“An’ then they’s other times he’d sneak away Hen fashun like, scratch up a nest, an’ set, Tho’ them kind cain’t lay aigs, ye know—whad say?”— He seen thet Laury ’peared ter be ’n a sweat Ter hev ’im quit ’is talk an’ go on carvin’. He done a leg an’ wing, an’ sliced the breast, An’ got the stuffin’ ready fer the sarvin’, An’ then begun again: “I found ’is nest “Las’ June—we’d missed ’im fer a month or so— Off in a ol’ forsooken suller; thar ’E set ez thin’s a rail. Bet yew dunno What he’d be’n settin’ on so long, by tar!” “Will, won’t ye hurry up? The fokes is waitin’,” An’ then she tried ter start a line o’ talk. But ’t want no use; Bill sez: “Ez I was statin’, Each time we’d try ter shoo ’im off he’d balk, “An’ wouldn’t stir; then I felt under ’im, Reel careful like, an’ say, yew wouldn’t b’leeve it, But”—Laury now was lookin’ kind o’ grim, An’ told ’im t’ either carve thet bird or leave it. But Bill kep’ on regardless: “Next I see O’ him he’s leadin’ round a yeller goslin’! (We et it Chris’mas day).—Now what gits me, An’ sets my wits ter bilin’ an’ a sozzlin,’ “Is how the cuss from _this_ could hatch a goose!” An’ Bill held up a smooth, worn, chiny knob, Thet from some door hed long sence broken loose. “That’s what I took from under this ol’ squab!” “A Happy New Year, Bill,” I sez; “D’ye mind ’F I ast ye fer thet ‘Pope’s Nose’ thing behind?” XXI The Picture