“Hello, Nate!” Birt cried out, eagerly. “I’m powerful glad ye happened ter kem hyar, fur I hev a word ter say ter ye.”
“I dunno ez I’m minded ter bide,” Nate said cavalierly. “I hates to waste time an’ burn daylight a-jowin’.”
He was still cracking his lash at the ground. There was a sudden, half-articulate remonstrance.
Birt, who had turned away to the bark-mill, whirled back in a rising passion.
“Did ye hit Tennessee?” he asked, with a dangerous light in his eyes.
“No - I never!” Nate protested. “I hain’t seen her till this minute. She war standin’ a-hint ye.”
“Waal, ye skeered her, then,” said Birt, hardly appeased. “Quit snappin’ that lash. ’Pears-like ter me ez ye makes yerself powerful free round this hyar tanyard.”
“Tennie air a-growin’ wonderful fast,” the sly Nathan remarked pleasantly.
Birt softened instantly. “She air a haffen inch higher ’n she war las’ March, ’cordin’ ter the mark on the door,” he declared, pridefully. “She ain’t pretty, I know, but she air powerful peart.”
“What war the word ez ye war layin’ off ter say ter me?” Nate asked, curiosity vividly expressed in his face.