Chapter 15 - Page 2

was nodding with laughter that brought a great sense of relief
to all of us. In a slow, deliberate tone he began to speak:

'I was over t' Rat Tupper's t'other day,' said he, 'Rat was sitting with
me in the door yard. Purty soon a young chap came in, with a
scythe, and asked if he might use the grindstun. He was a new
hired man from somewhere near. He didn't know Rat, an' Rat
didn't know him. So Rat o' course had t' crack one o' his jokes.

'"May I use yer grindstun?" said the young feller.

'"Dunno," said Rat, "I'm only the hired man here. Go an' ask Mis'
Tupper."

'The ol' lady had overheard him an' so she says t' the young feller,
"Yes - ye can use the grindstun. The hired man out there'll turn it
fer ye."

'Rat see he was trapped, an' so he went out under the plum tree,
where the stun was, an' begun t' turn. The scythe was dull an' the
young feller bore on harder'n wuz reely decent fer a long time. Rat
begun t' git very sober lookin'.

'"Ain't ye 'bout done," said he.

'"Putty nigh," said the young feller bearin' down a leetle harder all
the time.

'Rat made the stun go faster. Putty soon he asked agin, "Ain't ye
done yit?"

'"Putty nigh!" says the other, feeling o' the edge.

'"I'm done," said Rat, an' he let go o' the handle. "I dunno 'bout the
scythe but I'm a good deal sharper'n I wuz."

'"You're the hired man here ain't ye?" said the young feller.

'"No, I ain't," said Rat. "'D rather own up t' bein' a liar than turn that
stun another minnit."

As soon as he was fairly started with this droll narrative the strain
of the situation was relieved. We were all laughing as much at his
deliberate way of narration as at the story itself.

Suddenly he turned to Elizabeth Brower and said, very soberly,
'Will you bring me some water in a glass?'

Then he opened his chest of medicine, made some powders and
told us how to give them.

'In a few days I would take him into the big woods for a while,' he
said. 'See how it agrees with him.'

Then he gathered up his things and mother went with him to the
gig.

Humour was one of the specifics of Doctor Bigsby. He was always
a poor man. He had a way of lumping his bills, at about so much,
in settlement and probably never kept books. A side of pork paid
for many a long journey. He came to his death riding over the hills
one bitter day not long after the time of which I write, to reach a
patient.

The haying over, we made ready for our trip into the woods. Uncle
Eb and Tip Taylor, who knew the forest, and myself, were to go
with