"Whar do we sleep to-night, with some of the neighbors?" Laz inquired, and Foster laughed.

"You sleep," said he, with an old joke, "in a house that will keep the dogs from coming in and biting you."

"You mean the jail?"

"Yes, that's what I mean. We'll have to keep you close till we get through with you."

"Is that the law?"

"Yes, as we understand it."

"Wall, then, I may not have to shoot you the fust time I meet you in the big road. Got a good artickle of pie thar in the kitchin?"

"You shall have all the pie you want."

Then Mose began: "Ef t—t—t—that's the case you m—m—m—mout drive a l—l—little faster. An' p—p—p—pound cake?"

"Yes, you may have some of that, too."