"You don't say! Well, I'm glad I know your folks. What do you mean to do with your money?"
"Fourth of July, sir."
"That's it. I declare! Well, now, I might have thought of that. Gingerbread, nuts, candy—"
"No, sir. Fire-crackers."
"You don't say! Look out for that cow; she's heading down the road again. Hear that dog bark! I declare!"
She was quickly headed right again, and Deacon Giddings had by no means got to the end of the questions he wanted to ask.
They were not all about Jed's own affairs. In fact, he seemed willing to know everything there was to be known about the Pullman family, and all their relations, and all their neighbors.
Jed was willing enough to answer, whenever the cow would let him, and it made the long walk in the hot sun go by faster and easier.
It was slow enough even then, and by the time they reached Penniman's Corners, seven miles from the village, Deacon Giddings remarked, "Twelve o'clock, I declare! Jedediah Rittenhouse Pullman, you and I and the horses must have something to eat. The cow too, if she can stand still long enough."
Jed had been thinking of that very thing for the last mile or two, and he was glad enough to drive the cow into the tavern barn-yard.