"They're comin' airly," said John Watson, slowly, as he shook down the bag of seed wheat that he had just filled; "but I guess they are the best judge of whether they can make a livin' outside any longer.

And it was grand sport, that hunting in the darkness, wi' the wee dogs comin' back faithfully, noo and then, to their master, carrying a hare or a rabbit firmly in their mouths.

" "You mean dem dat's do fust a-gwine up de road, or dem dat's fust a-comin' down de road?"

It's winnin' 'em from branches high, Or nippin' 'em when no one's by, Or findin' 'em the time you feel You really need another meal, Or comin' unexpectedly Upon a farmer's loaded tree An' grabbin' all that you can eat, That goes to make an apple sweet.

Ah reckon Ah's gwine die, but Ah ain't yitnot ef he's comin' back!" "Good boy, George!