"Where is your man?"[6] asked the Tiger.
"He has gone to Richmond to sell the scaapen."[7]
"And your sons?"
"I have no sons."
The Tiger threw open the photograph album on the table, and put his finger on a recent photo of two hairless youths in bandoliers. The likeness to the good lady in front of us was unmistakable.
"Who are these?"
"My sister's children," came the glib answer.
"Good," said the Tiger, as he slipped the photograph out. "I shall keep this. Who is the young man who opened the door."
"Bywoner."[8]
"Good; then he can come along with us. How many boys have you on this farm?"