ll,
if he ain't growed to a man since that ketch!"

They hung the big fish to the side of the boat. "I'll show you how to
skin a channel-cat," said Burney as he drew forth his steel pincers.
"We'll peddle him out this evening." It was a joyous pair that climbed
the hill leading to the little town, the big fish swinging on a pole
between them. There were plenty of buyers, and as they returned to the
boat, Burney said to Shawn, "You'll be a great fisherman some day,
Shawn," and Shawn said, "I'm goin' to be a doctor."

"What kind of a doctor, Shawn? steam or hoss doctor?"

"Neither one. I'm goin' to be a reg'ler doctor, like Doctor Hissong."

[Illustration: "You'll be a great fisherman, some day, Shawn"]

"Shawn, this doctorin' business is a good deal like hoss tradin'; you've
got to take your chance on a short hoss and blemishes, and some of the
doctors look like they interfere powerfully with themselves--you know
how a hoss _interferes_. I calkerlate that a good doctor is mighty
rare, and after all, it's a good deal more in his encouraging talk
than his medicine. You never knowed old Doc' Felix Simpson--he was away
before your time and practiced in the country four miles above Skarrow.
Doc' Simpson would have his joke, and to hear him laugh would cure 'most
any case of ailment. Lawse! how I used to love to hear him tell about
old P'silly Orton and the time she played dead. Doc' Simpson said that
aunt P'silly took a notion that she wanted her old man to raise her some
money to take a trip down to the city, and as the money wa'nt raisable,
P'silly took on and 'lowed that she was goin' to die, and she kept on
havin' sinkin' spells and such, and bye and bye she lays on the bed and
wauls up her eyes and breathes her last, to all appearances. Uncle Buck
gits skeered and digs out for Doc' Simpson, and when Doc' Simpson gits
thar, thar was the old neighbor wimmen tryin' to comfort uncle Buck and
sayin', 'Ba'r your burden, Buck; the Lord has give and the Lord has tuck
away.' Doc' Simpson goes up to P'silly, who was layin' with folded
hands, and feels her pulse, and says, 'Yes, she is dead, pore soul'; and
they all bust out cryin' and the hounds begin to howl, and Doc' comes up
to the bed and says, 'Bein' she is dead, I'll pour a little of this
nitric acid in her yeer to make shore.' And as he took the stopper out
of the bottle, P'silly opens one eye an' says, 'Doc' Simpson, if you
pour that in my yeer, you'll never straddle t