sat a defiant eagle, and straight down the river flew a sand-hill
crane, like a fragment of gray mist.

They met a young fellow, carrying a tea-cup in his hand, with hair that
looked like hackled flax and with a grin that invited the confidence of
all mankind. It was Mose Blake, known to neighborhood fame as the
stutterer. He halted and attempted to say something, but Kintchin drove
on, muttering that he had no time for words that a fellow chewed all to
pieces. The boy tried to shout his defiance, but "you are a--a--a
f--f--f--," was all he could utter and even this was forestalled by
Kintchin, who called back at him: "Oh, we knows all erbout dat."

The road dipped down, turned, and they drove upon a ferry-boat, a mere
platform of rude plank and propelled by two gaunt men. On the other
shore they drove along still keeping close to the river. A country boy
hailed them, but without heeding him Kintchin remarked: "Dat's Laz
Spencer, an' he takin' dat meal bag home somewhar ter borry suthin'
else. Ef he wuz ter go ter heben an' foun' dat he couldn't borry some
angel's harp, he wouldn't stay dar. I 'spize ter see er pusson all de
time wantin' suthin'."

"You don't borrow, do you?" Tom asked, and he answered:

"Who, me? No, suh. I earns all I gits--ef not befo', afterwards. Jest ez
sho ez er pusson gibs me suthin' I gwine earn it."

Turning off from the river and entering upon a piece of level ground,
they came to the post-office, an old log house with gable end toward the
road. In an inclosure a number of tow-headed boys were trying to ride a
calf. In the road a child, not more than ab