“Yes; who be you?”
The Adventurous One was obliged to state her name and errand before the old man would move one step from behind the coal bin.
“I’ll come around to the front of the house,” announced this tremendous voice, coming with startling effect from this little bundle of humanity to which it belonged, “for I’m hard o’ hearin’.”
And so Uncle Dave and the Adventurous One sat down on a bench by the old stone wall around the little garden, and while the autumn sun smiled down on the waters of the pretty stream that flowed by the old man’s door, this voice from the past spoke freely and at length.
Uncle Dave was a remarkable old gentleman, possessing an astounding memory, of which faculty he was well aware, and of which he was very proud. He had dates, incidents, historical events at his tongue’s end. On being asked, who in his opinion had built the fortifications we had that morning seen, he said emphatically:
“It was some of them ten foot fellers that lived here long before the Injuns. Injuns never done it, they didn’t know enough, and they are too old for the French to have built ’em.”
Did he mean the mound builders?
“Yes, I reckin that’s what ye call ’em.”
Did he ever see any traces of the old portage road?
“O, yes,” he trumpeted forth, “the French under Du Quizney built that road from the mouth of this here very creek to the head of Chautauqua Lake.”