“Books.”
“Isn’t he too tired to study when night comes, after working so hard all day?”
“If he is he doesn’t say anything about it. Since young Mr. Moulton has been here he has been helping Dan.”
“Yes, he’s been showing Dan how to pitch too,” broke in Walter.
“So he has,” said Mrs. Richards smilingly. “You’d think those boys had had enough work when night comes, but they go out behind the barn almost every night after supper and Dan will throw a ball to Tom with all his might and keep it up for an hour at a time. I hear Mr. Moulton talking to them, but I can’t seem to make head or tail of what he is saying. It’s mostly about inshoots and fade-aways and drop-balls and spitballs. When I was a girl in school the boys used to throw spitballs. I guess you could see some of ’em still sticking to the ceiling of the old Pine Tree schoolhouse. But Mr. Moulton and Tom and Dan seem to take it all seriously, though for my part I can’t see how or why. But then,” she added complacently, “they’re boys and I’m just a middle-aged woman, an’ it isn’t natural to think I’d be interested in the things that interest my boys.”
“You are interested in the boys though, I fancy,” suggested Mr. Borden smiling as he spoke.
“I wouldn’t be fit to be their mother if I wasn’t. They’re both good boys. There, I’ve talked enough about my own flesh and blood. I wish you would come in. I have some fresh buttermilk—right from the churn.”
“We’ll stop and have some on our way back if that will not be too much trouble,” said Mr. Borden as he and Walter turned away.
As they came to the barn and sheds Mr. Borden glanced keenly at the objects in view. “Dan and Tom appear to be taking good care of their belongings,” he said quietly. “The wagons are all under cover and there’s no litter about the place. Let me step inside the barn a moment,” he added as he entered the rude building.