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 in dirt. An' all the rest o' my life I'm a-goin' to keep right on a-diggin' in dirt."

He spat tobacco juice into the grass and uttered his favorite exclamation of disgust. It was a phrase of his own contriving, a rich verbal arabesque of profanity and obscenity cunningly inwrought.

Having thus partly relieved his feelings, he took a long pull from a bottle that he always carried in his pocket.

After several long pulls he felt much better and sang into the night a ballad with the oft-recurring refrain:

"You can't have my daughter without the gray mare."

On the way home Ziemer Whitmarsh overtook Abbie Gibbs, who had purposely hung behind the other members of her family, wound his arm about her slim, consumptive waist and drew her aside from the path.

On the way home Joe Barnaby and young Marsh Gibbs hesitated where a road making gang who were widening the pike to Georgetown had left their roller and other tools by the side of the road.

"D'yuh know what I spied Gus Dibble a-doin' the other day?" said Joe in a tone of infinite disgust. "I seen him a-stealin' a log chain out o' these here fixin's. What d'yuh think of a feller'd steal a log chain, hey?"

Joe himself had for many years eked out his small means by doing jobs of lumber hauling and was hence amply provided with log chains.

"I dunno," mused Marsh. "Mebbe he needed the log chain. I know I need a new shovel awful bad, an' they've riz up awful high in price since the war come on. That there long-handled one over there is jes the kind I was a-wantin'."

He looked wistfully at the shovel.

"Oh, well, of course a shovel's diff'rent," Joe hastened to assure him. "If I wanted the shovel I'd take it along 'f I'z you. The dod gasted road comp'ny kin buy more. 'Tain't like takin' anythin' off'n a neighbor."

"That's so," agreed Marsh, taking loving hold upon the handle of the shovel.