“Wal, ef I mus’ go I mus’; but de exertootion ob justice’ll hab to move mighty slow a-takin’ ole Cuddy ter jail. I’se got der rheumatiz, so I can’t hardly walk. I’se dat bad I t’inks I mus’ be witch-rid by ole Tuggie Bannocks. Dat’s why dat pig eat ser much corn kase she conjured him. Times nebber’ll be good in dis country whiles dey don’ hang ole witches like Tuggie Bannocks. Hitch yer hoss ter de button-wood tree an’ come in an’ set down while I’se packin’ up, an’ Rosann’ll cook ye some early ’tatoes. Run out an’ git some of our first crap, Sanna.” “Early potatoes!” exclaimed Mr. Cranston, “at this time of the year!” “Yis, I’se a fust-rate farmer, ef I ain’t much on pig-raisin’. I allays has fine early ’tatoes, de fust yer see anywheres. Jes’ look at dem!” Rosann appeared with her apron full of the freshly planted potatoes, that, negro-fashion, he had planted whole, and that had spent a few hours only on Cuddy’s farm; and as the sheriff refused to allow her to cook them for him, she placed them upon a blanket in the centre of the floor, upon which she and Cuddy were accumulating the articles that the negro wished to take to jail with him. The pile rapidly increased. Old coats and shirts, a feather pillow, a fiddle, a prayer-book, a pair of long boots filled with flax-seed, were added to the contents of the blanket. “Come, come,” said the sheriff; “you can’t take all that along with you. How are you going to carry it?” “I guess you’ll hab ter tote it for me, Mass’ Cranston, I’se dat bad wid the rheumatiz.” This was more than the constable had bargained for. This arrest of old Cuddy was more than half a joke, and was done at the instigation of several farmers who hoped thus to obtain some satisfaction for the many debts Cuddy had argued and twisted himself out of paying. They had all fancied that the terrified politician would gladly pay over the three dollars at once, as it was well known that Rosann had a good stockingful of silver dollars hidden under the hearth-stone--and one of her stockings full of silver was well worth having. The constable was on his way to attend to other and more pressing duties, and had but little time to spend over this arrest; much less did he wish to ride to Kingston jail carrying a great pack of Cuddymonk’s clothing and possessions behind him. He told Rosann to remove half of the articles from the blanket, and a long and wordy argument with the “Gov’nor” arose over every relinquished treasure, ending in the constable’s complete rout when he attempted to leave the foot-stove behind and to pour the flax-seed out of his boots. “I can’t do dat, noway,” said Cuddy; “it’ll spoil deir shape ef I don’ keep flax-seed in ’em, an I’se afeard I can’t get none in jail.” At the end of half an hour the blanket with its contents was rolled into a great, irregular, unwieldy bundle and strapped on the horse’s back.