of things in it that's wanted. There's food and raiment, and cattle,
and grain, and porkers, and praiching--yes, divil burn it, Nick, but
there's what _goes_ for praiching, though it's no more like what
_we_ calls praiching than yer'e like Miss Maud in comeliness, and
ye'll own, yourself, Nick, yer'e no beauty."

"Got handsome hair," said Nick, surlily--"How she look widout scalp?"

"The likes of her, is it! Who ever saw one of her beauthy without the
finest hair that ever was! What do you get for your scalps?--are they
of any use when you find 'em?"

"Bring plenty bye'm-by. Whole country glad to see him before long--den
beavers get pond ag'in."

"How's that--how's that, Indian? Baiver get pounded? There's no pound,
hereabouts, and baivers is not an animal to be shut up like a hog!"

Nick perceived that his friend was past argumentation, and as he
himself was approaching the state when the drunkard receives delight
from he knows not what, it is unnecessary to relate any more of the
dialogue. The jug was finished, each man very honestly drinking his
pint, and as naturally submitting to its consequences; and this so much
the more because the two were so engrossed with the rum that both
forgot to pay that attention to the spring that might have been
expected from its proximity.