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"Trade with you, Bobby," called a freckle-faced boy, dragging an old tin tray. Bobby grinned. "Won't trade," he called back. "But you can go down with me." So the freckle-faced boy, whose name was Palmer Davis, took turns coasting downhill on his tray, which he managed very skilfully, and going down with Bobby on the brand-new sled.
Even in the cold days of spring, when, after being shut up all the winter, the cattle were allowed to revel again in the springing grass and the venturesome daisies, there was pleasure enough in the company and devices of the cowherd, a freckle-faced, white-haired, weak-eyed boy of ten, named I forget his real name: we always called him Turkey, because his nose was the colour of a turkey's egg.
I was flattered. "Come here, wife," he called through the door. "Come here and look at the intellect." The wife, who was a barefooted, freckle-faced woman, came out on the porch and, smiling sweetly, sized up my intellect. I made up my mind that here were the two smartest people in America. For they saw I was bulging with intellect. Nobody else had ever discovered it, not even I myself.
If neither scores in his turn, both will be ruled out and the others will compete for the prize," announced the scorer. The Mexican smiled a supercilious smile, as much as to say, "The idea of a long-legged, freckle-faced boy defeating me!" The Mexican was an expert at the game of tilting as it was practised on the desert. The man took the first turn.
"I don't mind saying to you gentlemen in confidence," said Jack to a circle of sympathizing players, "I don't mind telling you regarding this thing, that I was as soft on that freckle-faced, red-eyed, tallow-haired gal as if she'd been a a an actress. And I don't mind saying, gentlemen, that as far as I understand women, she was just as soft on me. You kin laugh; but it's so.
Then the freckle-faced woman leaned toward me. "Are you goin' out?" said she. "No," I replied, politely; "I am not far from home, and prefer waiting for my lunch until I get there." "Then," said she, very earnestly, "would you hold my baby while I run in an' get a cup o' tea?
He had observed the strange outfit coming down the street, but at first the full meaning of it did not impress him. Now he discovered that the procession consisted of Tad Butler and an emaciated, hesitating old horse. Stacy's eyes gradually closed until they were mere slits, through which he peered inquiringly. "Hullo, Tad," he greeted. "Hello, Chunky," returned the freckle-faced boy with a grin.
Brother meant to ask Nellie what the redheaded boy's name was, but she had danced out to the van to see how large it was inside, and when she came back Brother had forgotten his question. "My father says an old lady is going to live here," volunteered Francis Rider, a freckle-faced lad of ten or twelve. "She lives all by herself, and she doesn't like noise. Her name is Miss Putnam."
You remember that remark of the skipper's the other day, don't you?" "About what?" "What he said about 'Red Whiskers'?" "Yes." "I have the gentleman located, Ned. I am reasonably certain that I have. Of course it's none of my business, but I have been curious ever since the Captain said that. My man has red whiskers, regular combustible whiskers," added the freckle-faced boy with a grin.
The hills were red in the west as though a brush fire flamed behind their crests. Abner stole a furtive glance at his companion in misery, and the dolor of Ross's countenance somewhat assuaged his anguish. The freckle-faced boy was thinking of the village over the hill, a certain pleasant white house set back in a green yard, past whose gate, the two-plank sidewalk ran.
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