Alexander Elliott was a stubborn mule, but he was fond of his wife, so he give in and said, 'Well, durn it, bury me where you please.

But when Gabriel's trump blows I expect my dog to rise with the rest of us, for he had as much soul as any durned Elliott or Crawford or MacAllister that ever strutted.' Them was HIS parting words.

As for Marshall, we're all used to him, but he must strike strangers as right down peculiar-looking.

I've known him ever since he was ten--he's about fifty now--and I like him.

Him and me was out cod-fishing today.