"I've had the measles," said the stranger.
"But these here measles," persisted Abe, half shutting his eyes and gazing at the young man steadily, "kin be cotched twicet. Thayer wuss 'n the smallpox—lots wuss."
"My dear sir, what do you mean?" the young man inquired, observing the significant emphasis of the mountaineer's language.
"Hit's thes like I tell you," said Abe. "Looks like folks has mighty bad luck when they go a-rippitin' hether an' yan on the mounting. It hain't been sech a monst'us long time sense one er them revenue fellers come a-paradin' up thish yer same road, a-makin' inquirements fer Hightower. He cotch the measles; bless you, he took an' cotch 'em by the time he got in hailin' distance of Hightower's, an' he had to be toted down. I disremember his name, but he wuz a mighty nice-lookin' young feller, peart an' soople, an' thes about your size an' weight."
"It was no doubt a great pity about the revenue chap," said the young man sarcastically.
"Lor', yes!" exclaimed Abe seriously; "lots er nice folks must 'a' cried about that man!"
"Well," said the other, smiling, "I must see Hightower. I guess he's a nicer man than his neighbors think he is."
"Shoo!" said Abe, "he hain't a bit nicer'n what I am, an' I lay he hain't no purtier. What mought be your name, mister?"
"My name is Chichester, and I'm buying land for some Boston people. I want to buy some land right on this mountain if I can get it cheap enough."
"Jesso," said Abe, "but wharbouts in thar do Hightower come in?"