Now let him in again, now; _he-ho_, once again! _Roll him over now_; that foreleg needs a tech o' water.

Now out with him again; that's right, that's right! By gol, a beautiful scald as ever I see!" Milton, standing near, caught his eye again.

"Clean that ear, sir! What the devil you standin' there for ?" He returned to his story after a pause.

"A--n--d Jake he scraped away--_Hyare_," he shouted, suddenly, "don't ruggle the skin like that! Can't you see the way I do it?
Leave it smooth as a baby, sir--yessir!" He worked on in this way all day, talking unceasingly, never shirking a hard job, and scarcely showing fatigue at any moment.
"I'm short o' breath a leetle, that's all; never git tired, but my wind gives out.

Dum cold got on me, too." He ate a huge supper of liver and potatoes, still working away hard at an ancient horse-trade, and when he drove off at night, he had not yet finished a single one of the dozen stories he had begun.
III.
But pitching grain and hog-killing were on the lower levels of his art, for above all else Daddy loved to be called upon to play the fiddle for dances.