Still there was no sound of ox or wagon and the voice sounded like a child's. So he went on at a walk in the thick sand, and when he turned the bushes he pulled up again with a low laugh. In the road across the creek was a chubby, tow-haired boy with a long switch in his right hand, and a pine dagger and a string in his left. Attached to the string and tied by one hind leg was a frog. The boy was using the switch as a goad and driving the frog as an ox, and he was as earnest as though both were real.
“I give ye a little rest now, Buck,” he said, shaking his head earnestly. “Hit's a purty hard pull hyeh, but I know, by Gum, you can make hit—if you hain't too durn lazy. Now, git up, Buck!” he yelled suddenly, flaying the sand with his switch. “Git up—Whoa—Haw—Gee, Gee!” The frog hopped several times.
“Whoa, now!” said the little fellow, panting in sympathy. “I knowed you could do it.” Then he looked up. For an instant he seemed terrified but he did not run. Instead he stealthily shifted the pine dagger over to his right hand and the string to his left.
“Here, boy,” said the fisherman with affected sternness: “What are you doing with that dagger?”
The boy's breast heaved and his dirty fingers clenched tight around the whittled stick.
“Don't you talk to me that-a-way,” he said with an ominous shake of his head. “I'll gut ye!”
The fisherman threw back his head, and his peal of laughter did what his sternness failed to do. The little fellow wheeled suddenly, and his feet spurned the sand around the bushes for home—the astonished frog dragged bumping after him. “Well!” said the fisherman.
IV
Even the geese in the creek seemed to know that he was a stranger and to distrust him, for they cackled and, spreading their wings, fled cackling up the stream. As he neared the house, the little girl ran around the stone chimney, stopped short, shaded her eyes with one hand for a moment and ran excitedly into the house. A moment later, the bearded giant slouched out, stooping his head as he came through the door.