“That's so, brother Ab,” said his sister; “but we are ruined now—ruined, ruined!”
“Ef you will look at it that way,” admitted Abner, reaching for his candle; “but thar's a place ahead whar thar never was a bank, or a dollar, or a railroad, an' it ain't fur ahead, nuther. Some folks say it begins heer in this life.”
XXIV
S Abner Daniel leaned over the rail-fence in front of Pole Baker's log-cabin one balmy day, two weeks later, he saw evidences of the ex-moonshiner's thriftlessness combined with an inordinate love for his children. A little express-wagon, painted red, such as city children receive from their well-to-do parents on Christmas, was going to ruin under a cherry-tree which had been bent to the ground by a rope-swing fastened to one of its flexible boughs. The body of a mechanical speaking-doll lay near by, and the remains of a toy air-rifle. After a protracted spree Pole usually came home laden down with such peace-offerings to his family and conscience. His wife might go without a needed gown, and he a coat, but his children never without toys. Seeing Abner at the fence, Mrs. Baker came to the low door and stood bending her head to look out.
“I heerd at home,” said Abner, “that Pole was over thar axin' fer me. I've been away to my peach-orchard on the hill.”
“Yes, he's been over thar twice,” said the woman. “He's back of the house some'r's settin' a trap fer the children to ketch some birds in. I 'll blow the horn. When I blow twice he knows he's wanted right off.”