Now, while Joe's asleep, if you like that story, I will tell you another about Aunt Elsie.
One day she went to her door and blew her horn, as if all creation was let loose; (you know I told you that when frontier folks want to call the neighbors together that's the way they manage.)
Well, there was a general stampede to see what was to pay with Aunt Elsie. Some said the bears must have run off with her little girl;—some said an Indian might have strayed into her log hut, and frightened her;—some said the house might be on fire, and they all said they'd stand by Aunt Elsie as long as there was a timber left of them, whatever was to pay. Zeke Smith said, (Zeke was an old bachelor,) that "he'd thought for a great while, that it wasn't safe for Elsie to live there alone without some man to protect her;" and Jim Brown who was a widower, said "it was a lonesome piece of business and no mistake;" and they all rushed through the woods to see which should pitch into the house first and help her the fastest.
Well—what do you think was to pay when they got there?
Her old cow was choking with a turnip!
Now I'm going to tell you one more backwoods story while I'm about it.
A great roaring fire was burning in Zeke Smith's log house; and all the Tims, and Joes, and Bills, and Jacks, and Sams had come in to see him. They peeled chestnuts and threw the shells into the fire, and the shells cracked and snapped, and the blaze lit up all their weather-beaten, bronzed faces, and they drank cider out of a great mug, and talked about one thing and another that you and I don't care about; and then Zeke Smith said he lost a sheep last night.
"So did I," said Pete Parker.