bad. Land! it's lucky my hundred
days is about up! If I don't git home soon, I shall be arrested for
goin' without clo'es. I set up'bout all night puttin' these blue patches
in my pants an' tryin' to piece together a couple of old red-flannel
shirts to make one whole one. That's the worst o' drivin' in these
places where the pretty girls make a habit of comin' down to the bridge
to see the fun. You hev to keep rigged up jest so stylish; you can't git
no chance at the rum bottle, an' you even hev to go a leetle mite light
on swearin'."

"BLASPHEMIOUS SWEARIN'"

"Steve Waterman's an awful nice feller," exclaimed Ivory Dunn just then.
Stephen had been looking intently across the river, watching the
Shapleys' side door, from which Rose might issue at any moment; and at
this point in the discussion he had lounged away from the group, and,
moving toward the bridge, began to throw pebbles idly into the water.

"He's an awful smart driver for one that don't foiler drivin' the year
round," continued Ivory; "and he's the awfullest clean-spoken,
soft-spoken feller I ever see."

"There's be'n two black sheep in his family a'ready, an' Steve kind o'
feels as if he'd ought to be extry white," remarked Jed Towle. "You
fellers that belonged to the old drive remember Pretty Quick Waterman
well enough? Steve's mother brought him up."

Yes; most of them remembered the Waterman twins, Stephen's cousins, now
both dead,--Slow Waterman, so moderate in his steps and actions that you
had to fix a landmark somewhere near him to see if he moved; and Pretty
Quick, who shone by comparison with his twin.

"I'd kind o' forgot that Pretty Quick Waterman was cousin to Steve,"
said the under boss; "he never worked with me much, but he wa'n't cut
off the same piece o' goods as the other Watermans. Great hemlock! but
he kep' a cussin' dictionary, Pretty Quick did! Whenever he heard any
new words he must 'a' writ 'em down, an' then studied 'em all up in the
winter-time, to use in the spring drive."

"Swearin' 's a habit that hed ought to be practiced with turrible
caution," observed old Mr. Wiley, when the drivers had finished
luncheon and taken out their pipes. "There's three kinds o'
swearin',--plain swearin', profane swearin', an' blasphemious swearin'.
Logs air jest like mules: there's times when a man can't seem to rip up
a jam in good style 'thout a few words that's too strong for the infant
classes in Sunday-schools; but a man hedn'