That's jest tellin' that he's here.

Oh, ye can't come that game! Now begin agin, an' write jest as I give it to ye.

'I solem-ny sw'ar, s'welp me! that I hain't seen no pauper, in no woods, whose name was Benedict.'" "Done," said Yates, "but it isn't grammar." "Hang the grammar!" responded Jim; "what I want is sense.

Now jine this on: 'An' I solem-ny sw'ar, s'welp me! that I won't blow on Benedict, as isn't a pauper--no more nor Jim Fenton is--an' if so be as I do blow on Benedict--I give Jim Fenton free liberty, out and out--to lick me--without goin' to lor--but takin' the privlidge of self-defense.'" Jim thought a moment.

He had wrought out a large phrase.
"I guess," said he, "that covers the thing.