She was quite tickled to see the man take him and set him on his knee; but while he was a playin’ with him—for Moses is a raal peeler, he ain’t afeered of the biggest stranger that ever was—directly he fell to pawin’ about his head in sich a comical style, and talking to himself, and withal acted so curious, that Hannah got skeery, and went to take him away, but he wouldn’t let her take him just then; he said, “he wanted to examine his head.” “His head!” says Hannah, “nothin’ ails his head.” “Nothin’ ails it?” says he, “why it’s the most remarkable head that I’ve ever seen.” And then he went on with sich a string of long words, there was no memberin’ or understandin’ half—then he clapped his hand on the side of the little fellow’s sconce-box, “there,” says he, “do you see that _divilupment_;” or some sich word that sounded awful. “That’s what?” says Hannah. “Vulgarly called a bump,” continued he. “It ain’t a bump too, nyther,” says his mother. “It’s his nat’rul shape.” “No doubt of that,” said the villin. “Well now, if ever I heard the beat o’ that,” says she, “that bump’s come nat’rul.” So he told her they was only called bumps, ’cause they looked like ’em; and the bigger they were, and the more there was on ’em, the more different sorts of capacities and idees folks had—and so on. At first she thought the man was stark mad; but he seemed entirely harmless, and so she let him go on with his stuff, and somehow he e’en a most persuaded her it was all gospel. He said little Moses had got the bump of destruction to an all-fired degree, tho’ it was in the mother’s power to help it considerable. But when Hannah asked him if she must swathe up his head he snortered right out; and then went on to say, that Moses had jist got sich a shaped head as the man had that was hung down to Boston last September. He finally talked her into a livin’ fidgit—polite as a stage-driver, all the time too, and so larnt, besides, that Hannah couldn’t do nothin’ but paraphrase. So arter he’d drinked a quart o’ beer, and Hannah cut a mince-pie for him, he cleared, leaving Hannah in such a stew, that kept workin’ up and workin’ up till she heered me comin’ into the house, and then it all burst out to once. A tempestical time there was, I tell you. Now, by the time Hannah had finished her lockrum, you may depend I was in an almighty passion; and it was amazin’ lucky for the feller that he was out of arm’s length that minit. But then I understood it all better than she, for I’d seen, in the prints, pieces about Franology or Cranology, or some such stuff that seemed to explain to my mind what the feller meant. But poor Hannah don’t get much time to read newspapers, so that she hadn’t hearn a word. No wonder she took the man for a crazy critter.