THE "PAINTER" IN THE PIG PEN. 335 



sinner, the varmint gave his screech, and it was inside 

 the pen. 



" I say, Squire, it would ha done yer good to have 

 heard that screech, and ha seen that scrimmage. I've 

 hearn the varmints screech many a time when they and 

 I have been in the woods all alone, but then it was kind 

 a soft like, as if' he was a doin' it for his amusement when 

 he was lonely ; he puts it then in the best metre, of 

 course, and it isn't disagreeable, unless he might be too 

 close to you. But here he didn't smooth it down, his 

 dander was evidently riz, and he yelled out as if he was 

 filing a ninety horse power saw with the Rocky Moun- 

 tains, and wound up with a spit that jist took the hair 

 off a steam whistle. The young pups drew back a little 

 and howled, and the old dogs went nearly mad because 

 they couldn't get through the cracks between the logs. 



" The Doctor was for settin' fire to the cabin and 

 burning him up. The old woman was fur cuttin' a hole 

 in the door and shootin' him. That was kind of onfair 

 to the varmint, I thought. Sez I, ' I'll show you a pret- 

 tier trick than that ; I'll jist open the door, and then, 

 Maithy, if you hold the light steady, I'll take him with 

 a poke in the ribs that will stop his stealin' my pigs. 

 There is no miss fire to my gun, and that won't be impo- 

 ein' on a varmint that's down.' I put my hand to the 

 peg that held the chain, when the Doctor, taking the 

 ends of the logs that stuck out at the comer of the cabin 

 for a stairs, jist put himself on the top of the pen in 

 a shake of a deer's tail. I smiled softly to myself, 



