Wal, yis, naow--goin' to walk to the cross-road tavern?
better not.

Jest wait a minit and I'll hitch up and take ye over.
"Thank you, Biah, but I can't stop, and I'd rather walk, so I won't trouble you." "Wal, look here--don't ye want a sort o' nest-egg?
I've got fifty silver dollars laid up: you take it on venture and give me half what it brings." "Thank you, Biah.

If you'll trust me with it I'll hope to do something for us both." Biah went into the house, and after some fumbling brought out a canvas bag, which he put into James's hand.
"Wanted to go to sea confoundedly myself, but there's Mariar Jane--she won't hear on't, and turns on the water-works if I peep a single word.
Farmin's drefful slow, but when a feller's got a gal he's got a cap'n; he has to mind orders.

So you jest trade and we'll go sheers.

I think consid'able of you, and I expect you'll make it go as fur as anybody." "I'll try my best, you may believe, Biah," said James, shaking the hard hand heartily, as he turned on his way towards the cross-roads tavern.
The whole village of Maplewood on Thanksgiving Day morning was possessed of the fact that James Pitkin had gone off to sea in the _Eastern Star_, for Biah had felt all the sense of importance which the possession of a startling piece of intelligence gives to one, and took occasion to call at the tavern and store on his way up and make the most of his information, so that by the time the bell rang for service the news might be said to be everywhere.