“Who was it?” asked Tom, tranquilly curious.

“That ther’ Jim Bledsoe, Brother Bill Layne’s brother-in-law.  He kep’ Brother Bill out, too, for a right smart spell.”

Tom was turning the memory pages half-absently.

“Let me see,” he said.  “Didn’t I hear something about your whaling the everlasting daylights out of Bledsoe sometime last winter?”

Japheth hung his head after the manner of one who has spoiled a good argument by overstating it.

“That ther’s jest like me,” he said disgustedly.  “I nev’ do know enough to quit when I git thoo.  Ain’t it somewher’s in the Bible ’at it says some folks is bawn troublesome, and some goes round huntin’ for trouble, and some has trouble jammed up ag’inst ’em?”

“You can’t prove it by me,” Tom laughed.  “I believe Shakespeare said something like that about greatness.”

“Well, nev’ mind; whoa, Saladin, boy, we’ll git round to you ag’in, bime-by.  As I was sayin’, this here furss with Jim Bledsoe jest natchelly couldn’t be holped, nohow.  Hit was thisaway:  ’long late in the fall I swapped Jim a piebald that was jest erbout the no-accountest hawss ’at ever had a bit in his mouth.  I done told Jim all his meanness; but Jim, he ‘lowed I was lyin’ and made the trade anyhow.  Inside of a week he was back here, callin’ me names.  I turned him first one cheek and then t’other, like the Good Book says, till they was jest plum’ wo’ out; and then I says, says I:  ‘Lookee here, Jim, you’ve done smack’ me on both sides o’ the jaw, and that ther’s your priv’lege—­me bein’ a chu’ch-member in good and reg’lar standin’, and no low-down, in-fergotten, turkey-trodden hypocrite like you.  But right here the torections erbout what I’m bounden to do sort o’ peter out.  I got as many cheeks to turn as any of ’em, but that ain’t sayin’ that the stock’s immortil’ With that he ups and allows a heap mo’ things about my morils; and me havin’ turned both cheeks till my neck ached, and not havin’ any mo’ toe turn, what-all could I do—­what-all would you ‘a’ done, Tom-Jeff?”

“Don’t ask me.  I’m one of the hair-hung and breeze-shaken majority.  I should most probably have punched his head.”

“Well, that’s jest what I did.  I says, says I, ’Jim, whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth, and jest at this time present, I’m the instru_ment_.’  And when the dust got settled down, Jim he druv’ home with that ther’ piebald, allowin’ he wasn’t such an all-fired bad hawss after all.  But lookee here, Tom-Jeff, this ain’t sellin’ you the finest saddle-hawss in the valley.  What do ye say about Saladin?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Tom.  “I don’t love horses very much.  You know what the Bible says:  A horse is a vain thing for safety.  Is this bay going to make me lose my temper and knock his pinhead brains out the first time I put a leg over him?”

“No-o-o, suh!  Why, he’s as kind and gentle and lovin as a woman.  You jest natchelly couldn’t whup this here bay, Tom-Jeff!”