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An' he declares fur true ef I don't holp him at this junctry, when he needs me, he won't hire his mule to my mother nex' spring; an' ye know it won't do fur we-uns ter resk the corn-crap an' gyarden truck with sech a pack o' chill'n ter vittle ez we-uns hev got at our house." Nate deduced an unexpected conclusion. "Ye oughter gin me more'n haffen the make," he said.
"They'll be takin' ye away from the mountings ter jail ye an' try ye, an' mebbe ye'll go ter the pen'tiary arter that. An' how will yer mother, an' brothers, an' sister, git thar vittles, an' firewood, an' corn-crap an' clothes, an' sech Rufe bein' the oldest child, arter you-uns?" demanded the tanner. "An' even when ye git back I hate ter tell ye this word nobody will want ye round.
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