“All right, Uncle Barnabas. What is it?”
“Feedin’ on them fairy stories all day. They hain’t hullsome diet fer a boy.”
“The Judge reads them,” protested David. “He has that same book of fairy stories that Joe gave me.”
“When you’ve done all the Jedge has, and git to whar you kin afford to be idle, you kin read any stuff you want ter.”
“Can’t I read them at all?” asked David in alarm.
“Of course you kin. I meant, I didn’t want you stickin’ to ’em like a pup to a root. You’re goin’ down to the fields to begin work with me 86 this arternoon, and you won’t feel much like readin’ to-night. I wuz lookin’ over them books of your’n last night. Thar’s one you’d best start in on right away, and give the fairies a rest.”
“Which one?”
“Life of Lincoln. That’ll show you what work will do.”
“I’ll read it aloud to you, Uncle Barnabas.”
When they reached the bridge that spanned the river Old Hundred dropped the little hurrying gait which he assumed in town, and settled down to his normal, comfortable, country jog.