"Only he might help me to find a good piece of farm land which I could get by applying."
"So he might. Well, my father is Ezekiel Garvan—Old Zeke, they call him round about. Glad to see you when you are near. See, that is our house over yon, where the smoke is rising up from among the trees."
"And what is your name?" asked Eben.
"I am called Zeb; it is short for Zebedee. What is your name?"
Incautiously he answered, truthfully:
"Ebenezer Pike is my name."
The boys separated, and Eben returned to the camp, feeling pleased with himself to think he had found a good friend, as he never doubted old Zeke would be.
Zeb stood watching Eben for a time, and then he too returned home.
"My old dad used to blame me for listening, and used to say that little pitchers had big ears, when anyone was there, just to prevent them talking, but the big ears will be useful now, or I am not fit to be my father's son."