lives down in the bottoms, hollow out the butt log for a trough, an'
haul her up alongside the r'ar veranda.

"'For a week thar's a incessant "chip! chop!" of the axes; an' then
with six yoke of steers, the trough is brought into camp. It's long
enough an' wide enough an' deep enough to swim a colt.

"'The day for the baptizin' is set, an' the Sterett fam'ly comes
trackin' in. Thar's two hundred of 'em, corral count. The whole
outfit stands 'round while the water is heatin' for to clip the old
gent. My father, who is the dep'ty chief an' next in command, is
tyrannizin' about an' assoomin' to deal the game. "Thar's a big fire
at which they're heatin' the rocks wherewith to raise the
temperatoor of the water. The fire is onder the personal charge of a
faithful old nigger named Ben. When one of them stones is red hot,
Ben takes two sticks for tongs an' drops it into the trough. Thar's
a bile an' a buzz an' a geyser of steam, an' now an' then the rock
explodes a lot an' sends the water spoutin' to the eaves. It's all
plenty thrillin', you can bet! "My father, as I states, is pervadin'
about, so clothed with dignity, bein' after my grandfather the next
chicken on the roost, that you can't get near enough to him to borry
a plug of tobacco. Once in a while he'd shasee up an' stick his hand
in the water. It would be too hot, mebby. "'"Yere, you Ben!" he'd
roar. "What be you aimin' at? Do you-all want to kill the old man Do
you think you're scaldin' a hawg?" "Then this yere Ben; would get
conscience-stricken an' pour in a bar'l or two of cold water. In a
minute my father would test it ag'in an' say:

"'"Ben, you shorely are failin' in your intellects. Yere this is as
cold as ice; you'll give the old man a chill." "Final, however, the