'“Putty nigh!” says the other, feeling o' the edge.
'“I'm done,” said Rat, an' he let go o' the handle. “I dunno 'bout the scythe but I'm a good deal sharper'n I wuz.”
'“You're the hired man here ain't ye?” said the young feller.
'“No, I ain't,” said Rat. “'D rather own up t' bein' a liar than turn that stun another minnit.”
As soon as he was fairly started with this droll narrative the strain of the situation was relieved. We were all laughing as much at his deliberate way of narration as at the story itself.
Suddenly he turned to Elizabeth Brower and said, very soberly, 'Will you bring me some water in a glass?'
Then he opened his chest of medicine, made some powders and told us how to give them.
'In a few days I would take him into the big woods for a while,' he said. 'See how it agrees with him.'
Then he gathered up his things and mother went with him to the gig.
Humour was one of the specifics of Doctor Bigsby. He was always a poor man. He had a way of lumping his bills, at about so much, in settlement and probably never kept books. A side of pork paid for many a long journey. He came to his death riding over the hills one bitter day not long after the time of which I write, to reach a patient.