"I'm jes' a eetchin' to git a
grip onto that Gov'nor. Ef I don't scelp 'em I'm a squaw."
Beverley drew a deep breath and came promptly. back from his
dream. It was now Oncle Jazon's turn to assume a reflective,
reminiscent mood. He looked about him with an expression of vague
half tenderness on his shriveled features.
"I's jes' a thinkin' how time do run past a feller," he presently
remarked. "Twenty-seven years ago I camped right here wi' my wife--
ninth one, ef I 'member correct--jes' fresh married to 'r; sort
o' honey-moon. 'Twus warm an' sunshiny an' nice. She wus a poorty
squaw, mighty poorty, an' I wus as happy as a tomtit on a sugar-
trough. We b'iled sap yander on them nobs under the maples. It wus
glor'us. Had some several wives 'fore an' lots of 'm sence; but
she wus sweetes' of 'm all. Strange how a feller 'members sich
things an' feels sort o' lonesome like!"
The old man's mouth drooped at the corners and he hitched up his
buckskin trousers with a ludicrous suggestion of pathos in every
line of his attitude. Unconsciously he sidled closer to Beverley,
remotely feeling that he was giving the young man very effective
sympathy, well knowing that Alice was the sweet burden of his
thoughts. It was thus Oncle Jazon honestly tried to fortify his
friend against what probably lay in store for him.
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