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Miranda flushed to the roots of her thick black hair. "It looks better to see a man round on a farm, if he can't do anything but set on the choppin'-block and whistle," she said, intently surveying her hat-crown. "If you want to get married, Mirandy, it seems if you ought to have a stiddy, likely man." "I don't want to get married.

McCabe," says I, "how it's never too late to discover that, after all, old Hubby's the one best bet on the card." "Pooh!" says Sadie. "It isn't always safe to let him know it, even if you have." "And believe me, Shorty," goes on Mr. Hunk Burley, tappin' a stubby forefinger on my knee, and waggin' his choppin'-block head energetic, "when I get behind a proposition yuh goin' to get some action."

Such a hard face he has, a reg'lar low-brow map, and a neck like a choppin'-block. His stubby legs are sprung out at the knees, and his arms have a good deal the same curve. "Built like a dachshund, ain't he?" I remarks. "Quite so," says Fothergill. "See, he's stopping. And he has a bundle under one arm." "Overalls," says I. "Plumber, maybe."

"There wasn't enough life left in him to keep his faculties and his bod'ly organs all a-going at once. The upper story's to let." "I wish you'd go upstairs, and see what he is doing up there." "Aw, no! Let him be. He likes to go off by himself and do his thinking. I notice it rattles him to be talked to much. He sets out there on the choppin'-block, looking at the bluffs ever notice?

Leander was still irritable over his loss. "I set him down with his grub and blankets, and I watched him footing it acrost the dam. He done it real handsome, steady on his pins. Then he set down and waited, kind o' dreaming, like he used to, settin' on the choppin'-block. I hailed him. 'What's the matter? I says.