A feller can whistle to me and say: 'Come on, Bill,' and I'll trot at his heels all day.

But when he pats me on the head and says: 'There there! nice doggie.

Go under the bed and lay down,' my back bristles up and I commence to growl right off.

There's consider'ble Whittaker in me, as I've told you before." The town clerk pondered over this rather unsatisfactory line of reasoning for some minutes.

His companion fitted a wooden chimney on the doll house, found it a trifle out of plumb, and proceeded to whittle a shaving off the lower edge.