Chapter III: “How is your cold, Sam?” I asked

He laughed his most purling-water laugh. “I cured that when I was crossin’ Siler’s creek comin’ home. There’s lots o’ sickness’ll leave you when you cross water. Hit takes right off.”

“Sam, do you know that Tom Bowles has not been near the place? There isn’t a furrow ploughed in that field.”

“Ay, I know it. I was so busy the day we went off, I forgot to tell you about that. Mr. Harvey bein’ yore friend, I wanted to do ever’thing I could to he’p him; but I said to myself that what you wanted ought to come first, so I went to that field an’ I looked all over it. I went cleverly all over it. An’ I saw ’twa’n’t no use to throw away ten dollars on Tom Bowles, fer that ground wouldn’t bring corn. Yer best chance is to wait until fall, an’ put it in rye. It’ll shore bring rye.”

“But when I wanted you to put it in rye last fall, you said I ought to wait until spring and plant corn.”

“I ain’t fergittin’ that, but last fall I hadn’t gone well over it like I ought.”

“It’s not too late for corn now, if you’ll set to ploughing at once.”

“I’d do it, Mis’ Dolly; I’d be willin’ to do jest as you say, even agin yer own intrust, which is what corn ’ud be in that ground; but I’ve got to go to Carson to-morr’ an’ git my front tooth put in. It’s been out six months now, an’ I’ve got the money in my pocket.”

“Couldn’t you wait a few days, Sam?”

“Why, I put it to you now, if you had a front tooth out, wouldn’t you git one in the first chance? I’ve got my clo’s, an’ the money, an’ it’s mighty hard to git ever’thing together at oncet.”

At last he had mentioned the clothes; so, without repulse, might I.

“Your jacket is a good fit, Sam.”

“How do you think it suits me, Mis’ Dolly?”

“I think you wear it about as well as Mr. Harvey did.”

“It set smart round the shoulders on him.”

“Smart on you too, Sam.”

“It looks better with the cap.” He put on the cap for proof. “I let Mr. Harvey keep his pants an’ leggin’s. That chap from Asheville left me his, an’ I thought they’s better’n Harvey’s. Jest let me walk off.”

He walked off, and I duly and sincerely admired.

“You reckon,” he said, coming back, “if you saw me as fur off as that black oak on the hill yander, an’ I had my back to you, an’ you didn’t know I had these clo’s, you reckon you’d take me fer Harvey?”

I assured him I would.

“He’s a well-set-up man, Harvey.”

It was time to hit the nail. “Sam, I want the truth. _Was_ there a bear on Pitcher Mountain?”

“Yes, there was--three year ago. I saw it myself, after it ’uz dead.”

“Go on. Make a clean breast of it.”

“There, I knowed you’d be right on me. All right, I’ll tell you ever’thing. I meant to all the time. But ’fore I begin, I want you to tell me what’s an impersile?”

“An impersile? Oh--ah--an imbecile is a sort of fool.”

“I reckoned it was about that,” he said; and, too late, I remembered.

“I won’t keep back a dod-blessed thing, Mis’ Dolly. You know how my dog Buck acts when they’s a fox usin’ around. He’ll lay on the hearth-rock thinkin’ how he’s goin’ to git that fox. An’ ’long about two o’clock I have to git up an’ let him out. Then he goes to Len’s an’ rumbles on the door till Len gits up an’ lets _his_ dog out, an’ Buck takes him off to hunt that fox. He’ll keep that up fer weeks if it takes weeks to git him. It was jest thataway with me. I had to study out how I was goin’ to git Harvey. He was a friend o’ yorn, stayin’ in yore barn, an’ I couldn’t go over there an’ lammux him. I’m a peaceable man anyhow, an’ that ain’t my way.”

“I know it isn’t, Sam, and I am surprised that you couldn’t overlook one thoughtless word, where no harm was meant.”

“Yer goin’ too fast now. I did overlook, come time. You know the Bible says that the birds may light on your head, but ye needn’t let ’em make a nest in yer hair. That means ’at hard words may drap on you, but ye needn’t harbor ’em in yer heart. When that word kep’ a-stickin’, I knowed I had to git it out, and I did. I feel all right now, an’ I’ll do any favor fer Mr. Harvey if he’ll come an’ ast me right. I’ll drive him down to the depot if he’ll ast me, though I told Krettie I’d never do it, an’ I said I’d make him push his trunks down hissef in a wheelbarr’.”

Concern must have risen to my face, for he became regally assuring.

“Don’t you worry a bit now. I thought it all out, an’ I ’lowed I could git along ’thout doin’ him any harm. Overlook it! Ain’t I showed that plain? Didn’t I knock off ploughin’ in the middle o’ April an’ the dogwoods a-buddin’ jest to take him bear-huntin’? He was bound to go. He was wuss’n a hen that’s goin’ to set, eggs er no eggs.”

“Oh, Sam, you know you started it yourself!”

“I jest talked a little, as is common. It’s a man’s nater to drap his talk aroun’ without lookin’ to see whose head is hot. Shorely to goodness, yer not goin’ to blame that on me!”

“Well, what happened? You’ve got his gun, his jacket, his cap, and his shirt.”

“An’ his safety razor,” added Sam, “an’ these here.” He pulled tenderly at a pocket of the jacket and gave me a shining glimpse of the silk socks. “I put ’em on oncet. Boys! Slipper-ellum ain’t nothin’!” Then he began his story.