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Then a young boy, with a red sash strapped over his right shoulder and under his left arm, cantered up on a pony, pony and boy both tremendously important. "Piney's marshal er the day," said a big man, laughing indulgently. "D'you know the Steerin's air sendin' that tramp-scamp to Italy?" called another man with a bewildered, incredulous inflection in his voice. "Well he cand go fer all me.
"Is it your own trouble, Piney?" she asked, helping again. "No'm." "Whose trouble, Piney?" "Mist' Steerin's, Miss Sally." "Ah!" She leaned nearer Piney. "Tell me quickly, dearie," she said, "is he ill?" "Well'm, it's your trouble, too, Miss Sally." "Yes, surely, Piney, go on, go on!" "And your father's trouble, Miss Sally." "Something about the Tigmores, I suspect, then, Piney, go on."
"They say Miss Sally, Miz Steerin', that is, feels mighty broke up because her paw didn' live to see all that's a-goin' on this day." "Yass, reckin's haow that's true." "Howdy, Miz Dade, haow you come on?" "Huccome you to come, Asa?" "They say the Steerin's air goin' away to-night. Goin' back East on a visit." "Yass, that's true. The tramp-boy is goin' along. D'you know that?
Yass, goin' to N'York, on his way to Italy. The Steerin's air sendin' him." "Well, they cand all go whur they please, I wouldn' leave Mizzourah these days, not me. Wy, ev' farm in the Tigmores is liable to turn into a zinc mine any night. Say, do you know air the Steerin's to be long gone?" "Nope, not so long. Unc' Bernique's to run things while they away." "Oh, well, then."
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