He was a fair type of the rustic of the past generation--slow of movement, keen of wit, racy of speech.
"What's this here tale about Mr.Jonathan knockin' Archie down an' settin' on him, Abel ?" he inquired.

"Ain't you got yo' hand in yet, seein' as you've been spilin' for a fight for the last fortnight ?" "I hadn't heard of it," replied Abel, his face flushing.

"What in hell did he knock Archie down for ?" "Jest for shooting' a few birds that might as well have been flying about on yo' land as on his, if thar minds had been set over toward you." "Do you mean Mr.Jonathan got into a quarrel with him for hunting on his land?
Why, we shot over those fields for a hundred years before the first damned Gay ever came here." "So we have--so we have, but it seems we ain't a-goin' to do so any longer if Mr.Jonathan can find a way to prevent it.

Archie was down here jest a minute or two arter you went by this mornin', an' he was swearin' like thunder, with a busted lip an' a black eye." A smarting sensation passed over Abel, as though the change to the warm room after the cold outside were stinging his flesh.
"Well, I wish I had been there," he retorted, "somebody else would have been knocked down and sat on if that had happened." "Ah, so I said--so I said," chuckled old Adam.

"Thar ain't many men with sech a hearty stomach for trouble, I was jest sayin' to Solomon." Bending over the fire, he lifted a live ember between two small sticks, and placing it in the callous palm of his hand, blew softly on it an instant before he lighted his pipe.
"What goes against my way of thinkin'," remarked Betsey Bottom, wiping a glass of cider on her checked apron before she handed it to Abel, "is that so peaceable lookin' a gentleman as Mr.Jonathan should begin to start a fuss jest as soon as he lands in the midst of us.