there was the matter of a thousand French people gathered
there, a chatterin', and laughin', and jawin', and
quarrellin', and racin', and wrastlin', and all a givin'
tongue, like a pack of village dogs, when an Indgian
comes to town. It was town meetin' day.

"Well, there was a critter there, called by nickname,
'Goodish Greevoy,' a mounted on a white pony, one o' the
scariest little screamers, you ever see since you was
born. He was a tryin' to get up a race, was Goodish, and
banterin' every one that had a hoss to run with him.

"His face was a fortin' to a painter. His forehead was
high and narrer, shewin' only a long strip o' tawny skin,
in a line with his nose, the rest bein' covered with
hair, as black as ink, and as iley as a seal's mane. His
brows was thick, bushy and overhangin', like young
brush-wood on a cliff, and onderneath, was two black
peerin' little eyes, that kept a-movin' about, keen,
good-natured, and roguish, but sot far into his skull,
and looked like the eyes of a fox peepin' out of his den,
when he warn't to home to company hisself. His nose was
high, sharp, and crooked, like the back of a reapin'
hook, and gave a plaguy sight of character to his face,
while his thinnish lips, that closed on a straight line,
curlin' up at one eend, and down at the other, shewed,
if his dander was raised, he could be a jumpin', tarin',
rampagenous devil if he chose. The pint of his chin
projected and turned up gently, as if it expected, when
Goodish lost his teeth, to rise in the world in rank next