So off a want age'an, an' looked here an looked theer, an' by-'n'-by a got it.
Back a want to th' wo'm.
"Here's th' arm," says he.
An' the wo'm to'ned it o'er.
"No'a, theer's summat still, Sam'l," says a. "Had thou los' an ny thin' else?"
"Lemme see," says Sam'l, thinkin'; "a'd los' a nail, an' 't niver grow'd age'an."
"That's 't, a reckon," says the wo'm. "Thou's got to fot it, Sam'l."
"A reckon a'll niver fun' that, then, me'aster," says Sam'l, "but a'm willin' to try."
An' off a want.
But a nail 's an aisy matter to loss, seest tha, an' a ha'ard thing to fin', an' thoff a so't an' a so't, a cu'd'nt fin' nuthin', so to las' a want back to th' wo'm.
"A've so't an' a've so't, an' a've fun' nowt," says he. "Thou mun tak' ma wi'out ma nail—its no gra'at loss, a'm thinkin'. Can't 'ee mak' shift wi'out it?"
"No'a!" said th' wo'm, "a can't; an' ef thou can't fin' it—are thou sartain-sure thou can't, Sam'l?"
"Sartain, wuss luck!"
"Thou'll mun wa'alk th' yarth while thou do fin' it, then!"
"But ef a can't niver?"
"Then thou'll mun wa'alk ahl th' toime! A'm main sorry fur tha, Sam'l, but thou'll hev lots o' compiny!"
An' ahl th' crepin' things an' th' crawlin' things tuk 'n' to'ned Sam'l a'out; 'n' iver sence, ef a's not fun' 's nail, a's wa'alkin' 'ba'out seekin' fur 't.
That's ahl; gran'ther tell 't ma wan da'ay 's a wor axin' wheer ahl th' bogles coom f 'um. 'T's not much on a ta'ale, but a can't min' anuther to na'ow, and it's so't o' funny, ain't it?
