"I declar! No money?"
"No money."
"Turrible bad condition, I declar! Come in and take a bite; ye've arned yer supper. I ain't got no great show of 'commodations, but these nights air not cold, an' thar's a plenty of fresh straw out in the cow shed. Reckon ye kin make out? Hey, not?"
Ben assured him that the accommodations offered were highly acceptable.
"And whar mought ye come frum?" asked the farmer.
"New York," replied Ben.
"I declar! State or city?"
"City."
"I declar!" And he looked at Ben and Ben looked at him. "That's a right smart piece frum hyar, I reckon?"
Ben told him it was nearly eight hundred miles, at which he "declar'd!" again.