within an inch of your life!" And as the eccentric Mr. Judkins
whirled around the corner of the porch he heard the boy murmur in his
low, absent-minded way, "Yes, you will!"

MR. JUDKINS' REMARKS

Judkins stopped us in front of the post-office yesterday to say that
that boy of his was "the blamedest boy outside o' the annals o'
history!" "Talk about this boy-naturalist out here at Indianapolis,"
says Judkins,--"w'y, he ain't nowhere to my boy! The little cuss don't
do nothin' either only set around and look sleepy, and dern him, he
gits off more dry things than you could print in your paper. Of late
he's been a-displayin' a sort o' weakness fer Nature, don't you know;
and he's allus got a bottle o' bugs in his pocket. He come home
yesterday evening with a blame' mud-turtle as big as an unabridged
dictionary, and turned him over in the back yard and commenced biffin'
away at him with a hammer and a cold-chisel. 'W'y, you're a-killin'
the turtle,' says I. 'Kill nothin'!' says he, 'I'm thist a-takin' the
lid off so's I can see his clock works.' Hoomh!" says Judkins: "He's a
good one!--only," he added, "I wouldn't have the _boy_ think so fer the
world!"

JUDKINS' BOY ON THE MUD-TURTLE

The mud-turtle is not a beast of pray, but he dearly loves catfish
bait. If a mud-turtle gits your big toe in his mouth he will hang on
till it thunders. Then he will spit it out like he was disgusted. The
mud-turtle kin swim and keep his chin out of water ef he wants to but
he don't care ef he does sink. The turtle kin stay under water until
his next birthday, an' never crack a smile. He kin breathe like a
grown person, but he don't haf to, on'y when he is on dry land, an'
then I guess he thist does it to be soshibul. Allus when you see
bubbles a-comin' up in the swimmin' hole, you kin bet your galluses
they's a mud-turtle a-layin' down there, studyin' up some cheap way to
git his dinner. Mud-turtles never dies, on'y when they make soup out
of 'em. They is seven kinds of meat in the turtle, but I'd ruther eat
thist plain burnt liver.

ON FROGS

Frogs is the people's friend, but they can't fly. Onc't they wuz
tadpoles about as big as lickerish drops, an' after while legs growed
on 'em. Oh, let us love the frog--he looks so sorry. Frogs kin swim
better'n little boys, and they don't haf to hold their nose when they
dive, neither. Onc't I had a pet frog; an' the cars run over him. It
thist squshed him. Bet he never knowed what hurt