mells, the stretches of woods, the blue and
white sky, and everything that goes to make a perfect summer afternoon.
Andy endeavored to add to their pleasure by giving them information
regarding the inhabitants of the various dwellings they passed.

"That whitish house back there among the trees," said he, "with the green
blinds, is called the Witton place. The Wittons themselves are nuthin'
out o' the common; but there's an old lady lives there with 'em, who if
you ever meet, you'll know agin, if you see her agin. Her name's
Panney,--Miss Panney,--and she's a one-er. What she don't know about me,
I don't know, and what she won't know about you, three days after she
gits acquainted with you, you don't know. That's the kind of a person
Miss Panney is. There's a lot of very nice people, some rich and some
poor, and some queer and some not quite so queer, that lives in and
around Thorbury, and if you like it at Mrs. Brinkly's and conclude to
stay there any length of time, I don't doubt you'll git acquainted with a
good many of 'em; but take my word for it, you'll never meet anybody who
can go ahead of Miss Panney in the way of turnin' up unexpected. I once
had a sick hoss, who couldn't do much more than stand up, but I had to
drive him one day, 'cause my other one was hired out. 'Now' says I, as I
drew out the stable, 'if I can get around town this mornin' without
meetin' Miss Panney, I think old Bob can do my work, and to-morrow I'll
turn him out to grass.' And as I went around the first corner, there was
Miss Panney a drivin' her roan mare. She pulled up when she seed me, and
she calls out, 'Andy, what's the matter with that hoss?' I told her he
was a little under the weather, but I had to use him that day, 'cause my
other hoss was out. Then she got straight out of that phaeton she drives
in, and come up to my hoss, and says she, 'Andy, you ought to be ashamed
of yourself to make a hoss work when he is in a condition like that. Take
him right back to your stable, or I'll have you up before a justice.'
'Now look here, Miss Panney,' says I, 'which is the best, for a hoss to
jog a little round town when he ain't feeling quite well, or for a man to
sit idle on his front doorstep and see his family starve?' 'Now, Andy,'
says she, 'is that the case with you?' and havin' brought up the pint
myself, I was obliged to say that it was. 'Very good, then,' said she,
and she took her roan mare by the head and led it up to the curbstone.