"Heow be yer?" Addressing me in a high, nasal twang peculiar to the yeomanry of Maine, and then calling to his oxen without a change of tone, he drawled, "Whoa! back! Whoa you, Turk! Whoa, Bright!" at the same time hitting the oxen over their noses with his goad-stick, and resting on the yoke, he asked, "What yer goin' ter dew with them poles?" "Sell them," I replied. "What dew yer want for 'em?" taking in the height and width of the pile with a calculating eye. "Fifty cents a hundred," I said, with some trepidation. "Don't want nothin', dew yer," coming over and picking out the smallest pole in the pile; "Pooty durned small, been't they? What'll yer take fur the hull lot?" "Twenty dollars," I said. "Twenty dollars! Whew!" Emitting a whistle that would have done credit to a locomotive exhausting steam. "Why, thar been't more'n a thousan' thar, be thar?" "Oh yes, I guess there are over four thousand." "Say!" sticking his hands in either breeches pocket and taking me in from head to foot with a comprehensive glance, "What might yer name be?" "Ulmer," I said. "No? You been't Phil's son, be yer?" "Yes, sir." "Yer don't tell me! Wall, by gosh! I like Phil, he's a durned smart 'un. I'll tell yer what, I'd like ter see him and Jimmie Blaine a settin' up in them gol-durn presidential cheers; why, by gosh, they'd jist open the hull durned treasury bildin' an let all ther gor-ramed gold an' silver role right out inter the streets, by gosh, they would." Having delivered himself of this panegyric, together with an accumulated quantity of saliva resulting from the constant mastication of a large tobacco quid, he again turned his attention to the pile of poles and said, "How much did yer say fur the lot?" "Twenty dollars." "Twenty!" Drawing the corners of his mouth down and stroking his chin, then turning to me, "Wall, more I look at yer, by gosh, yer do look like Phil. Wall, I'd like purty well ter have them poles, but--," as if a sudden idea had struck him,--"Don't want ter trade fur a horse, dew yer?" "What kind of a horse?" "Wall, a pooty durned good 'un. I hain't druve him much lately, but he yused ter go like smoke; he's a leetle old but, will prick up his ears like a colt when he's a mind ter." "Well, I do want a horse, if I can trade for one," I said, trying not to show anxiety. "Say, got time ter get on' ter the waggin an go over to my farm and see him, take dinner with me? Guess, the old woman'll have enough for both."