“You tire me, Josiah, with your wild and impassioned skemes and idees. Only a little while ago you wuz a-tryin’ to sell your clothes to escape the burnin’ qualities of that furnace, and now you are a-tryin’ to make it out older’n the hills.” “But this is a fact,” sez he. “I re_cog_nized it the minute it wuz oncovered. I see a picture of it once in a Life of Washington. It is a peculiar shape, and I can’t be mistook.” Sez I, “I don’t believe a word of it.” “Wall,” sez he, firmly, “I can prove it.” “How?” sez I. “Wall, there is a big hole in the side of it where his hired man got mad and kicked at it. It has been all cemented up and mended, but you can see the marks plain.” “How did you get holt of that idee?” sez I, sternly. “History,” sez he. “I read a good deal that I never told you about.” “I should think as much,” sez I. And I sez further,— “Get that idee out of your head to once, Josiah Allen. George Washington never see this furnace: it wuz made sense his time.” [Illustration: “George Washington’s hired man kicked at it.”] But Josiah contended it wuz so, and left the room mad as a hen to think I wouldn’t give in with him. And in less than ten minutes up he hurried with another idee in his head. And sez he the first thing,— “More proof, Samantha! in takin’ the furnace apart we have found the old rim that Washington’s folks used with his potash-kettle, all broke to pieces and wired together.” Sez I, “I don’t believe it. I don’t believe a word of it.” “Wall,” sez he, triumphantly, “come down suller, and I will prove it.” So I tottered down suller (for what will not a wife do to please her pardner?), and there, sure enough, wuz a iron rim which had been broke long ago to all appearance, and mended with old wire. And the big part did indeed look in shape like a old potash-kettle with some places in the side that had been patched up with cement. I looked down on it pensively and sez,— “And that is what we wuz to pay that big hefty price for. That is what wuz a-goin’ to give us sunstrokes in the winter, and prostrations from too fervid heat.” A by-stander a-standin’ by remarked tersely,— “All it is good for is old iron.” But Josiah sez, “Wall, I’ll bet George Washington made durned good potash in it. I’ll bet it wuz a good kettle in its day.” Sez I, “Josiah Allen, cease such talk. I should think we had suffered enough with the little thing, without lyin’ about it.” But sez he, firmly, “I believe every word I say, and I don’t say a thing I can’t prove. That is George Washington’s potash-kettle.” I sithed, and turned silently away, for I knew words wuz vain. And though I don’t believe a word on it, and though I know it wuz made sense that time, and hain’t nigh so old, I can’t turn my companion’s mind round the wedth of a horse-hair.