The road was steep and rough, low stumps and the roots of trees remained in it, and it was washed out in great ruts. The winter rain had carried the loose earth out of it and left the stones and the tree roots uncovered. A modern vehicle could hardly have kept together on such a road, although it bore the marks of wheels where the mountaineer had gone over with his wagon.
The little boy sat regarding the man who walked before him in the road. He seemed not to have felt with this man that fear of the stranger which is so strong an instinct with a child. From the first moment he had been wholly at his ease. He spoke without restraint.
The man paused, and put up his hand as though he had not until this moment realized that he was bareheaded.
A note of distress came into the child's voice.
“You've lost your hat. Are you goin' back to look for it? 'Cause me an' Berry can go on to the mill by ourselves.”
“No,” said the man, “I shall go on with you and Berry.”
“But you ain't got no hat,” the child continued.
“Perhaps I shall find one somewhere,” replied the man.
“No,” said the child, “you won't never find one, 'cause nobody don't lose their hats up here. You'll have to buy one at the store.”
Then he went on to tell of all the wonderful things that the store contained: Striped candy in sticks in a big glass jar, and fishhooks, and sea grass fishin' lines, and guns, and pistols, and knives. But principally knives. Upon this particular topic he spoke with deep personal interest. In that place of wonders were knives with six blades, with “peraly” handles, with gimlets and tweezers in them, little knives that one could hide between one's fingers and big ones with a ring in the handle so one could tie them to his “galluses.” And Barlows with IXL on the blade.
He paused and thrust his hand into his pocket. He had one that his grandfather had given him at Christmas, and he held it up--a Barlow with a bone handle and a single blade.
The man stopped and came back to the ox's shoulder. He took the knife and examined it carefully, opened it and tried the edge on his thumb. The blade was round and blunt at the end. The child explained this with an air of apology.
“Gran'-pap was afraid I'd run it in my eye, so he grinded it off. Have you got a knife?”