He laid the dirty book on his knee and turned over its pages carefully as if looking for some note. "I ain't much on readin' an' writin'," he said, "an' 'rithmetick it goes kinder hard with me now an' agin, but a man's got to know suthin' on 'em if he 'lows to keep anyways even. I 'low to keep even, sorter, an' I've give a good deal o' time to steddyin' of 'em. I never went to no school, but I've sot things down es I want to remember, an' I kin count out money. I never was imposed on none I rekin, an' I never lost nothin'. Yere's whar I sot it down about her a-bein' born an' the woman a-dyin' an' him a-gwine away. Ye cayn't read it, mebbe." He bent forward, pointing to the open page and looking up at Tom as if he expected him to be interested. "Thar it is," he added in his thin, piping, little voice, "even to the time o' day. Mornin, she told me that. 'Bout three o'clock in the mornin' in thet thar little front room. Ef anyone shed ever want to know particular, thar it is." The look in Tom's face was far from being a calm one. He fidgetted in his chair and finally rolled his paper into a hard wad and threw it at the counter as if it had been a missile. "See here," he exclaimed, "take my advice and let that alone." Mr. Stamps regarded his dirty book affectionately. "'Tain't a-gwine to hurt nothin' to hev it down," he replied, with an air of simplicity. He shut it up, returned it to his pocket, and clasped his hands about his knees, while he fixed his eyes on the glimmer of red showing itself through a crack in a stove-plate. "It's kinder curi's I should hev happened along by thar this mornin'," he remarked, reflectively. "By where?" demanded Tom. Mr. Stamps hugged his knees as if he enjoyed their companionship. "By thar," he responded, cheerfully, "the Holler, Tom. An' it 'peared to me it 'ed be kinder int'restin' to take a look through, bein' as this was the day as the thing kinder started. So I hitched my mule an' went in." He paused a moment as if to enjoy his knees again. "Well," said Tom. Mr. Stamps looked up at him harmlessly. "Eh?" he enquired. "I said 'well,'" answered Tom, "that's what I said." "Oh," replied Mr. Stamps. "Waal, thar wasn't nothin' thar, Tom." For the moment Tom's expression was one of relief. But he said nothing. "Thar wasn't nothin' thar," Mr. Stamps continued. Then occurred another pause. "Nothin'," he added after it, "nothin' particular." The tenderness with which he embraced his knees at this juncture had something like fascination in it. Tom found himself fixing a serious gaze upon his clasping arms.