Now it so happened that Mr. Keene, who is a restless old gentleman, and, moreover, quite green in the dignity of a land-holder, thought proper to turn his horse’s head, for this particular morning ride, directly towards these same “three eighties,” on which he had engaged Ashburn and his son to commence the important work of clearing. Mr. Keene is low of stature, rather globular in contour, and exceedingly parrot-nosed; wearing, moreover, a face red enough to lead one to suppose he had made his money as a dealer in claret; but, in truth, one of the kindest of men, in spite of a little quickness of temper. He is profoundly versed in the art and mystery of store-keeping, and as profoundly ignorant of all that must sooner or later be learned by every resident land-owner of the western country.
Thus much being premised, we shall hardly wonder that our good old friend felt exceedingly aggrieved at meeting Silas Ashburn and the “lang-legged chiel” Joe, (who has grown longer with every shake of ague,) on the way from his tract, instead of to it.
“What in the world’s the matter now!” began Mr. Keene, rather testily. “Are you never going to begin that work?”
“I don’t know but I shall;” was the cool reply of Ashburn; “I can’t begin it to-day, though.”
“And why not, pray, when I’ve been so long waiting?”
“Because, I’ve got something else that must be done first. You don’t think your work is all the work there is in the world, do you?”
Mr. Keene was almost too angry to reply, but he made an effort to say, “When am I to expect you, then?”
“Why, I guess we’ll come on in a day or two, and then I’ll bring both the boys.”
So saying, and not dreaming of having been guilty of an incivility, Mr. Ashburn passed on, intent only on his bee-tree.
Mr. Keene could not help looking after the ragged pair for a moment, and he muttered angrily as he turned away, “Aye! pride and beggary go together in this confounded new country! You feel very independent, no doubt, but I’ll try if I can’t find somebody that wants money.”