"I bet he's drunk!" said Rob, who had unluckily seen a good deal of that sort of sickness since he had lived on a thoroughfare for mule-wagons.
"Is he?" said Nelly, horror-stricken. "No, Rob, he can't be, because he talked with me real nice this morning. Let's go and tell mamma."
Mr. March went out, looked at the man, and woke him up. He found that he was indeed ill, and not drunk. The poor fellow had been five days on the road, with a very heavy cold; and had taken more cold every night, sleeping in the open air. Walking all day long in the hot sun had also made him worse, and he was suffering severely.
"Come right into the house with me, my man," said Mr. March; "my wife'll make you a cup of hot tea."
"Oh, thank you!" said the man. "I've been thinkin' I'd give all the ore in this 'ere wagon for a first-rate cup of tea. I don't never carry tea: only coffee; but I've turned against coffee these last two days;" and he followed Mr. March into the house.
"What'd you say you had in your wagon?" asked Rob, who had been standing by.
"Ore," said the man.
The only word Rob knew which had that sound was "oar."
"Oar!" he said. "Why, I didn't see any thing but rocks."
Mr. March and the man both laughed.