"Don't you ever cuss?"

"Not frequent, son. Cussin' never pitched any hay for me."

Young Pete was a bit disappointed. "Didn't you never cuss in your
life?"

Annersley glanced down at the boy.

"Well, if you promise you won't tell nobody, I did cuss onct, when I
struck the plough into a yellow-jacket's nest which I wa'n't aimin' to
hit, nohow. Had the reins round my neck, not expectin' visitors, when
them hornets come at me and the hoss without even ringin' the bell.
That team drug me quite a spell afore I got loose. When I got enough
dirt out of my mouth so as I could holler, I set to and said what I
thought."

"Cussed the hosses and the doggone ole plough and them hornets--and
everything!" exclaimed Pete.

"Nope, son, I cussed myself for hangin' them reins round my neck. What
you say your name was?"

"Pete."

"What was the trader callin' you--any other name besides Pete?"

"Yes, I reckon he was. When he is good 'n' drunk he would be callin'
me a doggone little--"