We stopped at the Squire’s door. Billy hastily dismounted, gave me the shake of the hand which he had been reluctantly reserving for a mile back, and leading me to the Squire, thus introduced me:
“Uncle Archy, this is Lyman Hall; and for all you see him in these fine clothes he’s a swinge-cat—a darn sight cleverer fellow than he looks to be. Wait till you see him lift the old soap-stick, and draw a bead upon the bull’s-eye. You gwine to see fun to-day? Don’t say nothing about it.”
“Well, Mr. Swinge-cat,” said the Squire, “here’s to a better acquaintance with you,” offering me his hand.
“How goes it, Uncle Archy?” said I, taking his hand warmly: for I’m always free and easy with those who are so with me, and in this course I rarely fail to please. “How’s the old woman?”
“Egad!” said the Squire, chuckling, “there you’re too hard for me; for she died two-and-twenty years ago, and I havn’t heard a word from her since!”
“What! and you never married again?”
“Well, that’s not my fault.”
“No, nor mine nither,” said I.
Here we were interrupted by the cry of another, Rancey Sniffle.
“Hello, here! All you as wish to put in for the shooting-match come on here! for the put’n in’s riddy to begin.”