Israel Goodrich. "They say ez the poorhouse be twicet ez full ez't
orter be, naow."

"It'll hev more intew it fore 't hez less," said Abner grimly.

"Got no work, Abner? I hearn ye wuz up Lenox way a lookin fer suthin
to dew," inquired Peleg Bidwell, a lank, loose-jointed farmer, who was
leaning against a post in the middle of the room, just on the edge of
the circle of candlelight.

"A feller ez goes arter work goes on a fool's errant," responded
Abner, dejectedly. "There ain' no work nowhar, an a feller might jess
ez well sit down to hum an wait till the sheriff comes arter him."

"The only work as pays now-a-days is pickin the bones o' the people.
Why don't ye turn lawyer or depity sheriff, an take to that, Abner?"
said Paul Hubbard, an undersized man with a dark face, and thin,
sneering lips.

He had been a lieutenant in the Continental army, and used rather
better language than the country folk ordinarily, which, as well as a
cynical wit which agreed with the embittered popular temper, gave him
considerable influence. Since the war he had been foreman of Colonel
William's iron-works at West Stockbridge. There was great distress
among the workmen on account of the stoppage of the works by reason of
the hard times, but Hubbard, as well as most of the men, still
remained in West Stockbridge, simply because there was no
encouragement to go elsewhere.

"Wat I can't make aout is that the lawyers an sheriffs sh'd git so