"Good morning, neighbour," spoke out the stranger, in a familiar
way, as soon as the farmer came within speaking distance. "Is there
any good game about here? Any wild-turkeys, or pheasants?"

"There are plenty of squirrels," returned Ashburn, a little
sarcastically, "and the woods are full of robbins."

"Squirrels make a first-rate pie. But I needn't tell you that, my
friend. Every farmer knows the taste of squirrels," said the
sportsman with great good-humour. "Still, I want to try my hand at a
wild-turkey. I've come off here into the country to have a crack at
game better worth the shooting than we get in the neighbourhood of
P--."

"You're from P--, then?" said the farmer.

"Yes, I live in P--."

"When did you leave there?"

"Four or five weeks ago."

"Then you don't know what wheat is selling for now?"

"Wheat? No. I think it was ninety-five or a dollar, I don't remember
which, when I left."

"Ninety is all it is selling for here."

"Ninety! I should like to buy some at that."