cussed impudence."

"But you call them John Walton's apples," said Gregory, eating one
with provoking coolness. "What have you got to do with them? and why
should you care?"

"Now look here, stranger, you're an infernal mean cuss to ask such
questions. Ain't John Walton my neighbor? and a good neighbor, too?
D'ye suppose a well-meanin' man like myself would stand by and see a
neighbor robbed? and of all others, John Walton? Don't you know that
robbin' a good man brings bad luck, you thunderin' fool?"

"But I've always had bad luck, so I needn't stop on that account,"
retorted Gregory, from the fence.

"I believe it, and you allers will," vociferated the old man, "and
I'll tell yer why. I know from the cut of yer jib that yer've allers
been eatin' forbidden fruit. If yer lived now a good square life like
'Squire Walton and me, you'd have no reason to complain of yer luck.
If I could get a clip at yer with this crutch I'd give yer suthin'
else to complain of. If yer had any decency yer wouldn't stand there a
jibin' at a lame old man."

Gregory took off his hat with a polite bow and said: "I beg your
pardon; I was under the impression that you were doing the 'cussing.'
I shall come and see you soon, for somehow it does me good to have you
swear at me. I only wish I had as good a friend in the world as Mr.
Walton has in you." With these words he sprung from the fence on the
orchard side, and made his way to the hill behind the Walton
residence, leaving the old man mumbling and muttering in a very