"Before I do anything with the wet land, Mr. ---- I am so unhappy as to have forgotten your name?--"
"Springer, sir," said the old gentleman,--"Springer--Joshua Springer. That is my name, sir."
"Mr. Springer, before I do anything with the wet land I should like to have something growing on the dry; and as that is the present matter in hand will you be so good as to let me know whether I can have your assistance."
"Well I don't know,--" said the old gentleman; "there ain't anybody to send but my boy Lucas, and I don't know whether he would make up his mind to go or not."
"Well sir!"--said Mr. Rossitur rising,--"in that case I will bid you good morning. I am sorry to have given you the trouble."
"Stop," said the old man,--"stop a bit. Just sit down--I'll go in and see about it."
Mr. Rossitur sat down, and uncle Joshua left him to go into the kitchen and consult his wife, without whose counsel, of late years especially, he rarely did anything. They never varied in opinion, but aunt Syra's wits supplied the steel edge to his heavy metal.
"I don't know but Lucas would as leave go as not," the old gentleman remarked on coming back from this sharpening process,--"and I can make out to spare him, I guess. You calculate to keep him, I s'pose?"
"Until this press is over; and perhaps longer, if I find he can do what I want."
"You'll find him pretty handy at a' most anything; but I mean,--I s'pose he'll get his victuals with you."