“Well,” said the woman, beginning fairly to exult at the good bargain she was making, and even luxuriating in the thought, as how her husband would himself be pleased at her skill in bargain-making, “we’ve got a calf you may take.” “A what?” asked the pedler, a cold shudder following hard on the annunciation. “A calf, sir,” repeated the woman, “you said you would take any thing we had to spare.” “Right, right,” said the pedler, recovering himself as well as he could, “a calf—O yes, all the same, that is, nothing amiss by way of trade in this world; turn it to account, I dare say.” By this time the woman had conducted our hero to a small pen, with a southern exposure, adjoining the barn, and there lay a—skeleton! “This is the calf,” said the woman. The pedler started back involuntarily; he bit his lips, and for a moment was on the point of demurring. What on earth was such a sickly-looking creature worth? What could he do with it? How could he carry it? These, and half a score of kindred questions flitted across his mind. The pedler was perplexed; he was out-generaled; but re-installing his waning confidence with the thought, that as a dernier resort he could deposit the sorry-looking brute under some hedge by the wayside, like a veteran soldier in the “battles of life,” he marched up to the emergency, and with commendable good humor, said, “Yes, yes—a calf, truly—but is it alive?” at the same time half spurning it with his foot. “Yes, and alive ’tis, surely. I thought it was dead; here, you young ox, rouse up.” The calf yawned. “Well, it does breathe, upon my soul,” said the pedler; “yonder old cart can’t yawn.” “Indeed,” said the woman, her countenance relaxing into a veritable smile, “indeed, I thought myself, at the instant, that the creature was dead. It has been ailing for more than a week, and my husband said only yesterday, that he believed it would die; and he didn’t much care how soon it did die. It looks a little better, I think.” Better! the pedler could have cracked a marble. But there was no escaping from his dilemma. So with as good a grace as was possible, he inquired, “What price do you put upon the calf?” “Only ten dollars,” replied the woman. The pedler started. “Ten dollars!” he fairly exclaimed with surprise. “Ten dollars! who ever heard of such a price for a calf just gasping.” “You are committed,” dryly observed the woman. “I see I am—committed—out-generaled, madam.” “Isn’t it fair?” asked the woman. “Fair!” repealed the pedler, “fair as the day itself; right—all right; ten dollars—never mind, turn it to account, I dare say.”