I surveyed him again as he sat looking at the ledges. He was not more than a head taller than I, but if he were "all gristle" he might be entitled to respect and I was glad to learn of his hidden resources--glad and a bit apprehensive as they began to develop. "I'm as full o' gristle as a goose's leg," he went on. "God never made a man who could do more damage when he lets go of himself an' do it faster. There ain't no use o' talkin'." There being no use of talking, our new hired man continued to talk while I listened with breathless interest and growing respect. He took a chew of tobacco and squinted his eyes and seemed to be studying the wooded rock ledges across the road as he went on: "You'll find me wide awake, I _guess_. I ain't afraid o' anythin' but lightnin'--no, sir!--an' I can hurt hard an' do it rapid when I begin, but I can be jest as harmless as a kitten. There ain't no man that can be more harmlesser when he wants to be an' there's any decent chance for it--none whatsomever! No, sir! I'd rather be harmless than not--a good deal." This relieved, and was no doubt calculated to relieve, a feeling of insecurity which his talk had inspired. He blew out his breath and shifted his quid as he sat with his elbows resting on his knees and took another look at the ledges as if considering how much of his strength would be required to move them. "Have you ever hurt anybody?" I asked. "Several," he answered. "Did you kill 'em?" "No, I never let myself go too fur. Bein' so stout, I have to be kind o' careful." After a moment's pause he went on: "A man threatened to lick me up to Seaver's t'other day. You couldn't blame him. He didn't know me from a side o' sole leather. He just thought I was one o' them common, every-day cusses that folks use to limber up on. But he see his mistake in time. I tell ye God was good to him when he kept him away from me." Aunt Deel called us to supper. "Le's go in an' squench our hunger," Mr. Purvis proposed as he rose and shut his jackknife. I was very much impressed and called him "Mr. Purvis" after that. I enjoyed and believed many tales of adventure in which he had been the hero as we worked together in the field or stable. I told them to my aunt and uncle one evening, whereupon the latter said: "He's a good man to work, but Jerusalem--!" He stopped. He always stopped at the brink of every such precipice. I had never heard him finish an uncomplimentary sentence. I began to have doubts regarding the greatness of our hired man. I still called him "Mr. Purvis," but all my fear of him had vanished. One day Mr. Grimshaw came out in the field to see my uncle. They walked away to the shade of a tree while "Mr. Purvis" and I went on with the hoeing. I could hear the harsh voice of the money-lender speaking in loud and angry tones and presently he went away. "What's the rip?" I asked as my uncle returned looking very sober. "We won't talk about it now," he answered.