“Wal, a few, sir. After we got on to the land, as I was sayin’, four of them came with their oxen and axes, and in two days we hed this here house put up and the floor hewed and the chimney built and then in the fall they came agin, but more on ’em, and we hed a barn-raisin’ and daddy was here and we hed a rip-roarin’ old time with that barrel of cider that I kept over and that five gallon of rum that daddy brought from taown.” “But didn’t it cost you anything to do all of this?” was the inquiry of Barclugh, as he sat listening in amazement. “Nary a farthing, ’cept the cider the boys had and the grub. But that summer I hed raised lots of ’taters and a good piece of corn and a piece of wheat in the clearance, the milk of the cows kept the sow goin’ and the chickens gave us lots of eggs. Nancy here” (who stopped and smiled at the mention of her name) “raised all those chickens,--but the first winter I hed a close shave on the cattle and horses, but I kinder looked ahead for that and the spring before I found a nat’ral medder down the river and I mowed abaout six acres of r’al good hay and stacked it up for caow feed. That was mighty lucky, for thet winter was hard and browsing was short in the woods for the cattle and the horses.” “Oh, do you let your stock run loose in the winter, Mr. Andrews?” was the next interrogation. “Why, sir, them old pelters of horses will find a bit o’ grass if it’s kivered six inches in snow, and two mile away. They’ll paw right through a crust of snow for a bite of nat’ral grass. But I keep them up at night and feed ’em in the stable. Cattle and horses do better to run out when the weather isn’t too cold.” “But tell me, Mr. Andrews, how do you raise crops among those stumps?” was the question from Barclugh’s puzzled mind that broke the serenity of his amazement. “Wal, Mister,’scusin’ my curiosity, but where were you raised? I guess they didn’t know much in them parts. For, I’d rather have ’taters on a piece of new ground. Then corn grows taller en your head in new ground. At fust we go in and cut out all the small trees, and girdle the big ones so that we can go in and clear and break up the new soil, for it’s meller and rich. Then we have loggin’-bees when a new settler comes into the neighborhood. In that way he gets a good boost.” “Do you have to get up these bees, as you call them? What are bees?” continued our interrogator, who desired to make the most of his opportunity. “Wal, that’s mighty queer you don’t know what bees are. Why they’re very common in these parts. But say, Mister, you must come from some seaport town where there’s no sich things. I guess you’re mighty green ennyhow, for bees ain’t new aroun’ here. Where air you from? I hain’t seed sich a greeny in all my life,” were the concluding words of Andrews, as he actually laughed aloud. “I am from Philadelphia, Mr. Andrews,” replied Barclugh, who fully appreciated the confiding nature of the settler.