Part 3 (2/2)
Jest move in, an' welcome.”
”No, indeed! Now, you tell me, is ten dollars a month enough rent?”
”Ten dollars a month!” exclaimed Watts. ”Why, we-all only got fifteen fo' a herder an' a dog an' a band o' sheep! No, ef yo' bound to pay, I'll take two dollars a month. We-all might be po' but we hain't no robbers.”
”I'll take it,” said Patty. ”And now I'll have to have a lot of things from town--food and blankets, and furniture, and----”
”Hit's all furnished,” broke in Ma Watts. ”They's a bunk, an' a table, an' a stove, an a couple o' wooden chairs.”
”Oh, that's fine!” cried the girl, becoming really enthusiastic over the prospect of having a cabin all her very own. ”But, about the other things: Mr. Watts can you haul them from town?”
Watts tugged at his beard and stared out across the hills. ”Yes, mom, I reckon I kin. Le's see, the work's a-pilin' up on me right smart.”
He cast his eye skyward, where the sun shone hot from the cloudless blue. ”Hit mought rain to-morrow, an' hit moughtn't. The front ex on the wagon needs fixin'--le's see, this here's a Wednesday. How'd next Sunday, a week do?”
The girl stared at him in dismay. Ten days of Ma Watts's ”home cooking” loomed before her.
”Oh, couldn't you _possibly_ go before that?” she pleaded.
”Well, there's them fences. I'd orter hev' time to study 'bout how many steeples. .h.i.t's a-goin' to tak' to fix 'em. An' besides, Ferd Rowe 'lowed he wus comin' 'long some day to trade hosses an' I'd hate to miss him.”
”Why can't I go to town. I know the way. Will you rent me your horses and wagon? I can drive and I can bring out your tools and things, too.” As she awaited Watts's reply her eyes met the wistful gaze of Microby Dandeline. She turned to Ma Watts. ”And maybe you would let Microby Dandeline go with me. It would be loads of fun.”
”Lawzie, honey, yo' wouldn't want to be pestered with her.”
”Yes, I would really. Please let her go with me, that is, if Mr. Watts will let me have the team.”
”Why, sh.o.r.e, yo' welcome to 'em. They hain't sich a good span o'
hosses, but they'll git yo' there, an' back, give 'em time.”
”And can we start in the morning?”
”My! Yo' in a sight o' hurry. They's thet front ex----”
”Is it anything very serious? Maybe I could help fix it. Do let me try.”
Watts rubbed his beard reflectively. ”Well, no, I reckon it's mebbe the wheels needs greasin'. 'Twouldn't take no sight o' time to do, if a body could only git at hit. Reckon I mought grease 'em all 'round, onct I git started. The young-uns kin help, yo' jest stay here with Ma. Ef yo' so plumb sot on goin' we'll see't yo' git off.”
”I kin go, cain't I, Ma?” Microby Dandeline's eyes were big with excitement, as she wrung out her dish towel and hung it to dry in the sun.
”Why, yas, I reckon yo' mought's well--but seem's like yo' allus a-wantin' to gad. Yo' be'n to town twict a'ready.”
”Twice!” cried Patty. ”In how long?”
”She's goin' on eighteen. Four years, come July she wus to town. They wus a circust.”
”I know Mr. Christie. He lives to town.”
”He's the preacher. He's a 'piscopalium preacher, an' one time that Vil Holland an' him come ridin' 'long, an' they stopped in fer dinner, an' that Vil Holland, he's allus up to some kind o' devilment er 'nother, he says: 'Ma Watts, why don't yo' hev the kids all babitized?' I hadn't never thought much 'bout hit, but thar wus the preacher, an' he seemed to think mighty proud of hit, an' hit didn't cost nothin', so I tol' him to go ahead. He started in on Microby Dandeline--we jest called her Dandeline furst, bein' thet yallar with janders when she wus a baby, but when she got about two year, I wus a readin' a piece in a paper a man left, 'bout these yere little microbys thet gits into everywheres they shouldn't ort to, jest like she done, so I says to Watts how she'd ort to had two names anyways, only I couldn't think of none but common ones when we give her hern. I says, we'll name her Microby Dandeline Watts an' Watts, he didn't care one way er t'other.” Ma Watts s.h.i.+fted the baby to the other hip.
”Babitizin' is nice, but hit works both ways, too. Take the baby, yere. When we'd got down to the bottom of the batch it come her turn, an', lawzie, I wus that fl.u.s.tered, comin' so sudden, thet way, I couldn't think of no name fer her 'cept Chattenoogy Tennessee, where I come from near, an' the very nex' day I wus readin' in the almanac an'
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