"I permits 't thar 's some advantages about the land," continued Captain Rafe. "I wants ter go out and shute me a mess o' coots once in a while, and ketch me a mess o' brook-trout, but as for tinkerin' over the roads—why, that artis' that was down here three months las' summer, paintin' a couple o' Leezur's sheep eatin' rock-weed off'n a nubble, said 't our roads was picturusque. You don't suppose I'm goin' around a-shorin' up and sp'ilin' the picturusque, do ye?"
Inextinguishable laughter from the group. At this juncture Captain Shamgar came up with his cows.
"Ain't ye drivin' yer cows home ruther early, Shamgar? Sun 's a-p'intin' 'bout tew in the arternoon."
"Wal, yes, but I got through cuttin' weir-stays, and thought 's the cows was over there, I'd take 'em along home with me. Save goin' back arter 'em by 'n' by, ye know."
Captain Shamgar disposed himself on the fence, and the cows fell to browsing in the lane.
"Got your road-tax ready for the adm'r'l, Shamgar?"
"Sartin, sartin," said that individual, firmly and permanently buttressing his cowhide boots between the rails; "charge 'er to the town pump, and take 'er out o' the handle!"
Uproarious laughter.
"You'd orter see the roads in Californy," said a dark spectre with shifty eyes on the outskirts of the group.
"Gold, ain't they, Pershal?"