keep?"

   And says he, "Yes."

   "Well, then," says I to myself, "I have a pesky good mind to go in and have a try with one of these chaps, and see if they can twist my eye-teeth out. If they can get the best end of a bargain out of me, they can do what there ain't a man in our place can do; and I should just like to know what sort of stuff these 'ere Portland chaps are made of." So I goes into the best-looking store among 'em. And I see some biscuit on the shelf, and says I,—

   "Mister, how much do you ax apiece for them 'ere biscuits?"

   "A cent apiece," says he.

   "Well," says I, "I shan't give you that, but, if you've a mind to, I'll give you two cents for three of them, for I begin to feel a little as though I would like to take a bite."

   "Well," says he, "I wouldn't sell 'em to anybody else so, but, seeing it's you, I don't care if you take 'em."

   I knew he lied, for he never seen me before in his life. Well, he handed down the biscuits, and I took 'em and walked round the store awhile, to see what else he had to sell. At last says I,—

   "Mister, have you got any good cider?"

   Says he, "Yes, as good as ever ye see."

   "Well," says I, "what do you ax a glass for it?"

   "Two cents," says he.

   "Well," says I, "seems to me I feel more dry than I do hungry now. Ain't you a mind to take these 'ere biscuits again, and give me a glass of cider?"

   And says he,—

   "I don't care if I do."

   So he took and laid 'em on the shelf again, and poured out a glass of cider. I took the cider and drinkt it down, and, to tell the truth, it was capital good cider. Then says I,—

   "I guess it's time for me to be a-going," and I stept along towards the door; but says he,—

   "Stop, mister: I believe you haven't paid me for the cider?"

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