“Yes,” said she, “there’s no denyin’ that. But Joe he’d ’a’ got along, Judge Maxwell or no Judge Maxwell. Only it’d ’a’ been slower and harder for him.”
“He would ’a’,” nodded Sol, without reservation. “No discountin’ on that. That boy beats anything this here country ever perduced, barrin’ none, and I ain’t sayin’ that, either, ma’am, just to please you.”
“Much thanks I owe you for what you think of Joe!” said she, scornfully. “You was ready enough, not so very long ago, to set the whole world ag’in’ him if you could.”
“Well, circumstantial evidence–” began Sol.
“Oh, circumstantial nest-eggs!” said she, impatiently. “You’d known Joe all his life, and you know very well he didn’t shoot Isom Chase any more than you done it yourself!”
“Well, mistakes is humant,” sighed Sol, taking advantage of that universal absolution. “They say Judge Maxwell’s goin’ to leave everything he’s got to Joe, and he’s got a considerable, I reckon.”
“I don’t know as Joe’d take it,” said she, folding her hands in her lap. “Judge Maxwell had a hard time to git Joe to let him put in the money to do things around here, and send him to college over in Shelbyville last winter. Joe let him do it on the understandin’ that it was a loan, to be paid interest on and paid back when he was able.”
“Well, from the start he’s makin’ it don’t look like the judge ’d have very long to wait for his money,” said Sol. “Twenty acres of apple trees all in a orchard together, and twenty acres of strawberries set out betwixt and between the rows!”
He looked over the hillside and little apron of valley where Joe’s young orchard spread. Each tiny tree was a plume of leaves; the rows stretched out to the hilltop, and over.
“I can figger out how twenty acres of apples can be picked and took care of,” reflected Sol, as if going over with 363 himself something which he had given thought to before, “but I’ll be durned if I can figger out how any man’s goin’ to pick and take care of twenty acres of strawberries!”