so for awhile--until I leave for--

The mansion is 10x12, with a "domestic" roof. Yesterday it rained--the

first shower for five months. "Domestic," it appears to me, is not

water-proof. We went outside to keep from getting wet. Dan makes the bed

when it is his turn to do it--and when it is my turn, I don't, you know.

The dog is not a good hunter, and he isn't worth shucks to watch--but he

scratches up the dirt floor of the cabin, and catches flies, and makes

himself generally useful in the way of washing dishes. Dan gets up first

in the morning and makes a fire--and I get up last and sit by it,

while he cooks breakfast. We have a cold lunch at noon, and I cook

supper--very much against my will. However, one must have one good meal

a day, and if I were to live on Dan's abominable cookery, I should lose

my appetite, you know. Dan attended Dr. Chorpenning's funeral yesterday,

and he felt as though he ought to wear a white shirt--and we had a jolly

good time finding such an article. We turned over all our traps, and he

found one at last--but I shall always think it was suffering from yellow

fever. He also found an old black coat, greasy, and wrinkled to that

degree that it appeared to have been quilted at some time or other. In

this gorgeous costume he attended the funeral. And when he returned,

his own dog drove him away from the cabin, not recognizing him. This is

true.

You would not like to live in a country where flour was $40 a barrel?

Very well; then, I suppose you would not like to live here, where flour

was $100 a barrel when I first came here. And shortly afterwards, it

The Letters Of Mark Twain, Complete