out just as a flock of turkeys was comin' into sight. Quick as a flash he run to the wall and took down his father's rifle. Then he run over to a big crack in the logs. Steady now! He took good aim. Crack goes the rifle, and down falls the best bird in the whole flock. Ye'd a thought that with such a beginning he'd a took to huntin' with a zest.
Fourth Farmer,—No, no, he's too soft-hearted. Can't bear to make even a dumb critter suffer. He'll wrastle with the best of us, and beat us every time when it comes to splittin' rails or cuttin' logs. But huntin' don't seem to be in his dictionary.
First Farmer,—I saw him do a stunt this very mornin'. Three of us was gettin' ready to move a chicken house. We was all takin' long breaths before the start, for it weighed three hundred or more. 'Long comes Abe just about that time. "What are ye waiting fer?" says he. "Waiting fer?" says I. "We're only gettin' ready." At that he give a long chuckle down in his throat, stepped over to the chicken house, lifted it like it was a feather, and walked off with it. He's a tough one, I tell ye.
The Crowd,—Ha, ha, ha! Good for Abe!
