"What does that mean?" I said, stepping up to him.
"How do I know?" said the man, "and what do you want to know fur?"
"Just out of curiosity," I said; "I have often noticed it. I think
you can tell me what it means, and if you will do so, I'll give you
a dollar."
"And keep mum about it?" said the man.
"Yes," I replied, taking out the dollar.
"All right!" said the tramp. "That sign means that the man that
lives up this lane is a mean, stingy cuss, with a wicked dog, and
it's no good to go there."
I handed him the dollar and went away, perfectly satisfied with my
reputation.
I wish here to make some mention of Euphemia's methods of work in
her chicken-yard. She kept a book, which she at first called her
"Fowl Record," but she afterward changed the name to "Poultry
Register." I never could thoroughly understand this book, although
she has often explained every part of it to me. She had pages for
registering the age, description, time of purchase or of birth, and
subsequent performances of every fowl in her yard. She had
divisions of the book for expenses, profits, probable losses and
positive losses; she noted the number of eggs put under each
setting hen; the number of eggs cracked per day, the number
spoiled, and finally, the number hatched. Each chick, on emerging
from its shell, was registered, and an account kept of its
subsequent life and adventures. There were frequent calculations
regarding the advantages of various methods of treatment, and there
were statements of the results of a great many experiments--
something like this: "Set Toppy and her sister Pinky, April 2nd
187-; Toppy with twelve eggs,--three Brahma, four common, and five
Leghorn; Pinky with thirteen eggs (as she weighs four ounces more
than her sister), of which three were Leghorn, five common, and
five Brahma.
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