"Wa'al, perhaps yo' might," the other assented and took up the paper
again. Hamilton waited. He had spent but little time in the mountains
but he had learned the value of allowing topics to develop slowly, even
though his host was better informed than most of the people in the
region. Although not an actual relative, Hamilton always called him
"Uncle" because he had fought with distinguished honor in the regiment
that Hamilton's father commanded during the Civil War, and the two men
ever since had been friends.

"I don't quite see why any one sh'd elect to take a hand in any such
doin's unless he has to," the Kentuckian resumed, after a pause; "that
census business seems kind of inquisitive some way to me."

"But it seems to me that it's the right kind of 'inquisitive.'"

"I reckon I hadn't thought o' there bein' more'n one kind of
inquisitiveness," the mountaineer said, with a smile, "but if you say
so, I s'pose it's all right."

"But don't you think the questions are easy enough?" asked the boy.

"They may be easy, but thar's no denyin' that some of 'em are mighty
unpleasant to answer."

"But if they are necessary?"

"Thar's a-plenty o' folks hyeh in the mount'ns that yo' c'n never make
see how knowin' their private affairs does the gov'nment any good."

"But you don't feel that way, Uncle Eli, surely?"