Ain't nothin'
'raound here kin see's fur as he kin, anyways." "My luck again," I
thought to myself. I knew I could not be mistaken in the outward signs.
"You like trees, then?" I asked, watching the glow on his face.
"Like 'em! Well, wouldn't you if ye'd lived 'mong 'em long's I have?
Trees don't never go back on ye, and that's what ye can't say o'
everything." The analogy was obscure, but I attributed it to Jim's
slender stock of phrases. "I've knowed that hemlock ever since I come
here, and he's just the same to me as the fust day I see him. Ain't
never no change in trees; once they're good to ye they're allus good to
ye. Birds is different--so is cattle--but trees and dogs ye kin tie to.
Don't the woods smell nice? Do ye catch on to them spruces dead ahead of
us? Maybe ye can't smell 'em till ye git yer nose cleared out o' them
city nosegays," he continued, with a kindly interest in his voice. "But
ye will when ye've been here a spell. Folks that live in cities think
there ain't nothin' smells sweet but flowers and cologne.
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