'My oath!'
The conversation flagged here. But presently, to my great surprise, he came to the rescue with:
'He finished me, yer know.'
'Finished? How? Who?''
He looked down towards the river, thought (if he did think) and said: 'Finished me edyercation, yer know.'
'Oh! you mean Mr. B.?'
'My oath―he finished me first-rate.'
'He turned out a good many scholars, didn't he?'
'My oath! I'm thinkin' about going down to the trainin'-school,'
'You ought to―I would if I were you.'
'My oath!'
'Those were good old times,' I hazarded, 'you remember the old bark school?'
He looked away across the siding, and was evidently getting uneasy. He shifted about, and said:
'Well, I must be goin'.'
'I suppose you're pretty busy now?'
'My oath! So long.'
'Well, good-bye. We must have a yarn some day.'
'My oath!'
He got away as quickly as he could.
I wonder whether he was changed after all―or, was it I? A man does seem to get out of touch with the bush after living in cities for eight or ten years.
