Robert Brusard, son of the Captain, caught a very large trout, brought it home and exhibited it in front of the hotel, and one after another declared that it was the finest fish of the kind he had ever seen, but when Ferrier saw it he shook his head, and said: “Yes, yes, that is a big trout, but we have larger ones than that in England.” When a grouse was shown he made about the same comparison, and a deer, always giving his country the best of it. This kept up until every American in the community was _mad_ at Ferrier. “Ef I live, so hep me Gawd, I’ll git somefin’ bigger dan whut dey’s gut in Englan’,” declared Uncle George, the boss of all the darkies. “I sho’ is gwine to git even wid dat man. “When Marse Robert go out here an’ ketch de bigges’ trout dat de oles’ men in dese parts ever seed, den come ’long dat man, wid his single-bar’l eyeglass, slap it up to his face, an’ ’low: ‘Yes, dat’s er putty big fish, but dey’s gut bigger ones dan dat in Englan’.’ I don’t say much, fur I ain’t never been dare. But dat ain’t all. No, sir, he don’t stop den, but des keep on an’ on. “De yudder day, when Marse Jim killed dat grouse--I believe dat’s whut dey call it, but it look des lak a sho’ nuff ole speckle hen to me--an’ fetch it here, all whut see it, ’cepin’ dat Englishman, say dat it’s de bigges’ bird uv de kind in all de lan’, I wondered whut he gwine to say. Yes, sir, I des wonder whut he gwine to say. But I ain’t hafter wonder long, fur he come ’long, steppin’ two yards at a time, an’ stop, an’ put on dat single-bar’l eyeglass, an’ look down at de grouse. I helt my breaf until he say: ‘Yes, yes, dat’s er putty big bird, but dey’s gut bigger grouse dan dat in Englan’.’ “Dat wuz too much. I des gut right sick when he say it. An’ no longer dan de day befo’, right dare in de back yard, he say dat de deer whut de gemmun frum Atlanty kilt wuz er big one, but not as big as de ones dey have in Englan’.” One afternoon, not long after the deer incident, the old negro was fishing in Horseshoe River, at the foot of the mountain, when he saw another fisherman catch a mud turtle, or cooter, as the natives called it. At the sight of the wriggling thing, a happy thought came to Uncle George. “I sho’ will trade fur dat cooter an’ git even wid de Englishman,” said he. “Yes, sir; dat’s des whut I’ll do.” Going up to the man who had landed the turtle, George asked: “Say, boss, how’ll you swap dat tuckle fur some fish?” “I’ll trade fair,” said the mountaineer. “Well, I’m yo’ man, ef you will, fur I wants dat cooter,” declared the darkey. “I’ll give you two trouts fur him?” The exchange was made and George set out for home. No one knew what the negro was up to until he let a few of his friends, white and black, onto his game. “Marse Jim, I wants you an’ Marse Robert to come roun’ to de back yard des arter dinner,” said George to Mr. Brusard. “What are you up to, George?” asked the white man. “Des a little fun, sir. Be sho’ an’ be dere!”