Aunt Polly considered, and the corners of her mouth moistened as she thought of the dinner she would snatch from the jaws of the system on the day these young strangers should visit the ranch.
“By Gum!” Leander shouted. “I wonder if Uncle John wouldn't know something about the party they're advertising for. That'd be the way to find out if they're really on the scent. I'll take him down with me—that's what I'll do—and let him have a talk with the young man himself. It'll make a good opening. Are you listening, Polly?” She was not. “I wish you'd git him to fix himself up a little. Layout one o' my clean shirts for him, and I'll take him down with me day after to-morrow.”
“I'll have a fresh churning to-morrow,” Aunt Polly mused. “You can take a little pat of it with you. I won't put no salt in it, and I'll send along a glass or two of my wild strawberry jam. It takes an awful time to pick the berries, but I guess it'll be appreciated after the table Jimmy sets. I don't believe Jimmy'll be offended?”
“Bogardus is their name,” continued Leander. “Mr. and Mrs. Bogardus, from New York. Jimmy's got it down in his hotel book and he's showing it to everybody. Jimmy's reel childish about it. I tell him one swallow don't make a summer.”
Uncle John had come into the room and sat listening, while a yellow pallor crept over his forehead and cheeks. He moved to get up once, and then sat down again weakly.
“What's the matter, Uncle?” Aunt Polly eyed him sharply. “You been out there chopping wood too long in this hot sun. What did I tell you?”
She cleared the decks for action. Paler and paler the old man grew. He was not able to withstand her vigorous sympathies. She had him tucked up on the calico lounge and his shoes off and a hot iron at his feet; but while she was hurrying up the kettle to make him a drink of something hot, he rose and slipped up the outside stairs to his bedroom in the attic. There he seated himself on the side of his neat bed which he always made himself camp fashion,—the blankets folded lengthwise with just room for one quiet sleeper to crawl inside; and there he sat, opening and clinching his hands, a deep perplexity upon his features.
Aunt Polly called to him and began to read the riot act, but Leander said: “Let him be! He gits tired o' being fussed over. You're at him about something or other the whole blessed time.”
“Well, I have to! My gracious! He'd forgit to come in to his meals if I didn't keep him on my mind.”
“It just strikes me—what am I going to call him when I introduce him to those folks? Did he ever tell you what his last name is?”