"I b'lieve it was somewher's along there," said Mrs. Brown.
"It's jest like Charity Beadle's, only Charity had hers made up with the figur' runnin' down."
About sundown, and in the midst of Mrs. Bird's conversation—for her tongue kept in full play—Squire Longbow and wife announced themselves by a rap. Their arrival spiked Mrs. Bird's battery. After making a cold, scornful, and exceedingly low and ironical bow to them, she retired one side with Mrs. Beadle and Mrs. Snipes.
Squire Longbow had on his best rig—a suit of grayish homespun. His shirt-collar was unusually tall, and he had put a double bow-knot in his neckcloth of white cotton. The shade over his lost eye was very clean and bright. He really looked like a Justice.
Longbow said he was glad to get out—that the business of justice was wearin' him to death.
"Much on your mind, Squire, now?" I inquired.
"All the time—all the time sunthin'. There's a pin't of law to be settled in that case 'tween Whippum against Snappett. Snappett's nigger man druv Snappett's cattle over Whippum's dog, and broke Whippum's leg—I mean Whippum's dog's leg; and Whippum's dog's goin' to die—a very valuable dog—cost Whippum six shillings last spring—good for cattle, hogs, anything—children thought a good deal on him; and so Whippum swore Snappett should pay for the dog, if he spent his farm to get it."
"I declare," exclaimed I.
"Yes, he said it in my offis last week; but whether to sue Snappett or the nigger is the p'int. If we sue the nigger, he arn't good; if we sue Snappett, twarn't he that druv the oxen."
"Join the nigger and the white man together in one suit," said I.