," he said, having completely recovered
his power of speech. "I should have come down last night, Mark. I
'pologize for not doin' it, but it's mighty troublesome gittin' 'round
in the dark. The last time I tried it, I caught the end of my stick
between two rocks and it broke. There I was, left settin' on the Red
Hill with no way of gittin' home. I was in for comin' down here to
receive you--really I was--but my missus says she ain't a-goin' to have
me rovin' 'round the country that 'ay agin. 'Gimme an extry oar,' I
says. And she says: 'Does you 'spose I'll let you run 'round lookin'
like a load of wood?' And I says----"

The gate latch clicked. Again Tim appeared from the maze of corn and
stood shading his eyes and gazing toward the house. Now the footfalls
were light. And Mary came! But how could I look careless and dashing,
with Josiah Nummler in the chair I had fixed so close to mine? Rising,
I bowed as awkwardly as possible. I insisted on her taking my own
rocker, while I fixed myself on the floor with a pillar for a
back-rest. Not a word did the girl say, but she sat there clutching
the little basket she held in her lap.

"Eggs?" inquired Josiah.

She shook her head, but did not enlighten him.

"I should judge your hens ain't layin' well, figurin' on the size of
the basket," said the old man, ignoring her denial. "There's a
peculiarity about the hens in this walley--it's somethin' I've noticed
ever since I was a boy. I've spoke to my missus about it and she has
noticed the same thing since she was a girl--so it must be a
peculiarity. The hens in this walley allus lays most when the price of
eggs is lowest."

This was a serious problem. It is not usual for Josiah to be serious,
either, for he is generally out of breath or laughing. Now he was
wagging his head solemnly, pulling his beard, and over and over
repeating, "But hens is contrary--hens is contrary."

Mary contrived to drop the basket to her side, out of the old man's
sight.

"Speakin' of hens," he went on. "My missus was sayin' just yesterday
how as----"

Tim was shouting. He was calling something to me. I could not make
out what it was, for the wind-was rustling the corn-shocks, but I arose
and feigned to listen.

"It's Tim," said I. "He's calling to you, Josiah. It's something
about your red heifer."

"Red heifer--I haven't no red heifer," returned the old man.

"Did I say heifer? I should have said hog--excuse me,"