"Of course," answered Roger. "And if you throw me this time I'll try once more, and then to-morrow, and next day, and the next, until I've thrown you!"
"That's th' way t' talk!" exclaimed Mr. Kimball. "That's what I like t' hear. Never say die!" and he capered about as wild as a boy.
"Paw, how you talk!" said Mrs. Kimball. "Them boys sha'n't rassal any more t'night. Adrian, I'm s'prised at ye, throwin' yer cousin that has jest come out t' see ye."
"Oh, he's game, mother. He don't care," replied Adrian, smiling, and much pleased at Roger's pluck. "But we won't try any more falls right away," he added. "I'll give you another chance, though, Roger."
"Wa'al, I guess thet's th' best view t' take," said Mr. Kimball. "Ye know ye come out here t' Cardiff, Roger, t' git fattened up, 'n' ye won't do thet ef ye keep on rassalin'. I guess I'll declare a flag a' truce. Now mind," and his voice became stern, "no more rassalin' 'til I give ye leave. Ef ye want t' rassal, Ade, ye'll hev t' take on some un else."
"All right, dad," replied Adrian, good naturedly.
Roger said nothing, but he made up his mind that, though the contest was postponed for a while, he would not rest until he had thrown his cousin in a fair struggle. For the time, however, he was satisfied to wait.
"Come on 'n' wash up fer supper!" cried Mr. Kimball, as the boys were putting on their coats. "Land a' Goshen, I'm 's hungry 's th' b'ar what sees his shadder on Candlemas Day. Come on, Roger, 'n' I'll interduce ye t' yer cousin Clara, 'n' let ye set yer teeth in some a' th' finest salt-risin' bread in Cardiff, 'n' th' best buckwheat honey growed in Onondaga County," and he started for the house, followed by the two boys and Mrs. Kimball, who began to ask Roger a score of questions about his father and mother and the baby, which the boy answered as best he could.
For the first time since he had alighted from the stage Roger had a chance to look about him. The comfortable large farmhouse, painted white with green shutters, stood on the east side of the road, which ran along the edge of the beautiful Onondaga valley. Behind the house rose a gently sloping hill, on the sunny declivities of which was a large vineyard, belonging to Mr. Kimball. In front of the house was a stretch of fields, forming the bottom part of the valley, and some of these broad acres belonged to Adrian's father. The valley was about three miles wide, and, if one should walk across that space he would come to the opposite hills that framed it in, towering up, with densely wooded sides, broken here and there with little farm clearings. It was a most pleasant place to live, Roger thought. He paused for a minute, and turned to look at the view behind him.
The sun was just sinking down behind the topmost trees of the western hills, and the slanting beams, sifting through the red and yellow leaves of the autumn forest, caused the woods to appear as if they were blazing with golden fire. The beauty of the sunset made all pause to look at it, and Roger was sure he had never before seen such a happy, calm, peaceful valley as the one in the centre of which nestled the village of Cardiff.