{"id":"01KG6YH31Z1P650SEJAJ1Q49EZ","cid":"bafkreiapbayevq5kwpzufcnf3n6bxxoyj4kn6evv2vjhpayehg5lrybsny","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":4904,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T07:57:45.581Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 3","source_file":"01KG6YDD8GKW0DRD5H2MY1NRZ7","start_line":4839,"text":"\"But my dear and glorious cock,\" mused I, upon second thought, \"one\r\ncan't so easily send this world to pot; one can't so easily be jolly\r\nwith civil-processes in his hat or hand.\"\r\n\r\nHark! the crow again. Plain as cock could speak, it said: \"Hang the\r\nprocess, and hang the fellow that sent it! If you have not land or\r\ncash, go and thrash the fellow, and tell him you never mean to pay him.\r\nBe jolly!\"\r\n\r\nNow this was the way--through the imperative intimations of the\r\ncock--that I came to clap the added mortgage on my estate; paid all my\r\ndebts by fusing them into this one added bond and mortgage. Thus made\r\nat ease again, I renewed my search for the noble cock. But in vain,\r\nthough I heard him every day. I began to think there was some sort\r\nof deception in this mysterious thing: some wonderful ventriloquist\r\nprowled around my barns, or in my cellar, or on my roof, and was minded\r\nto be gayly mischievous. But no--what ventriloquist could so crow with\r\nsuch an heroic and celestial crow?\r\n\r\nAt last, one morning there came to me a certain singular man, who had\r\nsawed and split my wood in March--some five-and-thirty cords of it--and\r\nnow he came for his pay. He was a singular man, I say. He was tall\r\nand spare, with a long saddish face, yet somehow a latently joyous\r\neye, which offered the strangest contrast. His air seemed staid, but\r\nundepressed. He wore a long, gray, shabby coat, and a big battered hat.\r\nThis man had sawed my wood at so much a cord. He would stand and saw\r\nall day in a driving snow-storm, and never wink at it. He never spoke\r\nunless spoken to. He only sawed. Saw, saw, saw--snow, snow, snow. The\r\nsaw and the snow went together like two natural things. The first day\r\nthis man came, he brought his dinner with him, and volunteered to eat\r\nit sitting on his buck in the snow-storm. From my window, where I was\r\nreading Burton's _Anatomy of Melancholy_, I saw him in the act. I burst\r\nout of doors bareheaded. \"Good heavens!\" cried I; \"what are you doing?\r\nCome in. _This_ your dinner!\"\r\n\r\nHe had a hunk of stale bread and another hunk of salt beef, wrapped in\r\na wet newspaper, and washed his morsels down by melting a handful of\r\nfresh snow in his mouth. I took this rash man indoors, planted him by\r\nthe fire, gave him a dish of hot pork and beans, and a mug of cider.\r\n\r\n\"Now,\" said I, \"don't you bring any of your damp dinners here. You work\r\nby the job, to be sure; but I'll dine you for all that.\"\r\n\r\nHe expressed his acknowledgments in a calm, proud, but not ungrateful\r\nway, and dispatched his meal with satisfaction to himself, and me\r\nalso. It afforded me pleasure to perceive that he quaffed down his\r\nmug of cider like a man. I honored him. When I addressed him in the\r\nway of business at his buck, I did so in a guardedly respectful and\r\ndeferential manner. Interested in his singular aspect, struck by his\r\nwondrous intensity of application at his saw--a most wearisome and\r\ndisgustful occupation to most people--I often sought to gather from\r\nhim who he was, what sort of a life he led, where he was born, and so\r\non. But he was mum. He came to saw my wood, and eat my dinners--if I\r\nchose to offer them--but not to gabble. At first, I somewhat resented\r\nhis sullen silence under the circumstances. But better considering\r\nit, I honored him the more. I increased the respectfulness and\r\ndeferentialness of my address toward him. I concluded within myself\r\nthat this man had experienced hard times; that he had had many sore\r\nrubs in the world; that he was of a solemn disposition; that he was\r\nof the mind of Solomon; that he lived calmly, decorously, temperately;\r\nand though a very poor man, was, nevertheless, a highly respectable\r\none. At times I imagined that he might even be an elder or deacon of\r\nsome small country church. I thought it would not be a bad plan to run\r\nthis excellent man for President of the United States. He would prove a\r\ngreat reformer of abuses.\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 3"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG6YGBGKG15EQNWSZXFWPM05","peer_type":"segment","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG6YDD8GKW0DRD5H2MY1NRZ7","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG6YCG626JN4FCG8QK17CQCF","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG6YH3246H3B490GQW5791Y9","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"prev"},{"peer":"01KG6YH3QE4EAWX81GZPASK45M","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T07:57:50.015Z","ts":"2026-01-30T07:57:55.567Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}