38 SUMMER IN A BOG, 



burdock root for a gineral all-around tonic an' 

 blood medicine! Yes, ma'am! It 's the finest 

 thing on the whole skedgle. Burdock! — an' take 

 the roots, spring or fall, an ' make yerself a good 

 bottle of bitters — the finest thing on the sked- 

 gle!" 



"There 's plenty of it all about here, too." 



"Why, ther 's nary a thing that grows but* 

 has its uses, ef ye jest knowd it. Here's the 

 road where I turns off, an ' thank ye kindly fur 

 the lift." 



My errand that day was to a tenant who 

 lived in a little frame house on the top of a hill. 

 The gate from the road stood open and I crossed 

 the shaky wooden planks spanning Mink Run. 

 At first the ascent was gradual. To the left the 

 fence was covered with wild grape vines and 

 the green bunches hung in profusion under the 

 sheltering leaves. 



As the road ascended, on either hand gullies 

 in which lay great stones, called by some "nig- 

 ger-heads, ' ' rendered the progress difficult. The 

 horse tugged, jerking the vehicle about in a 

 most disagreeable way over the irregularities. 

 But at length we reached the top. 



I would n't want to make that ascent fre- 

 quently. If I lived on the top of such a hill I 

 would be tempted to parodize the poet : 



"Good-bye, proud world, I will stay at home." 



