“Yep. Sleep.”
“And he waked us up through the window–––”
“Waked froo winder, yep.”
“And said: ‘Go get that pointed stick, Ned Trent, and I’ll give you a dollar.’ Didn’t he?”
“Gimme dollar. Didn’t gimme dollar. What’s a dollar?” asked the echo.
Ned went on, unheeding:
“And I said no. ’Twasn’t my stick; ’twas my mother’s.”
“Oh! Neddy, Neddy! if you’d only stuck to that!” groaned Mrs. Benton, wiping her face with her apron.
But being now fairly launched upon his narrative, and also feeling wholly secure within the shelter of “Forty-niner’s” arms, Ned paused no more till he had completed it: