been calm enough to notice it, and he sung out in a clear voice--his
voice always did have a good honest ring to it:

Farewell my friends,
Farewell my foes;
Up to Heaven
Joe Charnick goes.

And jest as the clock struck, and they all shouted and screamed, he
waved his arms, with their two great white wings a-flutterin', and
sprung upwards, expectin' the hull world, livin' and dead, would foller
him--and go right up into the heavens.

And Trueman's wife bein' right by the stump, waved her wings and jumped
too--jest the same direction es he jumped. But she only stood on a camp
chair, and when she fell, she didn't crack no bones, it only jarred her
dretfully, and hurt her across the small of her back, to that extent
that I kep bread and milk poultices on day and night for three weeks,
and lobelia and catnip, half and half; she a-arguin' at me every single
poultice I put on that it wuzn't her way of makin' poultices, nor her
way of applyin' of 'em.

[Illustration: "FAREWELL MY FRIENDS, FAREWELL MY FOES."]

I told her I didn't know of any other way of applyin' 'em to her back,
only to put 'em on it. But she insisted to the last that I didn't apply
'em right, and I didn't crumble the bread into the milk right, and the
lobelia wuzn't picked right, nor the catnip.

Not one word did she ever speak about the end of the world--not a