“It’s tarnation all over!” said Josh, beginning a bolder tone as he found his mother coming to an understanding of the matter. “It makes me crawl all over to think on’t. Didn’t I wait on her three times to singing school? Hadn’t I e’en a most made up my mind to break the ice, and tell her I shouldn’t wonder if I had a sneakin’ notion arter somebody’s Hannah? I should ha’ been reg’lar courting in less than a month—and Peet Spinbutton has cut me out—as slick as a whistle!” “Peet Spinbutton!” said the old woman, “well, I want to know!” “Darn his eyes!” exclaimed Josh. “Peet Spinbutton!” repeated Mrs. Beanpole; “what, the ensign of the Dogtown Blues? that great lummokin’ feller!” “Darn him to darnation!” exclaimed Josh, catching hold of the toast-iron as if he meant to lay about him, “to cut in afore me in that ere sort o’ way!” Mrs. Beanpole caught Josh by the arm, exclaiming: “Josh! Joshy! Joshy! what are you about? Peet Spinbutton? I don’t believe it.” “What!” said Josh, “didn’t I hear with my own ears, last night that ever was, Zeb Shute tell me all about it?” “Zeb Shute! well, what did Zeb Shute say?” “Why, says he to me: “‘Josh,’ says he, ‘what do you think?’ says he. “‘I don’t know, no, n’t I,’ says I. “‘Tell you what,’ says he, ‘that ’ere Hannah Downer—’ “‘What of Hannah Downer?’ says I, for I begun to crawl all over. “‘Tell ye what,’ says he; ‘she’s a whole team.’ “‘Ah,’ says I, ‘she’s a whole team, and a horse to let.’ “‘Tell ye what,’ says he, ‘guess somebody has a sneakin’ notion that way.’ “‘Shouldn’t wonder,’ says I, feelin’ all over in a flustration, thinkin’ he meant me. “‘Tell ye what,’ says he, ‘guess Peet Spinbutton and she’s pretty thick together.’ “‘How you talk!’ says I. “‘Fact,’ says he. “‘Well, I never!’ says I. “‘Tell ye what,’ says he. No, that’s all he said.” “Pooh!” said the old woman, “it’s all wind, Joshy; it’s nothing but Zeb Shute’s nonsense.” “Do you think so?” exclaimed Josh, with a stare of uncommon animation, and his mouth wide open. “No doubt on’t, Joshy, my boy,” replied she, “for Peggy Downer was here yesterday forenoon, to borrow a cup of starch, and she never mentioned the leastest word about it under the light of the livin’ sun.” “If I was only sure of that!” said Josh, laying down the toast-iron and sticking his knuckles into his right eye. “Joshy, my boy,” said the old woman, “I don’t believe Hannah Downer ever gin Peet Spinbutton the leastest encouragement in the universal world.” “Think so?” asked Josh, setting his elbows on his knees, his chin in his fists, and fixing his eyes vacantly downward in an angle of forty-five degrees, as if in intense admiration of the back-log. “I’ll tell you what, Joshy,” said Mrs. Beanpole, in a motherly tone, “do you just put on your go-to-meetin’ suit, and go to see Hannah this blessed night.”