shore, an' I hain't smelt of the jug sence I lef
ther'. Pull 'er out, Teague, pull 'er out."

The jug was forthcoming.

"Now, then," continued Uncle Jake, removing the corn-cob stopper, "this
looks like home, sweet home, ez I may say. It does, certain an' shore.
None to jine me? Well, well! Times change an' change, but the jug is
company for one. So be it. Ez St. Paul says, cleave nigh unto that
which is good. I'm foreswore not to feel lonesome tell I go to the
gallows. Friends! you uv got my good wishes, one an' all!"

"What's a-gwine on?" asked Poteet.

"The same," responded Uncle Jake, after swallowing his dram. "Allers
the same. Wickedness pervails wellnigh unto hit's own jestiflcation. I
uv seed sights! You all know the divers besettings wher'by Jackson
Ricks wuz took off this season gone--murdered I may say, in the teeth
of the law an' good govunment. Sirs! I sot by an' seed his besetters go
scotch-free."

"Ah!"

The exclamation came from Teague Poteet.

"Yes, sirs! yes, friends!" continued Uncle Jake, closing his eyes and
tilting his chair back. "Even so. Nuther does I boast ez becometh the
fibble-minded. They hurried an' skurried me forth an' hence, to mount
upon the witness stan' an' relate the deed. No deniance did I make. Ez
St. Paul says, sin, takin' occasion by the commandment, worked in me
all manner of conspicuessence. I told 'em what these here eyes had
seed.

"They errayed me before jedge an' jury," Uncle Jake went on, patting
the jug affectionately, "an' I bowed my howdies. 'Gen-termun friends,'
s' I, 'foller me close't, bekaze I'm a-givin' you but the truth,
stupendous though it be. Ef you thes but name the word,' s' I, 'I'll
take an' lay my han' upon the men that done this unrighteousness, for
they stan' no furder than yon piller,' s' I. 'Them men,' s' I,
'surroundered the house of Jackson Ricks, gentermun friends, he bein' a
member of Friendship Church, an' called 'im forth wi' the ashoreance of
Satan an' the intents of evil,' s' I; 'an' ole en decrippled ez he wuz,
they shot 'im down--them men at yon piller,' s' I, 'ere he could but
raise his trimblin' han' in supplication; an' the boldest of 'em dast
not to face me here an' say nay,' s' I."

"An' they uv cler'd the men what kilt pore Jackson Ricks!" said Teague,
rubbing his grizzled chin.

"Ez clean an' ez cle'r ez the pa'm er my han'," replied Uncle Jake,
with emphasis.

The fiddle in the next room screamed forth a jig, and the tir