"I don't sow for Elisha Teachout to reap—not if I know myself!" he remarked, grimly.
"Can he do it? Is it as bad as all that?" demanded Job.
Asa nodded his head.
"I s'pose it is," he said. "They ain't no use tryin' to buck against a man like him. He's got the money, and that means he's got the law and the sheriff on his side. No, the jig's up. They ain't nothin' for it but for us to git out Monday."
Job had tossed the heavy bough to one side, and walked to the fence, where he was putting on his coat.
"Oh, yes, there is," said he.
"What do you mean, Job?" queried the old man, advancing toward him, "what else kin we do?"
"Git out before Monday," answered the boy, laconically.
They walked in silence across the road, and through the front yard to the house, without exchanging further words. Once indoors, they began to empty drawers, clear cupboards and shelves, and gather the portable belongings of the household into a heap on the table in the living-room. It was not a long task, and they performed it in silence. It was only when they rested upon its completion that the old man said, with a little quaver in his voice:—
"Almost the last words he spoke before he went was, 'And in the spring you must come and be with me in the woods.' Them was his identical words. You remember 'em, don't you, Job?"