"How do I know I ain't gettin' cheated?" she asked. "Suppose this should turn out to be no good?"
"Then you'd have the farm," said McAllister.
He fumbled in his pocket until he found a clean letter-back and with his stylographic pen rapidly wrote the following:
"I hereby give and convey the Henry Higgins farm, heretofore purchased by me, to my friend Abigail Martha Higgins, in consideration for much of value of which no one knows but myself. In witness whereof I sign my name and affix a seal."
He found a used postage-stamp that still had a trifle of gum on its back and made use of it as a fragmentary seal.
While in some doubt as to the legal sufficiency of this instrument, McAllister felt that its intendment was unmistakable. Having replaced his pen, he carefully folded the document and thrust it into his pocket. Just at this moment Miss Higgins announced the return of Deacon Brewer, who was wheeling slowly into the gate. Toward the orchard McAllister could see, as he stepped to the door, little Abby still tugging along Wilkins, whose massive and emotionless face was glistening with the heat.
"Hit's very 'ot, sir!" he remarked tentatively to his master. "I've been to see the 'ives."
"How funny Mr. Wilkins talks!" said Abby. "He told me he knew a boy once who got stung, and said the bee bit 'im in 'is 'ead! Do all drummers talk like that?"
"Drummers!" exclaimed Wilkins.
"Aunt said you were both drummers; I s'pose you left your drums somewhere. I don't like 'em; they make too much music. They have them in the circus parade in Bangor every year."