Grandma Padgett tucked up her dress, took provisions from the wagon, and got dinner. Aunt Corinne and her nephew made use of this occasion to lay in a supply of nuts for winter. The nuts were old ones, lying under last autumn's leaves, and before a large heap had been gathered, aunt Corinne bethought her to examine if they were fit to eat. They were not; for besides an ancient flavor, the first kernel betrayed the fact that these were pig-nuts instead of hickory.
“You would have 'em,” said Bobaday, kicking the pile. “I didn't think they's good, anyhow.”
“They looked just like our little hickories,” said aunt Corinne, twisting her mouth at the acrid kernel, “that used to lay under that tree in the pasture. And their shells are as sound.”
But there was compensation in two saplings which submitted to be rode as teeters part of the idle afternoon.
Grandma Padgett had put away the tea things before Zene returned. He brought with him a wagon-maker from one of the villages on the 'pike. The wagon-maker, after examining the disabled vehicle, and getting the dimensions of the other hind wheel which Zene had forgotten to take to him, assured the party he would set them up all right in a day or two.
Grandma Padgett was sitting on a log knitting.
“We'd better have kept to the 'pike,” she remarked.
“The toll-gates would be a small expense compared to this.”
“Yes, indeed, marm,” responded Zene, grimacing piteously.
“Still,” said Grandma Padgett, “we have much to be thankful for, in that our lives and health have been spared.”
“Oh, yes, marm! yes, marm!” responded Zene.
The wagon-maker hung by one careless leg to his horse before cantering off, and inquired with neighborly interest:
“We're goin' to Illinois,” replied Grandma Padgett.
“Oh, pshaw, now!” said the wagon-maker. “Goin' to the Eeleenoy! that's a good ways. Ain't you 'fraid you'll never git back?”
“We ain't expectin' to come back,” said Grandma Padgett. “My son's settled there.”
“He has!” said the wagon-maker with an accent of surprise. “Well, well! they say that's an awful country.”
“My son writes back it's as fine land as he ever saw,” said Grandma Padgett with dignity and proper local pride.
“But the chills is so bad,” urged the wagon-maker, who looked as if he had experienced them at their worst. “And the milk-sick, they say the milk-sick is all over the Eeleenoy.”