"Yes, sir. I've took b'ar ever since I wor old enough to set a trap."
"Did you ever have any trouble with one?"
"Waal, I don' know as I did. They was mostly pooty 'commodatin'," said Seth, drawing the back of his brown hand across his mouth to hide a self-complacent grin at the recollection of his own exploits.
"Tell Mr. Brown 'bout the painter and Uncle 'Siah's Harnah," suggested Mehitable in a low voice; and as Seth only stirred in his chair, and looked rather reprovingly at his wife, the guest added,—
"Yes, Mr. Ross, tell us that, by all means."
"Ho! 'twa'n't much of a story; only the woman thinks consid'able about it, 'cause it wor a cousin of ourn that wor took off."
"Indeed! and what were the circumstances?" politely insisted Mr. Brown. So Seth, tilting his chair upon its hind-legs, and crossing his own, stuck his chin into the air; fixed his eyes upon the ceiling, and began, in the inimitable nasal whining voice of a Down-East Yankee, the story narrated in the following chapter.
CHAPTER XXXII.
THE PAINTER AND UNCLE 'SIAH'S HARNAH.
"WHEN father settled up nigh the head-waters of the Penobscot, folks said we'd have to be mighty car'ful, or some o' the young ones would tumble over the jumping-off-place, we'd got so nigh. But Uncle 'Siah went right along, and took up land furder on, whar there wa'n't nothing but hemlock-trees and chipmunks for company, and no passing to keep the women-folks running to the winders. Thar was a good road cut through the woods, and there was the river run within a stone's-throw of both houses: so, one way and another, we got back'ards and for'ards consid'able often, 'specially when the young folks begun to grow up.