“Well, I do want a horse, if I can trade for one,” I said, trying not to show anxiety.
“Say, got time ter get on’ ter the waggin an go over to my farm and see him, take dinner with me? Guess, the old woman’ll have enough for both.”
Being anxious, I accepted the invitation, and was soon on the way. He pestered me with all kinds of questions; asked all about my family affairs and told me all of his and every other family for miles about. Finally we reached his house, one of those old-fashioned farm houses with several old tumble-down sheds and out-buildings attached, near by an old barn that was once painted red, the shingles had rotted and blown off here and there, so you could see daylight from any portion inside. Scattered about were old wagon boxes, odd wheels, old toothless harrows, plows, a wheelbarrow upside down with the wheel gone, part of an old harness lying across it; bits of harness were hanging on pegs in the barn. Geese, turkeys and chickens were numerous and clucked about as if they were really pleased to see us, and in fact, I discounted or anticipated the looks of the house from the careless dilapidated appearance of every thing around and about the old man’s farm.
He finally unyoked his oxen, dropped the yoke right where he took it off and turned his cattle into the yard. “Now then, we’ll get a bite to eat, and I’ll show you two horses, and durn me if I won’t give you your choice and a good trade.” “Martha-Ann,” he called, “Martha-Ann!”
In a moment a little, bright, bustling old woman came to the door and shading her eyes with her apron, called back: “What is it, Dan’l? Did you bring the merlasses, and candles, and the broom?”
“Yes,” he answered back.
“And the salt?”
“Yes.”
“And the rennet for the cheese, and the salt-pork?”