oked at me. I weigh about a hundred and eighty pounds,
and am well put together. Hiram was noted in his village as a
'rahstler.' But my face is rather pallid and peaked, and Hiram had
something of the greenhorn look. The two men, who had been drinking,
hardly knew what ground to take. They rather liked the sound of Sir
Michael and, Sir Hans. They did not know very well what to make of their
wives as 'ladies.' They looked doubtful whether to take what had been
said as a casus belli or not, but they wanted a pretext of some kind or
other. Presently one of them saw a label on the scoop, or longhandled,
spoon-like shovel, with which Hiram had been working.

"'Arrah, be jabers!' exclaimed Mike Fagan, 'but has n't he been a-tradin'
wid Brown, the hardware fellah, that we boycotted! Grab it, Hans, and
we'll carry it off and show it to the brotherhood.'

"The men made a move toward the implement.

"'You let that are scoop-shovel alone,' said Hiram.

"I stepped to his side. The Knights were combative, as their noble
predecessors with the same title always were, and it was necessary to
come to a voie de fait. My straight blow from the shoulder did for Sir
Michael. Hiram treated Sir Hans to what is technically known as a
cross-buttock.

"'Naow, Dutchman,' said Hiram, 'if you don't want to be planted in that
are post-hole, y'd better take y'rself out o' this here piece of private
property. "Dangerous passin," as the sign-posts say, abaout these
times.'

"Sir Michael went down half stunned by my expressive gesture; Sir Hans
did not know whether his hip was out of joint or he had got a bad sprain;
but they were both out of condition for further hostilities. Perhaps it
was hardly fair to take advantage of their misfortunes to inflict a
discourse upon them, but they had brought it on themselves, and we each
of us gave them a piece of our mind.

"'I tell you what it is,' said Hiram, 'I'm a free and independent
American citizen, and I an't a-gon' to hev no man tyrannize over me, if
he doos call himself by one o' them noblemen's titles. Ef I can't work
jes' as I choose, fur folks that wants me to work fur 'em and that I want
to work fur, I might jes' as well go to Sibery and done with it. My
gran'f'ther fit in Bunker Hill battle. I guess if our folks in them days
did n't care no great abaout Lord Percy and Sir William Haowe, we an't
a-gon' to be scart by Sir Michael Fagan and Sir Hans What 's-his-name,
nor no other fellahs that un