Everyone on em hed t' git up a steeple quick 'she could er be drownded.

They hev their troubles an' they talk 'bout 'em, too.' 'What do they file their saws for ?' I enquired.
'Well, ye know,' said he, 'where they live the timber's thick an' they hev hard work clearin' t' mek a home.' I was getting too sleepy for further talk.

He made his way from field to field, stopping sometimes to look off at the distant mountains then at the sky or to whack the dry stalks of mullen with his cane.

I remember he let down some bars after a long walk and stepped into a smooth roadway.

He stood resting a little while, his basket on the top bar, and then the moon that I had been watching went down behind the broad rim of his hat and I fell into utter forgetfulness.