Parker trimmed a ragged piece of leather from the sole of his boot, and whistled softly.
"Well, I try not to be an extremist," he said, with moderation. "That Barden's the brazenest liar on this coast. He'd ought to be kicked by a mule. I'd like to see Idy tackle 'im."
This suggestive combination of Barden's deserts with his daughter's energy seemed to give Eben no offense.
"Idy's so mad with him she gets excited," he said mildly. "I can't make 'er see it's all fer the best. Sence I've found out about the vines, I've been glad I bought 'em."
Parker stopped his amateur cobbling, and looked up.
"Ye don't mean it!" he said, with rising curiosity.
"Yes; I'm glad o' the chance to get red o' them. It's worth the money."
He turned to pick up another twisted root, displaying the patches on his knees, and the hollowness of his sunken chest.
"The hell!" commented Parker, softly to himself, with a long, indrawn whistle.
"I guess I'll go down to the house," he said aloud, getting up by easy stages. "I see the cow's pulled up her stake, an' 's r'airn round tryin' to get to the calf. Mebby Idy'll need some help."