"The woman's right," said the farmer. "I kin trust Web soon as I kin myself."
"Sooner!" said his wife scornfully. "You are the forgittinest feller, and Webby don't never forget. If you want he should go an errant, mister, he'll be back soon."
"Not exactly an errand," said Ernest, and no more would he say until he saw the boy come galloping back to the field. He dismounted a long way off, and came running.
"Your mother and father tell me you can keep your word, and be trusted," said Ernest. "I want you to stand guard over this machine. I don't want you or anyone else to touch it. I want you to keep everyone at least ten feet away. If you will do this, I will either pay you or else take you up for a little flight."
"Wait!" said the boy. He turned and went running back to his colt and, mounting, dashed out of sight. In five minutes he returned bearing a long out-of-date rifle.
"Go ahead and get something to eat," he said. "This ought to fix 'em!"
With a stick he drew a deep scratch in the green grass around the plane. Then he looked with a smile across the field.
"Let 'em come!" he said. "This ought to fix 'em!"
Ernest looked. Mr. Paul Revere Webby had not ridden in vain. They were coming. Coming in Fords, buggies and on horseback. Coming strong.