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All them big folks in Spain was settin' areound, ye know, ta'ntin' of him, and sayin' as how an egg couldn't be made to sot. "So Columbus, he took one up and give her a tunk, pretty solid, deown onto the table. 'There! says he; 'you stay sot, says he, 'and keep moderate a spall, says he. 'Forced-to-go never gits far, says he. "Then there was Lot's wife.
"Seems so everything was changed," Tunk added as he left the cutter. "Ez Tower has crossed the Fadden bridge. Team run away an' snaked him over. They say he don't speak to his hosses now." Trove went on thoughtfully. Some of Tunk Hosely's talk had been as bread for his hunger, as a harvest, indeed, giving both seed and sustenance.
He asked permission, however, to stay where he could talk with them. Tunk Hosely, the man of all work, came in for his supper. He was an odd character. Some, with a finger on their foreheads, confided the opinion that he was "a little off." All agreed he was no fool in a tone that left it open to argument. He had a small figure and a big squint.
Before help came the old rooster was badly cut in the neck and breast. Tunk rescued him, and brought him to the woodshed, where Trove sewed up his wounds. He had scarcely finished when there came a louder outcry among the fowls. Looking out they saw a gobbler striding slowly up the path and leading the game-cock with a firm hold on the back of his neck. The whole flock of fowls were following.
The respect for truth that is the beginning of wisdom had not come to Tunk. He continued to lie with the cheerful inconsistency of a child. The' hero of his youth had been a certain driver of trotting horses, who had a limp and a leaning shoulder. In Tunk, the limp and the leaning shoulder were an attainment that had come of no sudden wrench.
Sidney Trove sat talking a while with Miss Letitia. Miss S'mantha, unable longer to bear the unusual strain of danger and publicity, went away to bed soon after supper. Tunk Hosely came in with a candle about nine. "Wal, mister," said he, "you ready t' go t' bed?" "I am," said Trove, and followed him to the cold hospitality of the spare room, a place of peril but beautifully clean.
"If you can conquer that thing, you'll do well. Poor Miss Teeshy!" he added, shaking his head. "What's the matter with her?" Trove inquired. "Kicked in the stummick 'til she dunno where she is," said Tunk, gloomily. He pulled off his boots. "If she don't go lame t'morrer, I'll miss my guess," he added. "She looks a good deal like Deacon Haskins after he had milked the brindle cow."
He held out a hand to show its steadiness. "Very good," Trove remarked. "Good? Why, it's jest as stiddy as a hitchin' post, an' purty nigh as stout. Feel there," said Tunk, swelling his biceps. "You must be very strong," said Trove, as he felt the rigid arm. "A man has t' be in the boss business, er he ain't nowheres. If they get wicked, ye've got t' put the power to 'em."
"Because," replied Thede, "just as he was reaching up to the wall of the cavern to take hold of the Little Brass God, he got a tunk on the coco that put him out for the count." "What do you know about the Little Brass God?" asked Tommy. "I've seen it!" answered Thede.
The story of the fowl corroborated, the sugar-bush became an object of investigation. Milldam was ten miles away, and it was quite possible for the young man to have ridden there and back between the hour when Tunk left him and that of sunrise when he met Mrs. Vaughn at her door.
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