"They have some," she assured him. "They'll come here, and when they do,
there'll be a heap of trouble--" She stopped suddenly, as though she had
said something unwise.
"When do you expect them?" Jeff asked.
"Don't rightly know. Maybe soon. Maybe not so soon."
For a moment Jeff was silent and Dan was still stuffing gingerbread into
his mouth. Granny had spoken of trouble when Ike came, but apparently it
was not trouble for herself, and if she wanted him to know more about it
she would have told him. He wished he could offer her help, but he had
an uncomfortable feeling that she knew how to help herself. He was
trying to think of a way to steer the conversation away from Ike when
Granny relieved him of the necessity for so doing.
"What you peddlin'?" she asked brightly.
Jeff fidgeted. The contents of his pack, for the most part, were
designed for those who had little. Jeff tried to please people who
yearned after a bit of gay ribbon, a new knife, anything they might need
or desire but could not get for themselves. But he couldn't imagine what
Granny lacked and countered her question with one of his own.
"Where do you get your thread and yarn?"
She looked surprised. "Spin it myself, to be sure. I have sheep. I grow
flax, too."
Jeff followed up because he was interested. "Do you also make your own
dyes?"
"Land, yes! 'Twould be a sin to let the yarbs go to waste when they grow
right at the door step!"
"Do you use anything besides herbs?"
"Bark, seeds, nut husks and shells, it's all here. Take a bit of this, a
bit of that, a bit of another thing, seethe it, and there's a dye."
"I know you do your own weaving."
"Land, yes!"
Jeff grinned ruefully. For the first time since its founding, Tarrant
Enterprises, Ltd., had reached a blind end. "Something for Everyone,"
was one of its numerous slogans. But he did not have anything for Granny
Wilson and he was honest about it.
"Granny, I don't believe I can offer you a thing."
"Oh, come now! You must have somethin'!"
"But I haven't."
"Now, Jeff, you jest open that pack and give me a look for myself."
"I'll do that much."
Jeff laid his pack on the table and opened every compartment. Granny
reached for a skein of gray yarn. She tested it with her fingers,
murmured, "Poorly, poorly," and handed it back. Granny ignored the
bright ribbons, had no time whatever for the knickknacks, lingered over
a packet of needles, and her eyes were accusing when she gave them back.
"Young man, you are a poor shakes of a peddler."
"I tried to tell you I hadn't anything you'd want."
"You should have somethin' to please a poor old woman."
"I know. If I had anything good enough for you--Oh, darn!"
A skein of yarn tumbled out of the pack and caught on a buckle. Jeff
reached through the slit for one of the many-bladed knives, opened the
scissors, and carefully snipped the tangled wool off. Granny clapped
joyful hands.
"I knew it! I knew it! Give me that."
Jeff handed her the knife. Granny's eyes shone.
"Just the thing!" she cried ecstatically. "Just what I need! My eyes
ain't what they used to be. I missed two shots at runnin' bucks last
fall and I'm forever mislayin' my necessaries. 'Twould be handy to have
so many in one piece. Cash or swap?"