"Gosh-a'mighty!" said the old man joyfully, making as if he would strike Seffy with his huge fist--a thing he often did. "And ain't got nossing to trade?" "Nothing except the mare!" said the boy. "Say--ain't you got no feelings, you idjiot?" "Oh--" said Seffy. And then: "But what's feelings got to do with cow-pasture?" "Oach! No wonder he wants to be an anchel, and wiss the anchels stand--holding sings in his hands and on his head! He's too good for this wile world. He'd linger shifering on the brink and fear to launch away all his durn life--if some one didn't push him in. So here goes!" This was spoken to the skies, apparently, but now he turned to his son again. "Look a-yere, you young dummer-ux,[2] feelings is the same to gals like Sally, as money is to you and me. You ken buy potatoes wiss 'em! Do you understand?" Seffy said that he did, now. "Well, then, I'fe tried to _buy_ that pasture-field a sousand times--" Seffy started. "Yas, that's a little bit a lie--mebby a dozen times. And at last Sally's daddy said he'd lick me if I efer said pasture-field ag'in, and I said it ag'in and he licked me! He was a big man--and red-headed yit, like Sally. Now, look a-yere--_you_ ken git that pasture-field wissout money and wissout price--except you' dam' feelings which ain't no other use. Sally won't lick _you_--if she is bigger--don't be a-skeered. You got tons of feelin's you ain't got no other use for--don't waste 'em--they're good green money, and we'll git efen wiss Sally's daddy for licking me yit--and somesing on the side! Huh?" [Footnote 2: Dumb ox--a term of reproach.] At last it was evident that Seffy fully understood, and his father broke into that discordant whistle once more. "A gal that ken jump a six-rail fence--and wissout no running start--don't let her git apast you!" "Well, I'm going to set up with her to-night," said Seffy again, with a huge ahem. And the tune his father whistled as he opened the door for him sounded something like "I want to be an angel." "But not to buy no pasture-land!" warned Seffy. "Oach, no, of course not!" agreed his wily old father. "That's just one of my durn jokes. But I expect I'll take the fence down to-morrow! Say, Sef, you chust marry the gal. I'll take keer the fence!" III It took Seffy a long time to array himself as he had threatened. And when it was all done you wouldn't have known him--you wouldn't have cared to know him. For his fine yellow hair was changed to an ugly brown by the patent hair-oil with which he had dressed it--and you would not have liked its fragrance, I trust. Bergamot, I think it was. His fine young throat was garroted within a starched standing collar, his feet were pinched in creaking boots, his hands close-gauntleted in buckskin gloves, and he altogether incomparable, uncomfortable, and triumphant. Down stairs his father paced the floor, watch in hand. From time to time he would call out the hour, like a watchman on a minaret. At last: