“I reckon it _wuz_ a good rope,” complained Len. “That young-un got holt o’ my plough-lines. I wouldn’t ’a’ give ’em fer that ol’ sow.” “Ain’t it a cussin’ shame now Mis’ Dolly won’t git nothin’? Ha’f that sow would ’a’ been hern. ’Course the b’ar is pap’s. It wuz pap ’at got in the throw that tied him.” It was a moment before I got the full meaning of Sam’s words, and when I did my astounded silence seemed to create a slight embarrassment. “Pap’ll give her a part,” said Len, “ef she wants to take it. Mebbe she didn’t ’zackly mean what she told him ’bout havin’ what he could ketch. It’ll disappint pap, but we ain’t goin’ to have no hard feelin’ ’bout an ol’ b’ar hog.” “I’m shore glad,” said Sam, “that she saw pap ketch him, an’s got her own eyes fer it. I wouldn’t take a throwed-away dish-rag off’n her underhand. Ez fer her not meanin’ what she said, her word’s as good in the woods as ’tis in the meetin’-house. Ever’body’ll tell ye that. ’Tain’t jest me a-talkin’.” My inward tumult subsided. There was no profit in rebellion when the elements were against me. I looked at granpap, silent and apart, chewing his bit of dogwood. “What about it, granpap?” “What y’all say’s good enough fer me.” No help there, so I yielded with a gaiety that left them slightly puzzled, not understanding the lubricant value of a good laugh at oneself. “The victory is yours, granpap. Let’s get him home.” There was a buzz of spirited talk, all to show granpap that he was to be congratulated. When we started again Snead proposed going by Abe Siler’s. “He’ll buy that feller right off the pole, an’ we’ll save time by drappin’ him there. Abe’s wantin’ to git a hog to pen right now, an’ he’ll give you six dollars fer that b’ar.” “Six dollars!” I exclaimed. “Three weeks with all the corn he wants, and he’ll weigh out forty dollars’ worth of meat!” “It ’ud make a big hole in my pile o’ corn,” said granpap. “You gittin’ it wrong, Mis’ Dolly,” said Snead. “B’ar meat as old as that feller is stringy an’ tough, an’ don’t make no grease to talk about. Ain’t hardly anybody’ll buy it. Ol’ Abe ain’t pertickler ef he gits it cheap. He’ll take the green meat to Carson an’ sell it. Six dollars is top money fer him.” “Yer talkin’ right, Ag,” said granpap. “Let’s go by Abe’s.” We went by Abe’s, and granpap pocketed five dollars for the hog, the buyer considering six a “masterous price.”