And when the selected victim was rushing by him, his long arm and great bony hand swept out, caught him by the ear and flung him upon his side, squealing with deafening shrillness.

But in spite of his smiling concealment of effort, Daddy had to lean against the fence and catch his breath even while he boasted: "I'm an old codger, sir, but I'm worth--a dozen o' you--spindle-legged chaps; dum me if I ain't, sir!" His pride in his ability to catch and properly kill a hog was as genuine as the old knight-errant's pride in his ability to stick a knife into another steel-clothed brigand like himself.

When the slain shote was swung upon the planking on the sled before the barrel, Daddy rested, while the boys filled the barrel with water from the kettle.
There was always a weird charm about this stage of the work to the boys.
The sun shone warm and bright in the lee of the corn-crib; the steam rose up, white and voluminous, from the barrel; the eaves dropped steadily; the hens ventured near, nervously, but full of curiosity, while the men laughed and joked with Daddy, starting him off on long stories, and winking at each other when his back was turned.
At last he mounted his planking, selecting Mr.Jennings to pull upon the other handle of the hog-hook.

He considered he conferred a distinct honor in this selection.
"The time's been, sir, when I wouldn't thank any man for his help.

No, sir, wouldn't thank 'im." "What do you do with these things ?" asked one of the men, kicking two iron candlesticks which the old man laid conveniently near.
"Scrape a hawg with them, sir?
What did y' s'pose, you numbskull ?" "Well, I never saw anything"---- "You'll have a chance mighty quick, sir.