“Quit the country forever!” repeated Isaac.

“Such, I assure you, is my determination,” rejoined Algernon.

“But your wound, Mr. Reynolds?” suggested Younker.

“Is not entirely healed,” returned Algernon; “yet I trust sufficiently so to allow me to pursue my journey.  The wound, as you are aware, was only a flesh one—­the ball having entered the right side, glanced on the lower rib, and passed out nearly in front—­and though very dangerous at the time from excessive hemorrhage, has of late been rapidly healing, and now troubles me but little if any.”

“Well, now, Mr. Reynolds,” rejoined Mrs. Younker, “I’m a considerable older woman nor you ar—­that is, I mean to say, I’m a much older individule—­and I ’spect I’ve had in my time some lettle experience in matters that you don’t know nothing about; and so you musn’t go to thinking hard o’ me, ef I give you a lettle advice, and tell you to stay right whar you ar, and not stir a single step away for three weeks;—­’cause ef you do, your wound may get rupturous agin, and in some lone place jest carry you right straight off into the shader o’ the valley of death—­as our good old Rev. Mr. Allprayer used to say, when he wanted to comfort the sick.  O, dear good man he war, Preacher Allprayer,”—­continued the voluble old lady, with a sigh, her mind now wholly occupied with his virtues—­“dear good man he war!  I jest remember—­Lor bless ye, I’ll never forgit it—­how he come’d to me when I war sick—­with tears a running out o’ his eyes like he’d been eating raw inyuns, poor man—­and told me that I war going to die right straight away, and never need to hope to be no better; and that I’d most likely go right straight to that orful place whar all bad folks goes to.  O, the dear man!  I never could help always liking him arter that—­it made me feel so orful narvous and religious like.  Why, what on yarth be you grinning at agin, Isaac?—­jest for all the world like a monkey for?”

“Nothing, mother,” answered Isaac, nearly choking with smothered laughter; “only I war jest kind o’ thinking what a kind comforter Mr. Allprayer war, to tell you you couldn’t live any longer; and that when you died you’d jest go right straight to—­to—­”

“Silence! you irrelevant boy, you!” (irreverent was doubtless meant) interrupted the dame, angrily:  “How dare you to go making fun o’ the pious Rev. Mr. Allprayer?—­him as used to preach all Sunday long, and pray all Sunday night, and never did nothing wrong—­though he did git turned out o’ the meeting house arterward for getting drunk and swearing; but then the poor man cried and said it were nothing but a accident, which hadn’t happened more nor ten times to him sence he’d bin a preacher of the everlasting gospel.  Thar, thar, the crazy head’s a giggling agin!  I do wish, Ben, you’d see to Isaac, and make him behave himself—­for he’s got so tittery like, sence he’s axed Peggy, thar’s no use o’ trying to do nothing with him.”