The two friends, whether by accident or design, came out of the woods
some distance from their own houses, but very near to the low-storied
little gray dwelling of Mrs. Price. They crossed the pasture, and
climbed over the toppling fence at the foot of her small sandy piece of
land, and knocked at the door. There was a light already in the
kitchen. Mrs. Price and Eliza Jane Topliff appeared at once, eagerly
hospitable.
"Anybody sick?" asked Mrs. Price, with instant sympathy. "Nothin'
happened, I hope?"
"Oh, no," said both the men.
"We came to talk about hiring your dog to-morrow night," explained
Isaac Brown, feeling for the moment amused at his eager errand. "We
got on track of a coon just now, up in the woods, and we thought we 'd
give our boys a little treat. You shall have fifty cents, an' welcome,
and a good piece o' the coon."
"Yes, Square Brown; we can let you have the dog as well as not,"
interrupted Mrs. Price, delighted to grant a favor. "Poor departed
'Bijah, he set everything by him as a coon dog. He always said a dog's
capital was all in his reputation."
"You 'll have to be dreadful careful an' not lose him," urged Mrs.
Topliff. "Yes, sir; he 's a proper coon dog as ever walked the earth,
but he's terrible weak-minded about followin' 'most anybody. 'Bijah
used to travel off twelve or fourteen miles after him to git him back,
when he wa'n't able. Somebody 'd speak to him decent, or fling a
whip-lash as they drove by, an' off he 'd canter on three legs right
after the wagon. But 'Bijah said he wouldn't trade him for no coon dog
he ever was acquainted with. Trouble is, coons is awful sca'ce."
"I guess he ain't out o' practice," said John York amiably; "I guess he
'll know when he strikes the coon. Come, Isaac, we must be gittin'
along tow'ds home. I feel like eatin' a good supper. You tie him up
to-morrow afternoon, so we shall be sure to have him," he turned to say
to Mrs. Price, who stood smiling at the door.
"Land sakes, dear, he won't git away; you 'll find him right there
betwixt the wood-box and the stove, where he is now. Hold the light,
'Liza Jane; they can't see their way out to the road. I 'll fetch him
over to ye in good season," she called out, by way of farewell; "'t
will save ye third of a mile extra walk. No, 'Liza Jane; you 'll let
me do it, if you please. I 've got a mother's heart. The gentlemen
will excuse us for showin' feelin'. You 're all the child I 've got,
an' your prosperity is the same as mine."