"Hello, old man!"
"Eh?"
The man stopped, stared at Harry Bernard as if puzzled, and then began to grin.
"I want to speak with you, sir."
"Sortin, sortin you can."
"Who are you?"
"Sam Wiggs o' Yonkers. Wat can I do for ye, mister?"
The old fellow seemed honest enough, and as Harry glanced at the dirty hands, he saw nothing to excite his suspicions.
"Are you a relative of Mr.—-?" naming the farmer who owned the place on which they stood.
"Wal, not as I knows on," drawled the old fellow, laughing until his old head seemed ready to topple from his shoulders. "No blood relation, any how, sir. You see, my wife's cousin's aunt's husband's brother Jerry was a cousin to Nicodemus Dunce, who, if I don't disremember, was related in some way to Isacker Pete's wife's sister, and she was this ere man's niece, or somethin' o' that sort, but we ain't blood related nohow."