“Is that all the Squire said, Laban, every word?” asked Israel, and as he did so all eyes turned on Laban with a faint gleam of hope that there might yet be some crumb of comfort. Laban scratched his head.
“He said suthin baout govment bein none o' our business an haow we'd a better go hum an not be loafin roun'.”
“Ef govment hain't no business o' ourn I'd like tew know what in time we fit the King fer,” said Peleg.
“That's so, wy didn' ye ass Squire that queschin?” said Meshech Little.
“By gosh,” exclaimed Abner Rathbun, with a sudden vehemence, “ef govment ain't no business o' ourn they made a mistake when they teached us that fightin was.”
“What dew ye mean?” asked Israel half timorously.
“Never mind wat I mean,” replied Abner, “on'y a wum 'll turn wen it's trod on.”
“I don' bleeve but that Laban's mistook wat the Squire said. Ye ain't none tew clever, ye know, yerself, Laban, and I callate that ye didn' more'n half understan' wat Squire meant.”
It was Ezra Phelps who announced this cheering view, which instantly found general favor, and poor Laban's limited mental powers were at once the topic of comments more plain spoken than flattering. Paul Hubbard, indeed, shook his head and smiled bitterly at this revulsion of hopefulness, but even Laban himself seemed eager to find ground for believing himself to have been, in this instance, an ass.
“Ye see the hull thing's in a nutshell,” said Abner. “Either Laban's a fool, or else the hull caounty convenshin o' Berkshire is fools an wuss, an I callate it's Laban.”