“The back winder o’ the shop opened, an’ thar, holdin’ the batten shutter
in his han’, plain,—it bein’ so dark ahint him an’ so light inside,—war
Clem hisself! Like he mought look in death, white, an’ solemn, an’ stony,
a-gazin’ in on hisself ez he looks in life, hearty, an’ sunburnt, an’
laffin’, an’ a-playin’ o’ kyerds, with the devil, tickled ter death,
peepin’ over his shoulder. An’ pa’son say the bleached, white, dead Clem
ketched his eye of a suddint, an’ clap! bang! the winder war shet, an’
thar warn’t nuthin’ settin’ on the anvil, an’ Clem war a-gapin’, an’
a-stretchin’ his arms, an’ sayin’ ’twar bed-time, an’ tellin’ that Jeemes
boy ter quit playin’ the fool with that bellows, else he’d shoe him all
round with red-hot horse-shoes.”
Teck Jepson listened in silence, his absorbed eyes upon the ground, now
and then lifting them to the narrator’s face with a glance of excited
surprise.