“We are—and I’m doing my best to solve the puzzle,” I added.
“All right, go ahead if it amuses ye,” he said, with an assurance that made my heart sink. “But ef I was you, I’d jest take things easy.”
“Oh, I think it’s worth trying,” I retorted. “I’m going to investigate every rose of Sharon about the place—you know there are apples and plums and early potatoes, and I don’t know what besides, which are called roses of Sharon.”
“Air they?” he asked, laughing. “No, I didn’t know it. It strikes me you’ve got a purty big job on hand. Did ye ever hear the story of the man what left his sons a ten acre field in which he said they was a treasure hid, and they dug fer it an’ dug fer it, till they finally caught on that what he meant was the craps they raised arter diggin’ the field up?”
“Yes,” I said; “I’ve heard that story.”
“Only thet couldn’t apply here, o’ course,” he added, maliciously, “fer ye won’t hev time t’ reap any craps. Howsomever, I ain’t got no objections t’ you’re diggin’ the place up—mebbe I’ll do some reapin’ myself. Only it’s purty hard work—an’ mighty poor prospect of any pay. But I ain’t got nothin’ t’ say till the seventeenth o’ May; I’m givin’ ye a clear field. I’m playin’ fair. I’m a white man, I am.”
It was my turn to be surprised at his flow of words. The emphasis he placed upon them seemed to me a little forced, but I murmured that I was sure he was very generous and fair-minded, and that we all appreciated his kindness in playing fair.
“All right,” he said shortly. “I’m glad t’ hear it. Is thet what your maw wanted t’ tell me? Hardly wuth while fer me t’ come clear out here fer thet.”
“My mother?” I repeated, in astonishment. “But she’s not here. She drove in to the village this afternoon.”
“In to the village?” he repeated, his face flushing a little. “How long ago?”