“Ay, I know it. I was so busy the day we went off, I forgot to tell you about that. Mr. Harvey bein’ yore friend, I wanted to do ever’thing I could to he’p him; but I said to myself that what you wanted ought to come first, so I went to that field an’ I looked all over it. I went cleverly all over it. An’ I saw ’twa’n’t no use to throw away ten dollars on Tom Bowles, fer that ground wouldn’t bring corn. Yer best chance is to wait until fall, an’ put it in rye. It’ll shore bring rye.” “But when I wanted you to put it in rye last fall, you said I ought to wait until spring and plant corn.” “I ain’t fergittin’ that, but last fall I hadn’t gone well over it like I ought.” “It’s not too late for corn now, if you’ll set to ploughing at once.” “I’d do it, Mis’ Dolly; I’d be willin’ to do jest as you say, even agin yer own intrust, which is what corn ’ud be in that ground; but I’ve got to go to Carson to-morr’ an’ git my front tooth put in. It’s been out six months now, an’ I’ve got the money in my pocket.” “Couldn’t you wait a few days, Sam?” “Why, I put it to you now, if you had a front tooth out, wouldn’t you git one in the first chance? I’ve got my clo’s, an’ the money, an’ it’s mighty hard to git ever’thing together at oncet.” At last he had mentioned the clothes; so, without repulse, might I. “Your jacket is a good fit, Sam.” “How do you think it suits me, Mis’ Dolly?” “I think you wear it about as well as Mr. Harvey did.” “It set smart round the shoulders on him.” “Smart on you too, Sam.” “It looks better with the cap.” He put on the cap for proof. “I let Mr. Harvey keep his pants an’ leggin’s. That chap from Asheville left me his, an’ I thought they’s better’n Harvey’s. Jest let me walk off.” He walked off, and I duly and sincerely admired. “You reckon,” he said, coming back, “if you saw me as fur off as that black oak on the hill yander, an’ I had my back to you, an’ you didn’t know I had these clo’s, you reckon you’d take me fer Harvey?” I assured him I would. “He’s a well-set-up man, Harvey.” It was time to hit the nail. “Sam, I want the truth. _Was_ there a bear on Pitcher Mountain?” “Yes, there was--three year ago. I saw it myself, after it ’uz dead.” “Go on. Make a clean breast of it.” “There, I knowed you’d be right on me. All right, I’ll tell you ever’thing. I meant to all the time. But ’fore I begin, I want you to tell me what’s an impersile?” “An impersile? Oh--ah--an imbecile is a sort of fool.” “I reckoned it was about that,” he said; and, too late, I remembered.