I'll just bet five hundred dollars to a cent, and give back the cent if I win, that we have the best butter at our house that there is in Central Illinoy.

You can't never hev good butter onless you have a spring house; there's no use of talkin'-- all the patent churns that lazy men ever invented--all the fancy milk pans an' coolers, can't make up for a spring house.

Locations for a spring house are scarcer than hen's teeth in Illinoy, but we hev one, and there ain't a better one in Orange County, New York.

Then you'll see dome of the biscuits my mother makes." Bill--"Well, now, my mother's a boss biscuit-maker, too." Jim--"You kin just gamble that mine is." John--"O, that's the way you fellers ought to think an' talk, but my mother----" Tom--( coming in again with fresh vigor) "They're jest as light an' fluffy as a dandelion puff, and they melt in your month like a ripe Bartlett pear.

You just pull 'em open--Now you know that I think there's nothin' that shows a person's raisin' so well as to see him eat biscuits an' butter.