The' wa'n't but one thing to hender, an' that's this, that I hain't never ben able to remember--an' to this day I lay awake nights tryin' to--that I said 'Thank ye' to Billy P., an' I never seen him after that day." "How's that ?" asked Mrs.Cullom.
"Wa'al," was the reply, "that day was the turnin' point with me.

The next night I lit out with what duds I c'd git together, an' as much grub 's I could pack in that tin pail; an' the next time I see the old house on Buxton Hill the' hadn't ben no Harums in it fer years." Here David rose from his chair, yawned and stretched himself, and stood with his back to the fire.

The widow looked up anxiously into his face.
"Is that all ?" she asked after a while.
"Wa'al, it is an' it ain't.

I've got through yarnin' about Dave Harum at any rate, an' mebbe we'd better have a little confab on your matters, seein' 't I've got you 'way up here such a mornin' 's this.

I gen'ally do bus'nis fust an' talkin' afterward," he added, "but I kind o' got to goin' an' kept on this time." He put his hand into the breast pocket of his coat and took out three papers, which he shuffled in review as if to verify their identity, and then held them in one hand, tapping them softly upon the palm of the other, as if at a loss how to begin.