"Speakin' of hens," he went on. "My missus was sayin' just yesterday
how as----"
Tim was shouting. He was calling something to me. I could not make
out what it was, for the wind-was rustling the corn-shocks, but I arose
and feigned to listen.
"It's Tim," said I. "He's calling to you, Josiah. It's something
about your red heifer."
"Red heifer--I haven't no red heifer," returned the old man.
"Did I say heifer? I should have said hog--excuse me," said I, blandly.
"But I have killed all my hogs," Josiah replied, undisturbed.
Tim shouted again, making a trumpet of his hands. To this day I don't
know what he was calling to us, but when this second message reached
Josiah's ears, it concerned some cider we had, that Tim was anxious to
know if he would care for. At the suggestion Josiah's face became very
earnest, and a minute later he was hurrying down the field to the spot
where Tim's hat and Tip Pulsifer's shaggy hair showed above the wreck
of a corn-shock.
"How could you hear what Tim was saying?" Mary asked.
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