He scratched his head as if he would harrow up his sleeping
faculties and managed to say that he believed not.
"Laz, wush you'd try to keep my hoss away from that bluff."
"Oh, I'll take as good kere of him as if he belonged to me."
"What!--as if he belonged to you? Then I reckon I better not let you
have him. You must do better than that, Laz. An' say, don't furgit to
fetch him back."
"Oh, I never furgit nuthin'. Good-day."
Margaret hastened to the window and called after him: "Oh, Laz. We air
goin' to kill a sheep to-morrer. Tell yo' mother we'll send her over a
hindquarter."
"Yes'm," he answered, without looking back, and slouched off down the
road.
Up and down the room the old man walked, deep in thought. With his eyes
half-closed, sometimes he looked like a lion dozing in the sun. They say
that a game-cock is the bravest thing in the world. That is not true.
Nothing can be gamer than a game man. He is willing to die for a
principle. And never is he thrice armed unless his quarrel is just.
Laz came back to the window and spoke and the old man started and looked
toward him.
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