n there.

Their collie dog, Caesar, was barking at us when we come in. He'd sort of
got under the table. But now we heard another dog barking plumb crazy.
And now in comes from somewhere, out in the garridge or the car maybe,
that Boston dog, Peanut, of Bonnie Bell's!

He was looking for a settlement too. He don't hesitate, but he goes
straight for this collie under the table, and they mix it plenty right
then and there, till most of us was glad enough to get up on the chairs.
I tried to stop them and the old lady and Bonnie Bell was both hollering
at them; but the hired man he raised his hand.

"Let them alone!" says he. "They got almost human intelligence
someways," says he. "Let 'em alone, so they can have it out."

So they had it out for quite a while there in the dining-room, under the
table and among the chairs, and under the sofa, and pretty much
everywhere, both of 'em enjoying of theirselfs plenty. Their dog, Caesar,
had got older now and Peanut he had his hands full; but he was shore
industrious and sincere.

By and by, after quite a while, they hauled apart and set looking at
each other, their tongues hanging out, happy and smiling. Peanut he goes
over to his mistress, and he was shaking a ear that was loose. Caesar he
goes over to the old lady, limping and holding up his foot, him looking
plumb contented.

"They'll get along all right now," says the hired man--James, or Jimmie,
or Jim, whatever you ought to call him.

I couldn't believe he was young Mr. James Wisner. Sometimes I don't
hardly even yet.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourselves," says Bonnie Bell. "I declare,
men are brutes anyhow!"

"I know it, Bonnie Bell," says I. "I've made plenty of trouble, but not
no more. I'm taking the morning train West," says I.

"Where to?" she ast me; and I can't answer--for me the whole world was
upside down, same as this room here.

About then the two old men come back into the room, both of them
serious; but you could see easy that they hadn't had no war--only some
kind of a squaring and settling up; I reckon because of Bonnie Bell and
this James, or Jimmie, or Jim, not being no hired man none after all,
which maybe he had a strawberry mark on his arm--I don't know how they
proved it.

Old Man Wright he stood up, with his hand on top of a chair; and he made
a little after-dinner talk that cost him, maybe, several million
dollars--not that he cared!

"I come here tonight," says he, "to maybe take