This day we'd got a piece out into the country an' I had the brown colts.

I says to him, 'Ever do any drivin' ?" "'More or less,' he says.
"'Like to take the lines fer a spell ?' I says.
"'Yes,' he says, lookin' kind o' pleased, 'if you ain't afraid to trust me with 'em,' he says.
"'Wa'al, I'll be here,' I says, an' handed 'em over.

Wa'al, sir, I see jest by the way he took holt on 'em it wa'n't the fust time, an' we went along to where the road turns in through a piece of woods, an' the track is narrer, an' we run slap onto one o' them dum'd road-engines that had got wee-wawed putty near square across the track.

Now I tell ye," said Mr.Harum, "them hosses didn't like it fer a cent, an' tell the truth I didn't like it no better.

We couldn't go ahead fer we couldn't git by the cussed thing, an' the hosses was 'par'ntly tryin' to git back under the buggy, an', scat my -- --! if he didn't straighten 'em out an' back 'em 'round in that narrer road, an' hardly scraped a wheel.