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"Waal," said the peacemaker, hesitating, "it 'peared ter me ez Uncle Jacob Smith war toler'ble drunk, take him all tergether, an' ez he hed drawed a knife, I thought that ye an' him hed 'bout quar'led enough. An' so I flung down the warpin'-bars ter git the fuss shet up." "Waal, sir!" exclaimed his grandmother, red with wrath. "Ez ef my son couldn't stand up agin all the Smiths that ever stepped!
"'Twar me ez flung down them warpin'-bars." For a moment they all stared at him in silent amazement. "What fur?" demanded his father at last. "Just ter enjye sottin' 'em up agin? I'll teach ye ter fling down warpin'-bars!"
Ye must fling down the warpin'-bars an' twist the spun-truck fur Jacob Smith!" "Look-a-hyar, Sol," said his father gruffly, "'tend ter yerself, an' yer own quar'ls, arter this, will ye!" Then, with a sudden humorous interpretation of the incident, he broke into a guffaw. "I hev lived a consider'ble time in this tantalizin' world, an' ez yit I dunno ez I hev hed any need o' Sol ter pertect me."
"I mought hev knowed that we-uns war a-goin' ter hev this spell o' weather by the sign o' the warpin'-bars fallin' las' night," said John Grow, stamping off the snow as he came in from feeding his horse. "I hope 'tain't no worse sign," said his wife. "But I misdoubts." And she sighed heavily. "'Tain't no sign at all," said Solomon suddenly. He could keep his secret no longer.
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