“Oh my everlastin’ sweetterbacker!” yelled Boaz Honeycutt, going over the side of the wagon and disappearing in the direction from which they had just come.
“What’s the matter!” all cried excitedly and in the same breath. Paul Waffington was climbing out of the wagon to make investigation when Boaz was seen coming back at a fast trot.
“Why, Boaz, what is the matter?” together all cried again.
“Oh nothin’,” replied the boy climbing into his seat. “But you doan’t git Boaz Honeycutt to pass no forks of the road ’thout crossin’ an’ spitten’. No sire—ee! It’s bad luck. Onst I had a stone-bruise an’ a sore toe fur two year, summer an’ winter, ’account not crossin’ an’ spitten’ when passin’ the forks of a road. No sire—ee, you needn’t expect to see Boaz Honeycutt fail to cross an’ spit whin he comes to the forks of the road no more’n you ’spect to see a jay-bird awalkin’ on crutches.”
The next turn of the road brought the party out into the open again. The hot July sun came down, and Emeline Hobbs moved uneasily in her seat.
“Gee, but I’m dry!” she finally bawled out.
“What did you say, Miss Hobbs?” inquired Paul Waffington.
“I’m dry,” she again bawled out at him over her shoulder. “I salted the gravy too much this mornin’. Gee, but I’m dry—want water,” she finished.
“Oh! You’re thirsty. Well, here is a house, and a spring too. We shall all have some water here,” was Waffington’s reply.
Fen Green, the driver, brought the wagon to a stand. Paul Waffington got out of the wagon, jumped the fence and ran down the little path in the direction of the spring.