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"Well, what's the matter, then?" Tom could not stand much beating about the bush. "Why, don't ye know they've give notice?" she said in astonishment; then, as a misgiving entered her mind, "Maybe I'm wrong; but me man an' all of 'em tells me ye're a-buckin' ag'in' Mr. McGaw, an' that ye has the haulin' job at the brewery." "No," said Tom, with emphasis, "ye're not wrong; ye're dead right.
"Thet's the wurrst rat in the stables," said McGaw, his face reddening with anger. "What kin ye do whin ye're a-buckin' ag'in' a lot uv divils loike him?" speaking through the window to Babcock. "Come out uv thet," he called to Cully, "or I'll bu'st yer jaw, ye sneakin' rat!" Cully came out, but not in obedience to McGaw or Lathers.
"The pony squatted fust mighty nigh to the groun' then he riz a-buckin'. I seed Jud's coat-tail a-turnin' summersets through the air, the saddle and blanket a-followin'. I heard him when he hit the swamp hole on the side of the road kersplash! an' the pony skeered speechless went off tearin' to-ards home.
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