“One hot mawnin’ I ketches me a string of feesh and I teks ’em in my hand and I starts up the mountain. I comes to the fust house but they didn’t want no feesh there; and I comes to the second house and it seems lak they don’t crave no feesh neither, and so I continues till I reaches the plum top of that mountain seven thousand feet high. “Now, right on the plum top, in a little house, live a little white man and he’s standin’ at his do’ like he’s waitin’ fur me. I walks up to him and I bows low to him, ver’ polite, and I sez to him I sez: ‘Mister, does you want some fresh feesh?’ And he sez to me, he sez: ‘No, we don’t want no feesh to-day.’ “So I starts back down that mountain, seven thousand feet high. And w’en I’m about a third of the way down I’m overtook by one of those yere landslides and under tons of rocks and dirt and soil and _daybris_ and stuff and truck and things I’m carried plum to the foot of that mountain. So I digs my way out frum under all that there mess, still holdin’ to my little string of feesh, and I wipes the dust out of my eyes and I looks back up the mountain to see what the landslide has done. And, lo and behole! The little man that lives in the little house on the plum top is standin’ at his do’ beck’nin’ to me. So I sez to myself: ‘Praise God, that w’ite man is done changed his mind.’ “So I climbs back ag’in up the mountain, seven thousand feet high, till I comes to the plum top and w’en I gits there the little w’ite man is still standin’ there waitin’ fur me. He waits till I’m right close to him befo’ he speaks. Then he clears his throat and he sez to me, he sez: “‘And we don’t want none to-morrow, neither!’” § 112 The Life of the Party, as It Were Three aged Scots were in the habit of meeting on Saturday evening at the home of first one and then another of the group for social purposes. Their social demands were simple, just as their tastes were similar. All they craved was an opportunity to sit by a fire with their pipes lit and their whiskey glasses handy, in silence. One evening there had been an especially enjoyable session. Two quarts of liquor had been consumed and hardly a word had been spoken. At the approach of midnight the two guests stood up to go. One of them, with difficulty focusing his vision upon his host, who sat in the inglenook, remarked to the third member of the party in an undertone: “What an awfu’ look Sandy has on his face.” “Aye,” said his crony, “he’s dead.” “How long has he been dead?” inquired the first speaker in shocked tones. “The better part of twa hours.” “Why did ye nae tell me before?” “Hoots, mon,” said his crony, “I’m nae the one to brek up a pleasant evenin’.” § 113 Something to Look Forward To