“Glad to see you, Mr. Stebbins!” called out Hugh. “Move along there, fellows, and make room for our visitor on that log. I invited him to drop in and see us any time he found the chance, and that we would let him hear some of our songs. Mr. Stebbins used to be something of a singer himself long ago; so we’ll expect you to do your level best for Oakvale High.”
“I fotched yeou over a few dozen o’ fresh aigs,” exclaimed the farmer. “’Tain’t much after haow yeou helped me so fine tew git my herd back this arternoon; but the missus she thought as yeou mout enjy knowin’ they was all laid sense yist’day.”
“That’s splendid of you, Mr. Stebbins,” Hugh told him as he saw the clean eggs in the basket, snuggled in some hay; “and if only you’d take pay for them——”
“Stop right there, Mr. Hardy,” interrupted the other, raising his hand in expostulation, “we hain’t a-sellin’ them aigs, remember. They’s a free-will offerin’ from the Stebbins, and I want tew say I’m right glad I had a chanct tew meet up with yeou to-day. I kinder looks on boys a bit different, and I guess they’s some truth in what I heard ’baout this scout business amakin’ ’em act like they never used tew do ten years back.”
“Then thank your good wife for the Boy Scouts of Oakvale Troop, will you, Mr. Stebbins?” said Hugh. “I’m sure we’ll enjoy eating such fine eggs. We brought a few with us, but even now they’re nearly all gone.”
“Mebbe if so be them Eyetalian strikers doan’t wring the necks o’ my dominick fowls some night, when they’re aprowlin’ araound lookin’ for food, they might be more o’ the same kind acomin’ this way from my coops.”
Apparently Mr. Stebbins had been impressed by the behavior and cordial ways of the scouts more than any of them had suspected. Here he was opening his heart to them in a way that would have amazed those of his neighbors who had known him all his life as perhaps a close-fisted tiller of the soil. Hugh hugged to his heart the conviction that it paid to make a friend out of one who seemed inclined to be an enemy.
Mr. Stebbins sat down there in front of the glowing fire and listened to the lively talk that was going on. Occasionally he joined in, usually to mention some episode of his past which came up in his mind under the peculiar conditions surrounding him.
Mr. Stebbins must have been asking himself more than once whether he could be awake or simply dreaming all these things. If friends had told the crusty, grubbing old farmer a week before that he would presently be found actually wasting precious time sitting on a log by a blazing campfire, and enjoying himself to the limit listening to a pack of boys chatter and sing, he would have informed them that they were crazy.
When Hugh started the crowd singing the farmer seemed to be quivering all over with delight. Old half-forgotten memories must have awakened in his brain. Once again, perhaps, he was taking a pretty red-cheeked lass to “singin’ skewl,” and he might be even stealing a kiss on the road in the bargain.