There were some who answered him, and straightway they began to quarrel among themselves, filling the woods with a babel of voices. While I stood listening to these disputes with a boy's awe of a man's quarrel, what was my astonishment to feel a hand on my shoulder. It was Colonel Clark's, and he was not paying the least attention to the dispute.
“Davy,” said he, “you look as if you could make a fire.”
“Yes, sir,” I answered, gasping.
“Well,” said he, “make one.”
I lighted a piece of punk with the flint, and, wrapping it up in some dry brush, soon had a blaze started. Looking up, I caught his eye on me again.
“Mrs. McChesney,” said Colonel Clark to Polly Ann, “you look as if you could make johnny-cake. Have you any meal?”
“That I have,” cried Polly Ann, “though it's fair mouldy. Davy, run and fetch it.”
I ran to the pack on the sorrel mare. When I returned Mr. Clark said:—
“That seems a handy boy, Mrs. McChesney.”
“Handy!” cried Polly Ann, “I reckon he's more than handy. Didn't he save my life twice on our way out here?”