"Who's a-goin' to take him off? I ain't said nothin' about takin' him off." "Wal, take y'rself off, an' if y' ain't here f'r dinner, I ain't goin' to get no supper." Ripley took a water-pail and put four bottles of "the bitter" into it, and trudged away up the road with it in a pleasant glow of hope. All nature seemed to declare the day a time of rest, and invited men to disassociate ideas of toil from the rustling green wheat, shining grass, and tossing blooms. Something of the sweetness and buoyancy of all nature permeated the old man's work-calloused body, and he whistled little snatches of the dance tunes he played on his fiddle. But he found neighbor Johnson to be supplied with another variety of bitter, which was all he needed for the present. He qualified his refusal to buy with a cordial invitation to go out and see his shoats, in which he took infinite pride. But Uncle Ripley said: "I guess I'll haf t' be goin'; I want 'o git up to Jennings' before dinner." He couldn't help feeling a little depressed when he found Jennings away. The next house along the pleasant lane was inhabited by a "newcomer." He was sitting on the horse-trough, holding a horse's halter, while his hired man dashed cold water upon the galled spot on the animal's shoulder. After some preliminary talk Ripley presented his medicine. "Hell, no! What do I want of such stuff? When they's anything the matter with me, I take a lunkin' ol' swig of popple-bark and bourbon! That fixes me." Uncle Ethan moved off up the lane. He hardly felt like whistling now. At the next house he set his pail down in the weeds beside the fence, and went in without it. Doudney came to the door in his bare feet, buttoning his suspenders over a clean boiled shirt. He was dressing to go out. "Hello, Ripley. I was just goin' down your way. Jest wait a minute, an' I'll be out." When he came out, fully dressed, Uncle Ethan grappled him. "Say, what d' you think o' paytent med--" "Some of 'em are boss. But y' want 'o know what y're gittin'." "What d' ye think o' Dodd's--" "Best in the market." Uncle Ethan straightened up and his face lighted. Doudney went on: "Yes, sir; best bitter that ever went into a bottle. I know, I've tried it. I don't go much on patent medicines, but when I get a good--" "Don't want 'o buy a bottle?" Doudney turned and faced him. "Buy! No. I've got nineteen bottles I want 'o sell." Ripley glanced up at Doudney's new granary and there read "Dodd's Family Bitters." He was stricken dumb. Doudney saw it all, and roared. "Wal, that's a good one! We two tryin' to sell each other bitters. Ho--ho--ho--har, whoop! wal, this is rich! How many bottles did you git?" "None o' your business," said Uncle Ethan, as he turned and made off, while Doudney screamed with merriment.