Dinner was hardly over before the Deacon solemnly remarked: "William, put on your apron. I will put on mine. You take the axe and I will carry the maul and some nails. We must fix that fence."
The day was warm, and it was a good walk, over the bridge, along past the wagon shop, and away up the hill road to the bars that let down into the pasture lot. It was only twenty yards from these to the bars that led into Mr. Gates's lot, and Mr. Hollenhouser pastured his cows there also.
The bars were all up, and the fence looked all right as far as they could see.
"We must follow it up," said the Deacon. "The break is further on."
It was a large, roomy pasture, and so was that of Mr. Gates at the side of it, but it was because they were both very long, for they were not very wide. They reached up and over the hill, away to the cross-roads on the upper level, so that there was a great deal of fence between them.
It was good fence, too, and in perfect order, but for all that, before they reached the top of the slope, William suddenly exclaimed:
"Father, there are Mr. Gates's cows in our lot. Both of them."
"I declare! So they are. And there are both of Mr. Hollenhouser's beyond them. There must be a bad gap somewhere."
"Wonder where our cows are?"
"It's a wonder. I haven't seen one of them, and that new cow—"