CHAPTER XXVII
LEM CREATES FICTION
Lem's treble piped above the low of the cows and the answering bawl of the calves outside the corral. He was seated on the top rail of the fence with a short piece of maple in his hand, out of which he was trying to shape a flute.
"—An' I hev be'n frequently so-o-old, an' I hev
be'n frequently sold;
I've tunneled, hydraulicked, and cradled—an'—
Oh, shet up, Shorts, now do."
He closed his knife with a snap and, slipping down from his perch, opened the wicket and let the white-faced calf through. Martha poured the foaming milk from her measure into a pail and changed her seat. At the same time she lifted her glance to the county road, winding up northward from the meadow. "I should jedge," she said, shading her eyes, "I should jedge that ther's Jake's horse, but it don't look nothin' like Jake."
"Naw, it ain't," answered Lem, raising his ferret eyes to the horseman. "I'll jes' bet it's Mr. Forrest; yes, sir, it's him. He's borryed Ketchem down by ther station, seein's he couldn't git word out fur his own horse." And he put the flute to his lips.
"I've travelled all over ther country, prospectin'
an' diggin' fur gold."
It was a discordant peal and the lad knew it. He also felt that this rider, descending now into the lane, regarded him with laughing eyes. Forrest drew his rein outside the bars and Martha came over to the fence. "How do you do?" he said. "You're looking well."
"Wal, yes," she answered with her serious smile, and wiping her hand on her apron, she grasped the palm he offered across the rail, "I'm fair ter middlin'. I calc'late you've kem prospectin', but Eben's off in ther hills; he 'lowed he was gittin' powerful clost ter ther head o' that ther petrified man, an' you're likelier ter find er needle in er haystack 'n him. But ef you'll stop over night 'ith us, mebbe he'll kem in."