“Keeping him at home is one of them, I judge.”
Mrs. Jones drew a deep sigh. “Jack is off somewhere this very minute. Early this morning I told him to cut the wood. He went through the job like a house afire, and then before I knew it, he was gone.”
“Wandering the woods perhaps?”
“Yes, that boy is like a wild things with his love of the outdoors. He went off for three hours yesterday and I gave him a switching when he came back. But it didn’t prevent him from trying the same trick today.”
Mr. Hatfield smiled as the widow mentioned the switching. She was a frail little woman, weighing a scant one hundred pounds. Jack, by contrast, was built like a football player and heavy for his age.
“I don’t think the switching hurt him any,” Mrs. Jones said. “The scamp sort of laughed while I was doing it. I’m right provoked at him today though. He took the rifle when he left.”
“Why, that’s rather dangerous.”
“Oh, Jack’s a good shot,” Mrs. Jones informed him. “I wouldn’t mind him using the gun, if he’d ask me for it. It’s those sneaking ways of his that annoy me.”
“I know what you mean,” nodded Mr. Hatfield, reflecting upon the missing biscuits. “Well, be patient with the lad. He may develop. And if there’s anything I can do, call on me.”
“If you could round that boy up and send him home, I’d appreciate it,” the widow sighed. “There’s no telling where he is, or when he’ll come dragging in—if at all.”