I set 'mongst a lot o' young folks, mostly gals, full o' laugh an' ginger, an' as purty to look at as a flock o' red birds, an' I sot thar tellin' stories 'bout the Injun wars, an' bear, an' moose, an' painters till the moon were down an' a clock hollered one.

Then I let each o' them gals snip off a grab o' my hair.

I dunno what they wanted to do with it, but they 'pear to be as fond o' takin' hair as Injuns.

Mebbe 'twas fer good luck.

I wouldn't wonder if my head looks like it was shingled.