A lank, high cheek-boned mountaineer came slouching toward the gate as they drove up. “Light and hitch,” he commanded hospitably. “I reckon yo’re bound fer Bentville. Piny’s been pesterin’ the life out o’ us ter come; she sent word agin this week, an’ I ’low ef she’s honin’ fer us, we’d shore ought ter go.”
“That’s what I told pappy,” interrupted Kid eagerly. “He and mammy bide in the Hollow till they’re fair mossy. Pete and Ike’ll come back plumb shamed of we-uns.” And then the boy flushed at what the words implied.
Sam Coyle failed to make his usual sarcastic retort to the thrust at Goose Creek. Indeed he was quite amiable to Kid on their way up to the door of the rather untidy looking cabin. There was plenty of bacon and cornbread, with coffee and fresh buttermilk for breakfast. The chickens were for their dinner and had been cooked the day before. “I never count on eatin’ chicken till I get a holt of the drumstick,” whispered Billy to Kid, rolling his eyes.
Mrs. Twilliger was large and loud-voiced. The older children had all married and left home except Piny. “We’d planned ter keep her fer a spell yit, but I don’t reckon nothin’ ever’ll suit her ’round here now she’s taken ter schoolin’; she air a queer gal.”
“I wouldn’t let hit fret me,” said Mrs. Gooch with unexpected spirit, “the mountings air needin’ a few idees; I’m glad Gincy’s gittin’ ’em. I’m plumb wore out with the old ones. She and Tally’d much better be larnin’ out o’ books than marryin’ some no ’count chap thet goes r’arin’ ’round, shootin’ up things ginerally.”
Mrs. Twilliger bristled up instantly; the description fitted her eldest son-in-law too closely for her liking. However, Mrs. Gooch had an unexpected ally in the master of the house. “Thet’s my idee; Piny’s harum-scarum ’nough without gittin’ in with these chaps ’round yere. We hev ’nough o’ them fellers in the fambly a’ready.”
Breakfast over, every one hurried to get a good start for the last part of the journey to Bentville. The Twilliger outfit was a span of fat mules and a light wagon. They took the lead, and the oxen were soon far behind.
“You’d better push on, Kid,” advised Dan Gooch as the oxen toiled up the last foothill before reaching the valley. “Yon’s Bentville—almost in sight. Zeb Twilliger will be thar an hour ahead of us. Nick hez sperit ’nough ter ketch up ter ’em stid of pokin’ ’long so powerful slow.”
Kid took the advice. As he reached the top of the hill, he reined Nick in for a moment to look at the panorama of colour which spread below him. There were fields of corn and hemp threaded with a narrow, silver path of water. Beyond the valley, on a little plateau, was the white tower of a chapel. The trees were thick, but they could not entirely screen the angular outlines of the college buildings occupying the highest part of the little town.
The boy’s heart beat fast. He had never been more than ten miles away from home in all his life before. Somehow the blacksmith’s trade did not seem so alluring as it had yesterday; perhaps Pete and Isaac were right after all. He was proud of them anyhow.