Whenever you come to such a grand place as this, Squire, depend on’t the farm is all of a piece, great crops of thistles, and an everlastin yield of weeds, and cattle the best fed of any in the country, for they are always in the grain fields or mowin lands, and the pigs a rootin in the potatoe patches.  A spic and span new gig at the door, shinin like the mud banks of Windsor, when the sun’s on ’em, and an old wrack of a hay waggon, with its tongue onhitched, and stickin out behind, like a pig’s tail, all indicate a big man.  He’s above thinkin of farmin tools, he sees to the bran new gig, and the hired helps look arter the carts.  Catch him with his go to meetin clothes on, a rubbin agin their nasty greasy axles, like a tarry nigger; not he, indeed, he’d stick you up with it.

The last time I came by here, it was a little bit arter day light down, rainin cats and dogs, and as dark as Egypt; so, thinks I, I’ll jist turn in here for shelter to Squire Bill Blake’s.  Well, I knocks away at the front door, till I thought I’d a split it in:  but arter a rappin awhile to no purpose, and findin no one come, I gropes my way round to the back door, and opens it, and feelin all along the partition for the latch, of the keepin room, without finding it, I knocks agin, when some one from inside calls out ‘walk.’  Thinks I, I don’t cleverly know whether that indicates ‘walk in,’ or ‘walk out,’ its plaguy short metre, that’s a fact; but I’ll see any how.  Well, arter gropin about awhile, at last I got hold of the string and lifted the latch and walked in, and there sot old marm Blake, close into one corner of the chimbley fire place, a see-sawin in a rockin chair, and a half grown black house help, half asleep in tother corner, a scroudgin up over the embers.  Who be you, said Marm Blake, for I can’t see you.  A stranger, said I. Beck, says she, speakin to the black heifer in the corner, Beck, says she agin, raisin her voice, I believe you are as deff as a post, get up this minit and stir the coals, till I see the man.  Arter the coals were stirred into a blaze, the old lady surveyed me from head to foot, then she axed me my name, and where I came from, where I was agoin, and what my business was.  I guess, said she, you must be reasonable, wet, sit to the fire and dry yourself, or mayhap your health may be endamnified p’raps.

So I sot down, and we soon got pretty considerably well acquainted, and quite sociable like, and her tongue when it fairly waked up, began to run like a mill race when the gate’s up.  I hadn’t been talkin long, ’fore I well nigh lost sight of her altogether agin, for little Beck, began to flourish about her broom, right and left, in great style, a clearin up, and she did raise such an auful thick cloud o’ dust, I didn’t know if I should ever see or breathe either agin.  Well when all was sot to rights and the fire made up, the old lady began to apologize for havin no candles; she said she’d had a grand tea party the night