A ROAD BY THE STREAM
“A friend and myself would like to camp over in your pasture for a few days, if you don’t object,” said John.
“All right, go ahead,” said the farmer. “If you behave yourselves, and put up the bars after ye so’t the cows won’t git out I ain’t no objections.”
“Thank you,” said John. “We’ll try to do that. Have you milk to sell? We’d like to buy a couple of quarts or so a day.”
The man turned his head toward the kitchen. “Ann,” he said, “how is that—can ye spare any?”
A tall, thin-faced woman came to the door. She carried a baby in her arms. “I don’t think we have any milk to spare,” she replied. “We raise calves, because I ain’t well enough to tend to the milk and make butter, and they drink about all we have. And I have two children, and the oldest ain’t much more’n a baby, and they have to have some. We’d like to accommodate you, but I don’t see how we can.”
“It’s all right,” John replied; “we will find some other place for our milk supply.”
He returned to the team and they drove through a wide, rocky mowing lot till they came to a stone wall which was without a break, and entirely blocked the way. A pasture lay beyond.
“The falls,” said Jimmy, “are right over in them woods t’other side of this pasture. If ’twasn’t for this pesky stone wall I’d drive right over there with ye. We’d ‘a’ done better to ‘a’ gone to Jules’. His place is only a little ways straight over here, but it’s a mile and more by the road.”
“Well, we’ve travelled far enough for one day,” said Harry. “Let’s get our tent over into the pasture and pitch it there.”