he was saying himself; but pretty soon the new gentleman broke in, and says:

“I’ve thought of something.

Is there anybody here that helped to lay out my br — helped to lay out the late Peter Wilks for burying?”

“Yes,” says somebody, “me and Ab Turner done it. We’re both here.”

Then the old man turns toward the king, and says:

“Peraps this gentleman can tell me what was tattooed on his breast?”

Blamed if the king didn’t have to brace up mighty quick, or he’d ’a’ squshed down like a bluff bank that the river has cut under, it took him so sudden; and, mind you, it