“I hadn’t tasted a bit of food till I came here since five o’clock this morning, and I’ve got to Walk all night.”
“Law me!” ejaculated his good-hearted hostess; “if I haven’t forgot to help ye, I was so scared ’bout the Injuns;” and she passed it, adding, “Husband, you jist go down cellar, and bring up a pumpkin pie, and some o’ that gingerbread. The boy mustn’t leave this huss till he’s had his fill;” and the tears came into her large blue eyes. “And are you going with the sojers over among the Injuns where your father and mother is?”
“Yes,” answered Tom.
“Why, it seems to me that a stripling like you 205 had best stay behind, and keep out o’ danger. One o’ them Injuns wouldn’t make nothin’ o’ taking your scalp.”
Tom’s spirit rose at this, and he told them how he killed the Indian in the morning.
“Well, I never!” said the good lady, in blank astonishment. “Why, I don’t s’pose my husband here would be any more dependence if them wild critters should come beseeching our dwelling than a three-year-old.”
At which the husband thrust his hand up into his wiry hair, till he made it stand upon end all over his head, while he grew very red in the face, and said, fiercely,–
“Let the varmints come on if they wants to. Guess I could stand it if you could.”
Tom saw that there was danger of a falling out between his fat, overgrown hostess and her diminutive husband, and adroitly said,–
“We don’t any one of us know what we could do until the time comes. I was surprised myself at what I had done.”