l Boone and two or three pirates, and a
whole lot more pictures, so you see it's cheap as dirt. Lemme have
your name, won't you?"

"I believe not to-day."

"What! won't go in on William Penn and Washington and Smith, and the
other heroes?"

"No."

"Well, well! Hang me if I'd a-wasted so much information on you if I'd
a knowed you wouldn't subscribe. If every man was like you, it'd break
up the business."

Then he wiped his nose and left. I hope he is doing better with the
work than he did with me.

CHAPTER VII.

_HOW MR. BUTTERWICK PURSUED HORTICULTURE_.

Soon after he moved out from the city to live in the village Mr.
Butterwick determined to secure the services of a good gardener who
could be depended upon to produce from the acre surrounding the house
the largest possible crop of fruit, vegetables and flowers. A man
named Brown was recommended as an expert, and Mr. Butterwick engaged
him. As Mr. Butterwick has no acquaintance with the horticultural art,
he instructed Brown to use his own judgment in fixing up the place,
and Brown said he would.

On the morning of the first day, while Mr. Butterwick was sitting on
the front porch, he saw Brown going out of the gate with a gun
upon his shoulder, and Mr. Butterwick conceived the idea that the
horticultural expert intended to begin his career in his new place by
taking a holiday.

In about an hour, however, Brown came sauntering up the street
dragging a deceased dog by the tail. Mr. Butterwick asked him if he
had accidentally shot his dog while aiming at a rabbit. But Brown
simply smiled significantly and passed silently in through the gate.

Then he buried the dog beneath the grape-arbor; and when the funeral
was over, Brown loaded up his gun, rubbed his muddy boots upon the
grass, brought his weapon to "right shoulder shift" and sallied out
again.

Mr. Butterwick asked him if he was going down to the woods after
squirrels; but he put his thumb knowingly to his nose, winked at Mr.
Butterwick and went mutely down the road. After a while he loomed up
again upon the horizon, and this time Mr. Butterwick noticed that he
was hauling after him a setter pup and a yellow dog, both dead, and
yoked together with one of Brown's suspenders.

Mr. Butterwick failed to comprehend the situation exactly, but he
ventured the remark that Brown must be a very poor shot to hit his own
dogs every time instead of the game. Brown, however, was not open to
criticism.