For the value of one quarter dollar I got
rid of this dishonest girl for ever; rather than pay me, she never
entered the house again.
About a month after this, I was busy making an apple-pie in the
kitchen. A cadaverous-looking woman, very long-faced and witch-like,
popped her ill-looking visage into the door, and drawled through her
nose -
"Do you want to buy a rooster?"
Now, the sucking-pigs with which we had been regaled every day
for three weeks at the tavern, were called roasters; and not
understanding the familiar phrases of the country, I thought she
had a sucking-pig to sell.
"Is it a good one?"
"I guess 'tis."
"What do you ask for it?"
"Two Yorkers."
"That is very cheap, if it is any weight. I don't like them under
ten or twelve pounds."
"Ten or twelve pounds! Why, woman, what do you mean? Would you
expect a rooster to be bigger nor a turkey?"
We stared at each other. There was evidently some misconception
on my part.
"Bring the roaster up; and if I like it, I will buy it, though
I must confess that I am not very fond of roast pig."
"Do you call this a pig?" said my she-merchant, drawing a fine
game-cock from under her cloak.
I laughed heartily at my mistake, as I paid her down the money for
the bonny bird.
