“Ye little imp!” said she, while the women paused in their work to laugh at us.
“The boy is right, Polly Ann,” said Mrs. Harrod, “and he's got more sense than most of the men in the fort.”
“Ay, that he has,” the gaunt Mrs. Cowan put in, eying me fiercely, while she gave one of her own offsprings a slap that sent him spinning.
Whatever Polly Ann might have said would have been to the point, but it was lost, for just then the sound of a shot came down the wind, and a half a score of women stampeded through the stalks, carrying me down like a reed before them. When I staggered to my feet Polly Ann and Mrs. Cowan and Mrs. Harrod were standing alone. For there was little of fear in those three.
“Shucks!” said Mrs. Cowan, “I reckon it's that Jim Ray shooting at a mark,” and she began to pick nettles again.
“Vimmen is a shy critter,” remarked Swein Poulsson, coming up. I had a shrewd notion that he had run with the others.
“Wimmen!” Mrs. Cowan fairly roared. “Wimmen! Tell us how ye went in March with the boys to fight the varmints at the Sugar Orchard, Swein!”
We all laughed, for we loved him none the less. His little blue eyes were perfectly solemn as he answered:—
“Ve send you fight Injuns mit your tongue, Mrs. Cowan. Then we haf no more troubles.”
“Land of Canaan!” cried she, “I reckon I could do more harm with it than you with a gun.”