I held in as long as I could, till I thought I should have busted, for no soul could help a larfin, and at last I haw hawed right out.  You good for nothin stupid slut you, said the old lady, to poor Beck, it serves you right, you had no business to leave it there—­I’ll pay you.  But, said I, interferin for the unfortunate critter, Good gracious Marm! you forget the fire.  No I don’t, said she, I see him, and seesin the broom, that had fallen from the nigger’s hand, she exclaimed, I see him, the nasty varmint, and began to belabor most onmarcifully a poor half starved cur that the noise had attracted to the entry.  I’ll teach you, said she, to drink milk; I’ll larn you to steal into the dairy; and the besot critter joined chorus with Beck, and they both yelled together, till they fairly made the house ring agin.  Presently old Squire Blake popt his head out of a door, and rubbin his eyes, half asleep and half awake, said, What the devil’s to pay now, wife?  Why nothin, says she, only “FIRE’S in the dairy,” and Beck’s in the swill tub, that’s all.  Well, don’t make such a touss, then, said he, if that’s all, and he shot tu the door and went to bed agin.  When we returned to the keepin room, the old lady told me that they always had had a dog called “Fire,” ever since her grandfather, Major Donald Fraser’s time, and what was very odd, says she, every one on ’em would drink milk if he had a chance.  By this time the shower was over, and the moon shinin so bright and clear that I thought I’d better be up and stirrin, and arter slippin a few cents into the poor nigger wench’s hand, I took leave of the grand folks in the big house.  Now, Squire, among these middlin sized farmers you may lay this down as a rule —­the bigger the house, the bigger the fools be that’s in it.

But, howsomever, I never call to mind that are go in the big house, up to the right, that I don’t snicker when I think of “Fire in the dairy.”

No.  XXIX

A Body without a Head.

I allot you had ought to visit our great country Squire, said the Clockmaker, afore you quit for good and all.  I calculate you don’t understand us.  The most splendid location atween the Poles is the United States, and the first man alive is Gineral Jackson, the hero of the age, him that skeered the British out of their seven senses.  Then there’s the great Danel Webster, its generally allowed, he’s the greatest orator on the face of the airth, by a long chalk, and Mr. Van Buren, and Mr. Clay, and Amos Kindle, and Judge White, and a whole raft of statesmen, up to every thing, and all manner of politics; there aint the beat of ’em to be found any where.  If you was to hear ’em, I concait you’d hear genuine pure English for once, any how; for its generally allowed we speak English better than the British.  They all know me to be an American citizen here, by my talk, for we speak it complete in New England.