"I don't think," said he, "that I can make up a lie to match with those that have jist been told, but if any of you are enough interested in the truth to want to listen to a true story, I kin tell you one that came under my observation a few days ago."
All looked inquiringly at Strout, but none spoke.
"Wall," said he, "I s'pose I must consider as how silence means consent, and go ahead. Wall" he continued, "you all know, or most all on yer do, old Bill Tompkins, that lives out on the road to Montrose. This occurrence took place early las' summer. Old Bill hisself is too close-mouthed to let on about it, but when I was over there the other day, arter givin' Lizzy Tompkins her music-lesson, I got talkin' with her mother, and one thing led to another, and finally I got the whole story outer her. Old Bill had a cow that they called 'Old Jinnie.' She was always mischeevous, but last year she'd been wusser'n ever. She'd git out of the barn nights, and knock down fences, and tramp down flower gardens, and everybody said she wuz a pesky noosance. One night old Bill and his family wuz seated 'round the centre table in the sittin'-room. There wuz Mary, his wife; and George, his oldest boy, a young fellow about eighteen; Tommy, who is a ten-year-older, and little Lizzy, who is about eight. George wuz readin' somethin' out of a paper to 'em, when they heerd a-runnin' and a-jumpin', and old Bill said, 'That varmint's got out of the barn and is rampagin' 'round agin,' The winder curt'ins wuz up, and old Jinnie must 'a' seed the light, for she run pell-mell agin the house, and drove her horns through the winder, smashin' four panes. Old Bill and George managed to git her back inter the barn and tied her up.
"As they wuz walking back to the house, old Bill said, 'Consarn her picter, I'll make beef o' her to-morrer or my name ain't Bill Tompkins,' When they got back to the settin'-room, George said, 'How be yer goin' ter do it, dad?' 'Why, cut her throat,' said Bill. 'You can't do it,' said George, 'the law sez yer must shoot her fust in the temple,' 'All right,' said old Bill, 'you shoot and I'll carve,' So next mornin' they led old Jinnie out with her head p'inted towards the barn. George had loaded up the old musket, and stood 'bout thirty feet off. George didn't know just edzactly where the cow's temple wuz, but he imagined it must be somewhere atween her eyes, so he fired and hit her squar' in the forehead. That was enough for old Jinnie, she jist ducked her head, and with a roar like the bull of Bashan she put for George. He dropped the musket and went up the ladder inter the haymow livelier'n he ever did before, you kin bet. Old Jinnie struck the ladder and knocked it galley-west. Old Jinnie then turned 'round and spied little Tommy. He put, and she put arter him. There wasn't nothin' else to do, so Tommy took a high jump and landed in the pig-sty. Old Bill is kinder deef in one ear, and he didn't notice much what wuz goin' on on that side of him. He was runnin' the grindstone and puttin' a good sharp edge on his butcher knife, when he happened to look up and seed old Jinnie comin' head on. He dropped the knife and started for the house, thinkin' he'd dodge in the front door. Over went the grindstone and old Jinnie, too, but she wuz up on her feet ag'in quicker'n scat. She seemed to scent the old man, for when she got to the front door she turned in and then bolted right into the parlor. Old Bill heerd her comin', and he went head fust through the open winder, and landed in the orchard. He got up and run for a big apple-tree that stood out near the road, and never stopped till he'd clumb nearly to the top. Little Lizzie gave a yell like a catamount and ran behind the pianner, which was sot out a little from the wall. Old Jinnie went bunt inter the planner and made a sandwich of Lizzie, who wuz behind it. Mis' Tompkins heard Lizzie scream, and come to see what the matter was. When she see Jinnie she jist made strides for the wood-shed, and old Jinnie sashayed arter her. Mis' Tompkins went skitin' through the wood-shed. There wuz a pair of steps that led up inter the corn barn, and Mis' Tompkins got up there jist as old Jinnie walked off with the steps. Then old Jinnie took a walk outside and looked 'round as unconsarned as though nothin' had happened. Jist about this time one of them tin peddlers come along that druv one of them red carts with pots, and pans, and kittles, and brooms, and brushes, and mops hung all over it. He spied old Bill up in the tree, and sez he, 'What be yar doin', Farmer Tompkins?' 'Pickin' apples,' said old Bill. He don't waste words on nobody. 'Ain't it rather early for apples?' inquired the peddler. 'These are some I forgot to pick last fall,' replied old Bill. 'Anythin' in my line?' said the peddler. 'Ain't got no money,' said Bill. 'Hain't you got something you want to trade?' asked the peddler. 'Yes,' said Bill, 'I'll swap that cow over yonder; you kin have her for fifteen dollars, an' I'll take it all in trade,' 'Good milker?' said the man. 'Fust-class butter,' said old Bill. 'What do you want in trade?' said the man. 'Suit yerself,' said Bill, 'chuck it down side of the road there.' This was soon done, and the peddler druv up front of old Jinnie and went to git her, so as to tie her behind his waggin. She didn't stop to be led. Down went her head agin and she made for the peddler. He got the other side of his team jist as old Jinnie druv her horns 'tween the spokes of the forrard wheel. Down come the pots, and pans, and kittles, in ev'ry direction. A clotheshorse fell on the horse's back and off he started on a dead run, and that wuz the end of poor Jinnie. Before she could pull back her horns, round went the wheel and broke her neck. The peddler pulled up his horse and went back to see old Bill, who was climbin' down from the apple tree. 'What am I goin' to do about this?' said the peddler. 'I wuz countin' on drivin' her over to the next town and sellin' her or tradin' her off, but I hain't got no use for fresh beef.' 'Wall,' said old Bill, 'considering circumstances we'll call the trade off. You kin keep your stuff and I'll keep my beef.' The peddler loaded up and druv off. Then old Bill went in and pulled Lizzie out from behind the pianner, and put up the steps so Mrs. Tompkins could come down from the corn barn, and fished Tommy out of the pig-sty, and threw a bucket of water over him, and put up the ladder so George could git down from the haymow, and they all got round poor old Jinnie and stood as hard as they could and laughed." Here Professor Strout pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. "That's how old Bill Tompkins got his beef."
There was a general laugh and a pushing back of chairs, and the whole company arose and went in various directions to their afternoon work. Professor Strout went into the front entry, for he always entered and left the house by the front door. Quincy followed him, and closing the door that led into the dining-room, said, "Mr. Strout, I would like to see you in my room for half an hour on important business."
"I guess 'tain't as important as some business of my own I've got to attend to this arternoon. I'm goin' over to the Centre to fix up my accounts as tax collector with the town treasurer."
"I think my business is fully as important as that," said Quincy, "it relates to your appointment as postmaster."
"Oh, you've got a hand in that, have yer?" asked Strout, an angry flush suffusing his face.
"I have both hands in it," replied Quincy imperturbably, "and it rests with you entirely whether I keep hold or let go."