“The Missus made up her mind she’d bile apple-butter this year, bespite all my objections, an’ two weeks ago this comin’ Saturday she done it. They ain’t no trees on our lot, so I got Jawhn Longnecker to give me six burshel o’ Pippins an’ York Imper’als mixed, on condition I helped with his thrashin’ next month. I give Hiram Thompson that there red shote I’d ben fattenin’ fer a bawrel o’ cider. She’d cal’lated to put up ’bout fourteen gallon o’ butter. I sayd it was all foolershness, fer I could buy it a heap sight cheaper an’ was gittin’ tired o’ Pennsylwany salve any way. Fer all year round, zulicks is ’bout the best thing to go with bread.” “Mentionin’ zulicks,” interrupted the Storekeeper, “remin’s me that yesterday I got in a bawrel o’ the very finest. It’s none o’ yer common cookin’ m’lasses but was made special fer table use.” “I’ll bring a tin down an’ hev it filled,” continued the Loafer, “fer there’s nawthin’ better’n plain bread an’ zulicks. But the Missus don’t see things my way allus, an’ they was nawthin’ but fer me to borry the Storekeeper’s horse an’ wagon an’ drive over to Abe Scissors’s an’ git the loan o’ his copper kittle an’ stirrer.” “But Abe Scissors hain’t got no copper kittle,” cried the Farmer vehemently. “He sayd it was his copper kittle an’ I didn’t ast no questions,” the Loafer replied. “My pap allus used to say that ’bout one half the dissypintments an’ onhappinesses in this worl’ was due to questionin’, an’ I ’low he was right. So I didn’t catechize Abe Scissors. He ’lowed I could hev the kittle jest ez long ez I didn’t burn it, fer he claimed he’d give twenty-five dollar fer it at a sale last spring. Hevin’ made satisfactory ’rangements fer the apples, the cider, the kittle an’ the stirrer, they was nawthin’ left to do but bile. Two weeks ago to-morrer we done it. “The Missus inwited several o’ her weemen frien’s in the day before to help schnitz, an’ I tell you uns, what with talkin’ ’bout how many pared apples was needed with so much cider biled down to so much, an’ how much sugar an’ cinn’mon otter be used fer so many crocks o’ butter, them folks hed a great time. ’Hen they finished they was a washtub full o’ the finest schnitzed apples ye ever seen.” “Borryed my washtub-still,” exclaimed the Tinsmith. “A gentleman is knowd be the way he lends, my pap use to say,” drawled the Loafer, gazing absently at the ceiling. “Well, ef your father was anything like his son he knowd the truth o’ that sayin’,” snapped the Tinsmith. “He use to argy,” continued the Loafer, ignoring this remark, “that them ez hesn’t the mawral courage to refuse to lend ’hen they don’t want to, is allus weak enough to bemoan their good deeds in public. But it ain’t no use discussin’ them pints. I got everything I needed, an’ on the next mornin’ the Missus was up airly an’ at six o’clock hed the fire goin’ in the back yard, with the kittle rigged over it an’ hed begin to bile down that bawrel o’ cider.