An Atlanta man tells of an amusing experience he had in a mountainous region in a southwestern state, where the inhabitants are notoriously shiftless. Arriving at a dilapidated shanty at the noon hour, he inquired as to the prospects for getting dinner.

The head of the family, who had been "resting" on a fallen tree in front of his dwelling, made reply to the effect that he "guessed Ma'd hev suthin' on to the table putty soon."

With this encouragement, the traveler dismounted. To his chagrin, however, he soon discovered that the food set before him was such that he could not possibly "make a meal." He made such excuses as he could for his lack of appetite, and finally bethought himself of a kind of nourishment which he might venture to take, and which was sure to be found in any locality. He asked for some milk.

"Don't have milk no more," said the head of the place. "The dawg's dead."

"The dog!" cried the stranger. "What on earth has the dog to do with it?"

"Well," explained the host meditatively, "them cows don't seem to know 'nough to come up and be milked theirselves. The dog, he used to go for 'em an' fetch 'em up."—Edwin Tarrisse.

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