“‘Come along, friend,’ says Scotty to the feller, ’you and me are going to have a little drink on this, if it is the last act.’  And I reckon probably they made it two, for when Scotty got back again he was in a condition that made everybody believe that he’d only guessed at the story he told.  But they found out afterward it was a solemn fact.  Mattie, give us some more coffee.”

Thus abruptly recalled to Fairfield, Miss Mattie started up.

“Well, Will, it does seem as if that was a dangerous country to live in,” said she.

“Oh, not so awful!” said Red.  “Just as many people die here as they do there—­this world’s a dangerous place to live in, wherever you strike it, Mattie.”

“That’s so,” said she, thoughtfully.

“And now,” said Red, pushing back his chair, “it’s time I got to work and left you to do the housework undisturbed.”

“What are you going to do, Will?”

“First place, there’s fences and things to be tinkered up, I see.  I suppose a millionaire like me ought to hire those things done, but I’d have measles of the mind if I sat around doing nothing.”

“I have been wanting to get the place in good order for some time,” said Miss Mattie, “but what with the money I had to spend for this and that, and not being able to get Mr. Joyce to come in for a day’s work when I wanted him, it’s gone on, until there is a good deal of wrack to it.”

“We’ll wrack it t’other way round in no time—­got any tools here?”

“Out in the barn is what’s left of father’s tools—­people have borrowed ’em and forgot to return ’em, and they’ve rusted or been lost until I’m afraid there ain’t many of ’em left.”

“Well, I’ll get along to-day somehow, and later on we’ll stock up—­want any help around the house?”

“Thank you, no, Will.”

“Then I’m off.”

It was almost with a feeling of terror that Miss Mattie beheld him root up the fence.  Her idea of repairing was to put in a picket here and there where it was most needed; Red’s was to knock it all flat first, and set it up in A1 condition afterward.  So, in two hours’ time he straightened up and snapped the sweat from his brow, beholding the slain pickets prone on the grass with thorough satisfaction.  Yet he felt tired, for the day was already hot with a moist and soaking sea-coast heat, to which the plainsman was unaccustomed.  A three-quarter-grown boy passed by, lounging on the seat of a farm waggon.

“Hey!” hailed Red.  The boy stopped and turned slowly around.

“Yes, sir,” he answered courteously enough.

“Want a job?” said Red.

“Well, I dunno,” replied the boy.  He was much astonished at the appearance of his interrogator, and he was a cautious New England boy to boot.

“You don’t know?” retorted Red.  “Well,” with some sarcasm, “d’ye suppose I could find out at the post-office?”

The boy looked at Red with a twinkle in his eye, and a comical drawing of his long mouth.