“I’se goin’ tek keer ob hit; yo’ needn’t fur to fret about dat. I’se goin’ at hit, hammer an’ tongs, day arter to-morry mornin’.”
“Why not to-morrow?” Jessie inquired eagerly; “Leslie and I can help you.”
“I reckons dere can’t nobody help me much w’en I’se done got a broken reaper to wuck with.”
“Oh, that’s too bad! How long will it take to get it fixed?” Jessie asked.
“I’se done get hit fixed to-morry, sure, den—we see.”
“Leslie and I will help you,” Jessie repeated. “The wheat is worth more than any sewing that we can do. If we can get it marketed it will pay up all our bills, nearly, won’t it, Joe?”
“I spec’ maybe hit will, honey,” Joe returned, grinning complacently. “Doan you chillen fret about nothin’,” he continued earnestly. “Dem bills all goin’ be paid up, clean to de handle.”
I confess that I felt far less sanguine than he appeared to be on that point.
“Isn’t it a mercy that our corn and wheat have been let to grow in peace this year?” I said, after Mrs. Horton had taken her leave. “It’s the first year since we have been here that such a thing has happened.”