“Well,” says I coolly, “you needn’t swear so, if they be.” I listened a minute, and says I, “it haint cats.”
Says he, “it is.”
Says I, “Josiah Allen, I know better, it haint cats.”
“Wall what is it,” says he “if it haint?”
I sot up in the end of bed, and pushed back my night cap from my left ear and listened, and says I,
“It is a akordeun.”
“How come a akordeun under our winder?” says he.
Says I, “It is Shakespeare Bobbet seranadin’ Tirzah Ann, and he has got under the wrong winder.”
He leaped out of bed, and started for the door.