"A broken pitcher! that isn't a very elegant vase," said he.
"O you wouldn't know it is a pitcher when I have fixed it. I'll cover up all the broken part with green, you know. Are we going home now, grandpa?"
"No, I want to stop a minute at uncle Joshua's."
Uncle Joshua was a brother-in-law of Mr. Ringgan, a substantial farmer and very well to do in the world! He was found not in the house but abroad in the field with his men, loading an enormous basket-wagon with corn-stalks. At Mr. Ringgan's shout he got over the fence and came to the wagon-side. His face showed sense and shrewdness, but nothing of the open nobility of mien which nature had stamped upon that of his brother.
[Illustration: She made a long job of her bunch of holly.]
"Fine morning, eh?" said he. "I'm getting in my corn stalks."
"So I see," said Mr. Ringgan. "How do you find the new way of curing them answer?"
"Fine as ever you see. Sweet as a nut. The cattle are mad after them. How are you going to be off for fodder this winter?"
"It's more than I can tell you," said Mr. Ringgan. "There ought to be more than plenty; but Didenhover contrives to bring everything out at the wrong end. I wish I was rid of him."
"He'll never get a berth with _me_, I can tell you," said uncle Joshua laughing.
"Brother," said Mr. Ringgan, lowering his tone again, "have you any loose cash you could let me have for six months or so?"
Uncle Joshua took a meditative look down the road, turned a quid of tobacco in his cheek, and finally brought his eyes again to Mr. Ringgan and answered.
"Well, I don't see as I can," said he. "You see Josh is just a going to set up for himself at Kenton, and he'll want some help of me; and I expect that'll be about as much as I can manage to lay my hands on."
"Do you know who has any that he would be likely to lend?" said Mr. Ringgan.
"No, I don't. Money is rather scarce. For your rent, eh?"
"Yes, for my rent! The farm brings me in nothing but my living. That Didenhover is ruining me, brother Joshua."
"He's feathering his own nest, I reckon."
"You may swear to that. There wa'n't as many bushels of grain, by one-fourth, when they were threshed out last year, as I had calculated there would be in the field. I don't know what on earth he could have done with it. I suppose it'll be the same thing over this year."
