Presently, however, he turned and walked back nearly to the brink of the cliff. Then he prostrated himself once more at full length,—for the mountain children are very careful of precipices,—snaked along dexterously to the verge of the crag, and protruding his red head cautiously, began to [v]parley once more, trading on Ethan’s necessities.
“Ef I go on this errand fur ye,” he said, looking very sharp indeed, “will ye gimme one o’ the whings of that thar wild tur-r-key?”
He coveted the wing-feathers, not the joint of the fowl. The “whing” of the domestic turkey is used by the mountain women as a fan, and is considered an elegance as well as a comfort. George Birt [v]aped the customs of his elders, regardless of sex,—a characteristic of very small boys.
“Oh, go ’long, bubby!” exclaimed poor Ethan, in dismay at the [v]dilatoriness and indifference of his [v]unique deliverer. “I’ll give ye both o’ the whings.” He would have offered the turkey willingly, if “bubby” had seemed to crave it.
“Waal, I’m goin’ now.” George Birt rose from the ground and started off briskly, [v]exhilarated by the promise of both the “whings.”
Ethan was angry indeed when he heard the boy once more shambling back. Of course one should regard a deliverer with gratitude, especially a deliverer from mortal peril; but it may be doubted if Ethan’s gratitude would have been great enough to insure that small red head against a vigorous rap, if it had been within rapping distance, when it was once more cautiously protruded over the verge of the cliff.
“I kem back hyar ter tell ye,” the [v]doughty deliverer began, with an air of great importance, and magnifying his office with an extreme relish, “that I can’t go an’ tell Pete ’bout’n the rope till I hev done kem back from the mill. I hev got old Sorrel hitched out hyar a piece, with a bag o’ corn on his back, what I hev ter git ground at the mill. My mother air a-settin’ at home now a-waitin’ fur that thar corn-meal ter bake dodgers with. An’ I hev got a dime ter pay at the mill; it war lent ter my dad las’ week. An’ I’m afeard ter walk about much with this hyar dime; I mought lose it, ye know. An’ I can’t go home ’thout the meal; I’ll ketch it ef I do. But I’ll tell Pete arter I git back from the mill.”
“The mill!” echoed Ethan, aghast. “What air ye doin’ on this side o’ the mounting, ef ye air a-goin’ ter the mill? This ain’t the way ter the mill.”
“I kem over hyar,” said the little boy, still with much importance of manner, notwithstanding a slight suggestion of embarrassment on his freckled face, “ter see ’bout’n a trap that I hev sot fur squir’ls. I’ll see ’bout my trap, an’ then I hev ter go ter the mill, ’kase my mother air a-settin’ in our house now a-waitin’ fur meal ter bake corn-dodgers. Then I’ll tell Pete whar ye air, an’ what ye said ’bout’n the rope. Ye must jes’ wait fur me hyar.”
Poor Ethan could do nothing else.