"'I'm all right,' said I,' but I don't believe you are, sir. You are
not the right colour at all.'

"'What colour be I? not green, I calc'late!' Then we both laughed,
and felt better. I asked if I might smoke, too, and took out my pipe.
Pretty soon the old fellow began to talk.

"'My women-folks sent for you, did they? I suspicioned they had. Fact,
I was slim this mornin'; took slim suddin, whilest I was milkin'.
Didn't relish my victuals, and that scairt the woman. But I took my
physic, and, come afternoon, I was spryer 'n a steer agin.'

"'What is your physic, if I may ask, Mr. Butters?'

"'Woodpile!' says the old fellow.

"'Woodpile?' said I.

"'Cord o' wood. Axe. Sweat o' the brow. Them's the best physic I
know of.'

"He smoked on for a bit, and I sat and looked at him, admiring how
the world was made. I don't know whether you read Kipling, Miss Vesta.
I was rewarded for my patience.

"'Young feller,' said the old man, after awhile, 'how old do you
s'pose I be?'

"'Seventy,' said I; and he looked it, not a day over.