Rid to Chinkypin this week-- Yisterd'y.--No snow to speak Of, and didn't have no sleigh Anyhow; so, as I say, I rid in--and froze one ear And both heels--and I don't keer!-- "Mother and the girls kin jes Bother 'bout their Chris'mases _Next_ time fer _theirse'vs_, I jack!" Thinks-says-I, a-startin' back,-- Whole durn meal-bag full of things Wrapped in paper-sacks, and strings Liable to snap their holt Jes at any little jolt! That in front o' me, and _wind_ With _nicks_ in it, 'at jes skinned Me alive!--I'm here to say Nine mile' hossback thataway Would a-walked my log! But, as Somepin' allus comes to pass, As I topped old Guthrie's hill. Saw a buggy, front the 'Still, P'inted home'ards, and a thin Little chap jes climbin' in. Six more minutes I were there On the groun's'--And course it were-- It were little Poke--and he Nearly fainted to see me!-- "You ben in to Chinky, too?" "Yes; and go' ride back with you," I-says-I. He he'pped me find Room fer my things in behind-- Stript my hoss's reins down, and Put his mitt' on the right hand So's to lead--"Pile in!" says he, "But you 've struck pore company!" Noticed he was pale--looked sick, Kindo-like, and had a quick Way o' flickin' them-air eyes 0' his roun' 'at didn't size Up right with his usual style-- s' I, "You well?" He tried to smile, But his chin shuck and tears come.-- "_I've run 'Viney 'way from home_!" Don't know jes what all occurred Next ten seconds--Nary word, But my heart jes drapt, stobbed thue, And whirlt over and come to.-- Wrenched a big quart bottle from That fool-boy!--and cut my thumb On his little fiste-teeth--helt Him snug in one arm, and felt That-air little heart o' his Churn the blood o' Wigginses Into that old bead 'at spun Roun' her, spilt at Lexington! His k'niptions, like enough, He'pped us both,--though it was rough-- Rough on him, and rougher on Me when last his nerve was gone, And he laid there still, his face Fishin' fer some hidin'-place Jes a leetle lower down In my breast than he 'd yit foun'!