He never was good for much, but he 's hed more 'n his comeuppance!"

"Why, what 's the matter with him? Can't he git work in Boston?"

"Matter? Why, his wife, that I see makin' believe be so
dreadful pious in the Catholic meetin', she 's carried on wuss 'n
the Old Driver for two years, 'n' now she 's up 'n' left him,--
gone with a han'somer man."

Down on Steve Webster's hand came Jabe Slocum's immense
paw with a grasp that made him cringe.

"What the"--began Steve, when the man from Tennessee took up
his scythe and slouched away from the group by the tree.

"Didn't yer know no better 'n that, yer thunderin' fool? Can't yer
see a hole in a grindstun 'thout it's hung on yer nose?"

"What hev I done?" asked Steve, as if dumfounded.

"Done? Where 've yer ben, that yer don't know Dixie's wife
's left him?"

"Where 've I ben? Hain't I ben workin' in Boston fer
a year; 'n' since I come home last week, hain't I ben tendin'
sick folks, so 't I couldn't git outside the dooryard?
I never seen the man in my life till yesterday, in the field,
'n' I thought he was one o' them dark-skinned Frenchies from
Guildford that hed come up here fer hayin'."