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ON a high, hilly pasture, occupying the northeast corner of Peach Hill Farm, a man and two boys were one afternoon clearing the ground of stones.
The man—noticeable for his round shoulders, round puckered mouth, and two large, shining front teeth—wielded a stout iron bar called a “crow,” with which he pried up the turf-bound rocks, and helped to tumble them over upon a drag, called in that region a “stun-boat.” The larger of the boys—a bright, active lad of about fourteen years—lent a hand at the heavy rocks, and also gathered up and cast upon the drag the smaller stones, on his own account. The second lad—nearly as tall, and perhaps quite as old as the other—helped a little about the stones, but divided his attention chiefly between the horse that drew the drag, and a shaggy black dog that accompanied the party.
“Come, boy!” said the man,—enunciating the _m_ and _b_ by closing the said front teeth upon his nether lip,—“ye better quit fool’n’, an’ ketch holt and help. ’S go’n’ to rain.”
“Ain’t I helping?” retorted the smaller boy. “Don’t I drive the horse?”
“A great sight,—long’s the reins are on his back, an’ I haf to holler to him half the time to git up an’ whoa. Git up, Maje! there! whoa!—Jack’s wuth jest about six of ye.”
“O, Jack’s dreadful smart! Beats everything! And so are you, Phi Pipkin!” said the boy, sneeringly. “You feel mighty big since you got married, don’t ye?—I bet ye Lion’s got a squirrel under that big rock! I’m going to see!” And away he ran.
“That ’ere Phin Chatford ain’t wuth the salt in his porridge,—if I do say it!” remarked Mr. Pipkin. “I never did see sich a shirk; though when he comes to tell what’s been done, you’d think he was boss of all creation. Feel as if I’d like to take the gad to him sometimes, by hokey!”
“O Jack!” cried Phin, who had mounted a boulder much too large for Mr. Pipkin’s crow-bar, “you can see Lake Ontario from here,—’way over the trees there! Come and get up here; it’s grand!”
“I’ve been up there before,” replied Jack. “Haven’t time now. We shall have that shower here before we get half across the lot.”
“Come, Phin!” called out Mr. Pipkin, “there’s reason in all things! We’ll onhitch soon’s we git this load, an’ dodge a wettin’.”