g their lips and their legs to the proper attitude.
And in this I speak advisedly; having observed some thousand times that
the manner a man has of spreading his legs, and bending his knees,
or stiffening, and even the way he will set his heel, make all the
difference in his tone, and time of casting his voice aright, and power
of coming home to you.

We always liked John's stories, not for any wit in them; but because we
laughed at the man, rather than the matter. The way he held his head was
enough, with his chin fixed hard like a certainty (especially during his
biggest lie), not a sign of a smile in his lips or nose, but a power of
not laughing; and his eyes not turning to anybody, unless somebody had
too much of it (as young girls always do) and went over the brink of
laughter. Thereupon it was good to see John Fry; how he looked gravely
first at the laughter, as much as to ask, "What is it now?" then if
the fool went laughing more, as he or she was sure to do upon that dry
inquiry, John would look again, to be sure of it, and then at somebody
else to learn whether the laugh had company; then if he got another
grin, all his mirth came out in glory, with a sudden break; and he wiped
his lips, and was grave again.

Now John, being too much encouraged by the girls (of which I could never
break them), came into the house that December evening, with every inch
of him full of a tale. Annie saw it, and Lizzie, of course; and even I,
in the gloom of great evils, perceived that John was a loaded gun; but I
did not care to explode him. Now nothing primed him so hotly as this: if
you wanted to hear all John Fry had heard, the surest of all sure ways
to it was, to pretend not to care for a word of it.

"I wor over to Exeford in the morning," John began from the
chimney-corner, looking straight at Annie; "for to zee a little calve,
Jan, as us cuddn't get thee to lave houze about. Meesus have got a quare
vancy vor un, from wutt her have heer'd of the brade. Now zit quite,
wull 'e Miss Luzzie, or a 'wunt goo on no vurder. Vaine little tayl I'll
tull' ee, if so be thee zits quite. Wull, as I coom down the hill, I
zeed a saight of volks astapping of the ro-udwai. Arl on 'em wi' girt
goons, or two men out of dree wi' 'em. Rackon there wor dree score
on 'em, tak smarl and beg togather laike; latt aloun the women and
chillers; zum on em wi' matches blowing, tothers wi' flint-lacks. 'Wutt
be up now?' I says to Bill Blacksmith, as had