"He said he should think Mr. Bronson could find enough men in the neighborhood to do his work without sending off for a—a——"
"For a boy?" laughed Hiram. "If I can't make good in my job there will soon be a chance for somebody else to take my place."
"For the land's sake! I do hope you will stop here, Mr. Strong. I shouldn't want to see Mr. Bronson put a fellow like Ad Banks in charge at Sunnyside. He'd be worse than that Jim Brandenburg that made me so much trouble—burning everything all up."
"I hope your house that was burned was insured, Miss Pringle," Hiram said.
"Yes, 'twas, Mr. Strong. But that piece of pine timber across the road wasn't. The sparks flew from the house and caught that, and you can see quite a patch of it was burned—completely ruined for any purpose, even firewood. Who wants to handle wood that smuts you all up? I had a log or two dragged up to the house and sawed and split; but Abigail can't abide it. Says she won't have it in her kitchen. And I can't blame her."
"So you have no use for that burned timber?" asked Hiram thoughtfully.
"No more'n a cat has for two tails."
"Are you just going to let it stand there and be blown down by the wind?"
"I've told some folks that haven't much firewood that they can have it for the cutting and hauling."
"I don't know that Mr. Bronson would be willing to have me make just that kind of a bargain," said Hiram smiling. "But I can make use of some of those dead trees."