Jubal Perkins broke into a derisive guffaw. "What ails ye, Andy?"
he cried. "Though ye never seen no harnt, ye 'pear ter be fairly
witched by that thar tricked-out blackberry bush."

Rufe shrugged up his shoulders, and began to shiver in imaginary
terror over a fancied fire.

"Old--Mis'--Price's--harnt!" he wheezed.

The point of view makes an essential difference. Jube Perkins
thought Rufe's comicality most praiseworthy--his pipe went out while
he laughed. Byers flushed indignantly.

"Ye aggervatin' leetle varmint!" he cried suddenly, his patience
giving way.

He seized the crouching mimic by the collar, and although he did not
literally knock him off the wood-pile, as Rufe afterward declared,
he assisted the small boy through the air with a celerity that
caused Rufe to wink very fast and catch his breath, when he was
deposited, with a shake, on the soft pile of ground bark some yards
away.

Rufe was altogether unhurt, but a trifle subdued by this sudden
aerial excursion. The fun was over for the present. He gathered
himself together, and went demurely and sat down on the lowest log
of the wood-pile. After a little he produced a papaw from his
pocket, and by the manner in which they went to work upon it, his
jagged squirrel teeth showed that they were better than they looked.