"Then why don't you get out of the sun?" I suggested, more to keep the
conversation fluid than because I cared a bit.

"I'm a-goin' to," he answered, "just as soon as that goll-darned wagon
comes." (A "goll-darned" wagon is, I think, a wagon without springs.)

"What are you going to do then?" I asked, beginning to fear I should be
left alone again after all my trouble.

"Goin' home to dinner," he replied, and I at once said I would go with
him.--You see, I had placed a little too much reliance on the egg.

"I dunno about that, but I guess it will be all right," he urged,
hospitably, and presently the goll-darned wagon arrived with another
man, who turned out to be the first one's son and who looked as though
he bit.

Together the two threw all the herbage into the wagon till it was heaped
far above their heads.

"How am I ever to get up?" I asked, for I had no idea of walking any
farther, and I could see the man's white house ever so far away.

"Who said you was goin' to get up at all?" inquired the biter,
disagreeably, but the other answered for me.

"I said it, that's who, you consarned jay," he announced, reprovingly.

When I had made them both climb up first and give me each a hand, I had
no difficulty at all in mounting, but I was very careful not to thank