"The feller thet is so wibbly-wobbly thet he can't trust his own idees," said Uncle Ezra Mudge as he stopped in the midst of his wood-chopping and leaned up against a log to rest, "is the kind of a feller who never amounts ter shucks in a cow pen. It takes a man who hez kep' hisself in sich a condition thet he knows jist whut he kin depend on when the firin' begins, who allus wins in the bayonet charge. En it don't pay to fool aroun' huntin' up other people's idees before you strike hard licks. Ef you do, the chances air your wood'll be scarce when the cold days blow aroun'!" And the old man spat on his hardened palms and went on with his labor.