"This is the happiest day uv my life."
"Ah, my boy, we may spend many happy days together. I was just thinking how, in my case, a few hours had brought such a change—the change from a tramp to a man who is driving toward his own home."
"Whoa, whoa," exclaimed Alf, pulling on the lines. "John, reach back dar an' han' me Ole Nance (meaning his gun). Come back yere, Pete, you triflin' raskil (addressing his dog)."
"What's the matter?" Potter asked.
"Matter? Is you so blind dat you kaint see dat monst'us rattlesnake crossin' de road right up dar?"
"My gracious, what a monster!" Potter exclaimed.
"Yas," replied Alf, as he took his gun and cautiously climbed down out of the wagon, "an' he ain't eat no less'n er ha'f er dozen squirrels fur his breakfast. Git out, generman, an' watch de 'formance."
Potter and John got out. Alf continued: "Wait till he curls an' hol's up his head. Doan git up too close, caze he blow at you an' make you sick. Greshus, how pizen he is. Now hol' on."
The snake was holding up its head. Alf took deliberate aim and fired. Instantly the reptile was a twisting and tumbling mass of yellow and black and green.
"He's lookin' round fur his head," Alf remarked, "but he ain't gwine ter find it dis mawnin'. Wait till I pull off his rattles. Wants 'em ter put in my fiddle."