"Ain't goin', be you ?" asked Lute.

"Hadn't you better set down and rest your breakfast a spell ?" "No, I'm going.

By the way, if you're through with that tobacco pouch of mine, I'll take it off your hands.

I may want to smoke by and by." Lute coolly explained that he had forgotten the pouch; it had "gone clean out of his head." However, he handed it over and I left him seated on the wash bench, with his head tipped back against the shingles.

I opened the gate and strolled slowly along the path by the edge of the bluff.