In a picturesque, undulating country, known as Rocky Run, God and Nature had worked hand in hand to make the region beautiful. The verdure was prolific with beautiful, flowering plants, and from the side hills, came gushing springs of water, which ran, sparkling and clear, into the valleys far below. The hills and dales were dotted with rude log cabins, where lived a class of contented, industrious people. Their main occupation was tending their herds, from which they derived the greater part of their livelihood.
    In early days, the ox was used in tilling the soil, but more recently, a long-haired breed of horses, shipped from Molley Oron’s heath in the remote mountains of Wicklow, Ireland was substituted. They were stocky in build, and were able to withstand great hardships, as well as the rigors of the cold, northern Wisconsin climate. They were known by the name of gouger and cost less than the ordinary horse.
    As the country, where the gouger constantly labored, was one series of side hills, kind and provident nature came to his assistance in an endeavor to accommodate him to the conditions. Gradually and with each succeeding year, the inside legs of the gougers became shorter than the legs on the outer side. After constant breeding of these horses, a race of gougers was finally developed, whose inside legs were four inches shorter than the others. In time, they became a distinct breed of animals, called the side-hill gougers, able to travel and work perfectly on the side hills but finding it impossible to walk or labor on level ground.
    As a favor to my fellow men and to the furtherance of science as well as a Godsend to those poor side hill Christians, I am giving you the name and address of the last famous trainer and breeder of those interesting animals. You may secure information on the subject by writing to Jimmie Killtime. Glendale Hill, who owns a female gouger, which last year raised a brood of eight pups. Oh, I forgot to tell you that instead of breeding, they lay eggs. Mr. Killtime will not ship the eggs, as all setting must be done on the quiet slopes of Glendale Hill.”
    At the conclusion of his story, Mike Dutton was ordered to step down and go back to Wickow, Ireland, with his side hill gouger, for the rest of his life. There, he was condemned to dig turf all his days. The fine imposed upon him was one pound of tobacco.
    The next person to take the deacon’s seat was Patrick Sheeron, whose clear blue eyes took in every detail of his surroundings, and whose every move, showed birth and breeding. He made careful inquiry as to whether the boss was present, because his story concerned the company for which he worked and he thought it best not to have “that certain party” present. Finding that the boss was not present, he began his tale: