“Bring the roaster up; and if I like it, I will buy it, though I must confess that I am not very fond of roast pig.”

“Do you call this a pig?” said my she-merchant, drawing a fine game-cock from under her cloak.

I laughed heartily at my mistake, as I paid her down the money for the bonny bird.  This little matter settled, I thought she would take her departure; but that rooster proved the dearest fowl to me that ever was bought.

“Do you keep backy and snuff here?” says she, sideling close up to me.

“We make no use of those articles.”

“How!  Not use backy and snuff?  That’s oncommon.”

She paused, then added in a mysterious, confidential tone—­

“I want to ask you how your tea-caddy stands?”

“It stands in the cupboard,” said I, wondering what all this might mean.

“I know that; but have you any tea to spare?”

I now began to suspect what sort of a customer the stranger was.

“Oh, you want to borrow some?  I have none to spare.”

“You don’t say so.  Well now, that’s stingy.  I never asked anything of you before.  I am poor, and you are rich; besides, I’m troubled so with the headache, and nothing does me any good but a cup of strong tea.”

“The money I have just given you will buy a quarter of a pound of the best.”

“I guess that isn’t mine.  The fowl belonged to my neighbour.  She’s sick; and I promised to sell it for her to buy some physic.  Money!” she added, in a coaxing tone, “Where should I get money?  Lord bless you! people in this country have no money; and those who come out with piles of it, soon lose it.  But Emily S—–­ told me that you are tarnation rich, and draw your money from the old country.  So I guess you can well afford to lend a neighbour a spoonful of tea.”

“Neighbour!  Where do you live, and what is your name?”

“My name is Betty Fye—­old Betty Fye; I live in the log shanty over the creek, at the back of your’n.  The farm belongs to my eldest son.  I’m a widow with twelve sons; and ’tis —–­ hard to scratch along.”

“Do you swear?”

“Swear!  What harm?  It eases one’s mind when one’s vexed.  Everybody swears in this country.  My boys all swear like Sam Hill; and I used to swear mighty big oaths till about a month ago, when the Methody parson told me that if I did not leave it off I should go to a tarnation bad place; so I dropped some of the worst of them.”

“You would do wisely to drop the rest; women never swear in my country.”

“Well, you don’t say!  I always heer’d they were very ignorant.  Will you lend me the tea?”

The woman was such an original that I gave her what she wanted.  As she was going off, she took up one of the apples I was peeling.

“I guess you have a fine orchard?”

“They say the best in the district.”

“We have no orchard to hum, and I guess you’ll want sarce.”