She also talked a good deal about Mr. Salyer, who she says was "as pretty a man as the wind ever blowed on," and one of the "workingest" in this section. Evidently she feels his loss very deeply; but she faces life with prodigious courage, shouldering his burdens in addition to her own, and thinking nothing of plowing, grubbing, clearing, and like heavy work, which she does cheerfully rather than keep her boys out of school. Her faith is touching. "God has give me this fine mess of young ones," she says; "now I look to Him for strength to feed and raise them." Several times our conversation was interrupted by shy statements from the little girls that Hiram and Jason were fighting all over the yard; but no bloodshed being as yet reported, little attention was paid. When the time came for active preparations for supper, I was taken out by the boys to "see things." First, the nags, Mandy and the "flea-bit" Charlie, were watered in the branch, and fed; then the steers must be brought down and "nubbined." They were grazing far up in a hollow, but at a word Ponto was off, and soon brought them down, starting again on a quest of his own. Then the boys put yokes on them and drove them around the steep stable-lot for my pleasure. Keats said he and Hen had to tie their tails together while breaking them, to keep them from turning the yokes; but now they go along quietly, as well conducted steers should, and evidently with perfect understanding of the strange talk of their young masters, which was Greek to me. I could comprehend the "Gee, Buck!",--"Git along there, Brandy!"; but the oft-repeated "Oo-cum-weh, woo-oo!", and "Now-wa-_chat_-tum!" were indeed puzzling. Then Ole Suke, the pied cow, hearing the excitement, came up, or rather, down, of her own accord, followed by Reddy the heifer, whose little spotted calf welcomed her loudly across the rails. Nothing would do but Keats must milk Reddy then and there, to demonstrate the remarkable deficiency of the "blind teat" before-mentioned.