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b'ar an' the fall I gets, I'm as completely a thing of the past as ever finds refooge in that strip of timber.As near as I makes out by feelin' of myse'f, I ain't fit to make gourds out of.Of course, she's a mistake on the part of the dogs, an' plumb accidental as far as the b'ar's concerned; but it shore crumples me up as entirely as if this yere outfit of anamiles plots the play for a month.

"'With the last flicker of my failin' strength, I crawls to my old gent's teepee an' is took in.An' you shore should have heard the language of that household when they sees the full an' awful extent them dogs an' that b'ar lays me waste.Which I'm layed up eight weeks.

"'My old gent goes grumblin' off in the mornin', an' rounds up old Aunt Tilly Hawks to nurse me.Old Aunt Tilly lives over on the Painted Post, an' is plumb learned in yarbs an' sech as Injun turnips, opydeldock, live-forever, skoke-berry roots, jinson an'

whitewood bark.An' so they ropes up Aunt Tilly Hawks an' tells her to ride herd on my wounds an' dislocations.

"'But I'm plumb weak an' nervous an' can't stand Aunt Tilly none.

She ain't got no upper teeth, same as a cow, her face is wrinkled like a burnt boot, an' she dips snuff.Moreover, she gives me the horrors by allers singin' in a quaverin' way "'Hark from the tombs a doleful sound, Mine y'ears attend the cry.

Ye livin' men come view the ground Where you shall shortly lie.

"'Aunt Tilly sounds a heap like a tea-kettle when she's renderin'

this yere madrigal, an' that, an' the words, an' all the rest, makes me gloomy an' dejected.I'm shore pinin' away onder these yere malign inflooences, when my old gent notes I ain't recooperatin', an' so he guesses the cause; an' with that he gives Aunt Tilly a lay-off, an' tells her to send along her niece Polly to take her place, "'Thar's a encouragin' difference.Polly is big an' strong like Istates; but her eyes is like stars, an' she's as full of sweetness as a bee tree or a bar'l of m'lasses.So Polly camps down by my couch of pain an' begins dallyin' soothin'ly with my heated brow.Icommences recoverin' from them attacks of b'ars an' dogs instanter.

"'This yere Polly Hawks ain't none new to me.I never co'ts her; but I meets her frequent at barn raisin's an' quiltin's, which allers winds up in a dance; an' in them games an' merriments, sech as "bowin' to the wittiest, kneelin' to the prettiest, an' kissin' the one you loves the best," I more than once regyards Polly as an alloorin' form of hooman hollyhock, an' selects her.But thar's no flush of burnin' love; nothin' nore than them amiable formalities which befits the o'casion.

"'While this yere Polly is nursin' me, however, she takes on a different attitoode a whole lot.It looks like I begins to need her permanent, an' every time I sets my eyes on her I feels as soft as b'ar's grease.It's shorely love; that Polly Hawks is as sweet an'

luscious as a roast apple.'

"'Is she for troo so lovely?' asks Faro Nell, who's been hangin'

onto Enright's words.

"'Frankly, Nellie,' says Enright, sort o' pinchin' down his bluff;'now that I'm ca'mer an' my blood is cool, this yere Polly don't seem so plumb prismatic.Still, I must say, she's plenty radiant.'

"'Does you-all,' says Dan Boggs, 'put this yere Polly in nom'nation to be your wife while you're quiled up sick? '

"'No, I defers them offers to moments when I'm more robust,' says Enright.

"'You shore oughter rode at her while you're sick that a-way,'

remonstrates Boggs.'That's the time to set your stack down.Females is easy moved to pity, an', as I've heared--for I've nothin' to go by, personal, since I'm never married an' is never sick none--is a heap more prone to wed a gent who's sick, than when he's well a lot.'

"'I holds them doctrines myse'f,' observes Enright; 'however, Idon't descend on Polly with no prop'sitions, neither then nor final, as you-all shall hear, Dan, if you'll only hold yourse'f down.No, Icontinyoos on lovin' Polly to myse'f that a-way, ontil I'm able to go pokin' about on crutches; an' then, as thar's no more need of her ministrations, Polly lines out for old Aunt Tilly's cabin ag'in.

"'It's at this yere juncture things happens which sort o'

complicates then dreams of mine.While I ain't been sayin' nothin', an' has been plumb reticent as to my feelin's, jest the same, by look or act, or mebby it's a sigh, I tips off my hand.It ain't no time before all the neighbors is aware of my love for Polly Hawks.

Also, this Polly has a lover who it looks like has been co'tin' her, an' bringin' her mink pelts an' wild turkeys indeescrim'nate, for months.I never do hear of this gent ontil I'm cripplin' 'round on them stilts of crutches; an' then I ain't informed of him none only after he's informed of me.

"'Thar's a measley little limberjaw of a party whose name is Ike Sparks; this Ike is allers runnin' about tellin' things an' settin'

traps to capture trouble for other folks.Ike is a ornery anamile--little an' furtif--mean enough to suck aigs, an' cunnin' enough to hide the shells.He hates everybody, this Ike does; an' he's as suspicious as Bill Johnson's dog, which last is that doubtful an'

suspicious he shore walks sideways all his life for fear someone's goin' to kick him.This low-down Ike imparts to Polly's other lover about the state of my feelin's; an' then it ain't no time when Igets notice of this sport's existence.

"'It's in the licker room of the tavern at Pine Knot, to which scenes I've scrambled on them crutches one evenin', where this party first meets up with me in person.He's a big, tall citizen with lanky, long ha'r, an' is dressed in a blanket huntin' shirt an' has a coon-skin cap with the tail hangin' over his left y'ear.Also, he packs a Hawkins rifle, bullets about forty to the pound.For myse'f, I don't get entranced none with this person's looks, an' as I ain't fit, physical, for no skrimmage, I has to sing plumb low.