"Yes, the first time," said Oliver patiently.
Again that peculiar little snort of Selden.
"How ye gettin' along down to the Old Ivison Place, Mr. Drew?" was Selden's abrupt shift of the conversation.
"Oh, my garden is fine. And I have two colonies of bees storing up honey for me. Besides, I've located another colony up in the hills, and will get them as soon as I can get around to it."
"But ye can't live on garden truck an' honey!"
"I suppose I should have some locusts to go along with them," laughed Oliver; but his flight was lost on Old Man Selden. "You forget, though," the speaker added, "that I am writing for farm journals. I've sold three little articles since I settled down there. I'll get along, if my luck holds out."
"Oh, yes—ye'll get along. I ain't worryin' 'bout that. I'll bet ye could draw a check right this minute that'd pay fer every acre o' land 'tween here an' Calamity Gap."
"I'll bet I couldn't!" Oliver positively denied.
Old Man Selden chuckled craftily. "Ye're pretty foxy, Mr. Drew—pretty foxy!" He had lowered his deep tones until Jessamy could barely distinguish words. "Yes, sir—mighty foxy! A garden an' bees an' writin' for a story paper, eh? Oh, ye'll get along. I'll tell a man ye'll get along!"
"I really have no other source of revenue, Mr. Selden."