“I did not know that tramps were so nice,” said Beth. “I thought that they were something dreadful.”
“They are. You can never tell by looks. Hereafter never go or come this way unless I am with you, and never come to the woods to pick flowers.”
“I’m sorry he’s moved in there. I had planned to camp out here next summer. Helen Reed and Sally Monroe and I intended to camp out and do all our own cooking.”
Eliza smiled and wondered if the other two were as ignorant of culinary arts as Beth herself. The whistling had ceased and a song had taken its place.
“Just a song at twilight when the lamps are low.”
The words followed them clear up the slope.
“He’s a queer sort of tramp,” said Eliza to herself. “I should not have believed that they knew such things.”
She might have said something about this to Beth, but at their own gate, Jim-Boy, Sam Houston’s youngest son, met them. Jim-Boy was in his bare feet. His apparel consisted of a pair of jean overalls and a hickory-colored shirt which had belonged to his father. He was a bashful lad, and braced himself against the post of the gate before he could find courage to speak. “Say, Miss Liza, pap wants the lend of your log chain.”
“Dear me. I do not know whether I have one. It’s been years since I thought of it.”
“Yes, you have. Pap says it’s hanging up in the old harness room. He’s coming over to look at your stone-boat. He doesn’t know whether it’s all right or not. He says it hain’t been used for years. If it’s all right, he’ll come over and borrow it off you.”