“I guess you told me a tarnation big lie the other day.”
Unaccustomed to such language, I rose from my seat, and pointing to the door, told her to walk out, as I did not choose to be insulted in my own house.
“Your house! I'm sure it's father's,” returned the incorrigible wretch. “You told me that you had no fine slack, and you have stacks of it.”
“What is fine slack?” said I, very pettishly.
“The stuff that's wound upon these 'ere pieces of wood,” pouncing as she spoke upon one of my most serviceable spools.
“I cannot give you that; I want it myself.”
“I didn't ask you to give it. I only wants to borrow it till father goes to the creek.”
“I wish he would make haste, then, as I want a number of things which you have borrowed of me, and which I cannot longer do without.”
She gave me a knowing look, and carried off my spool in triumph.
I happened to mention the manner in which I was constantly annoyed by these people, to a worthy English farmer who resided near us; and he fell a-laughing, and told me that I did not know the Canadian Yankees as well as he did, or I should not be troubled with them long.